A Christmas Scandal (20 page)

“You are such a grump lately,” Amelia said without preamble to her brother as she entered his study. As usual, she found Edward behind his desk, a pile of paper in front of him. The morning sunlight made his fair hair seem to glow about his head, a fallen angel, she thought whimsically. He looked tired lately, with dark smudges beneath his eyes. And his hair, usually meticulous, was a mess, as if he was constantly tunneling his fingers through it. Indeed, he looked like a man who’d been up all night in the clubs drinking. Yet Amelia knew this wasn’t true, for he hadn’t left the house in days and he rarely drank. “You’re even more gloomy than normal.”

“I have a lot on my mind,” he said, and she noted he didn’t even try to deny he’d been disagreeable. “I’ve a meeting with my property manager later today to discuss why nearly all my tenants are unable to pay full rent. And a sister who is convinced she’s in love with a cowboy.”

Amelia smiled. Anytime anyone mentioned Carson, good or bad, she smiled. She simply couldn’t help it. He was arriving at Meremont later today and Edward’s scowl when she mentioned this fact was enough to set her off in fierce defense of her beloved. She knew she must be the envy of all her friends, because they’d all been as enthralled with Carson before he’d come to the Christmas ball. How in the world she’d ever gotten him to fall in love, she didn’t know. She didn’t understand why her brother was so against the only man she’d ever loved.

And he did love her. She just knew he did. Surely a man couldn’t smile at her as he did, kiss her, touch her in the way Carson did, without loving her.

“I am in love with him,” she said. “What do you think I should wear?”

“Why do you think I would care?” he asked, playing a rhyming game they’d often played when they were children.

“Because you are so fair,” she quipped.

Edward smiled indulgently. “Fair as in handsome or fair as in I’m evenhanded?”

“That didn’t rhyme,” she said, but she smiled because she was so glad to see her brother acting more like himself. “You have seemed awfully busy,” she said, coming around his desk to look at what he was working on. Spying a book he’d been carrying with him since they’d been at Bellewood, she laughed.

“Goodness, Edward, I’ve never seen you take so long to read a single book. You must be busy. Else the book is boring,” she said, reaching for the familiar blue-bound book.

Edward made to move the book out of her reach, making her smile. “Is it naughty?” she asked, delighted. “Is it?”

He picked it up and showed it to her. Much to her disappointment it was simply an ordinary adventure story. “I read this years ago,” he said, slipping it into his desk. “I have been too busy to read it. Now, speaking of being busy, why are you interrupting me? Again.”

Simply put, Amelia was bored and wanted a bit of company. Lady Matilda and the children were on a shopping expedition, one that she was not invited on as she suspected they were buying her Christmas presents. It was rather dreary and quiet and she was, frankly, bored.

“What are we planning for Christmas? Are we going back to the duke and duchess?”

“I hardly think they’ll want us back given that we were there nearly two months. Besides, with the new baby, they have enough to think about without us invading their house again so soon.”

“Perhaps after the holidays, then. When Miss Pierce returns. Or perhaps we can invite the Pierces here. It’s so dreadfully boring round here in the winter, especially if Lady Matilda takes the children to visit her sister. I simply cannot wait until the season begins.”

“About that.”

Amelia felt panic grow in her. “You promised. And Mrs. Pierce will happily chaperone.”

“I’m not certain she’s an ideal chaperone,” Edward said, recalling the drunken Mrs. Pierce.

“She’s been fine since that one little incident. Besides, Miss Pierce can chaperone as well.”

“Miss Pierce is a single woman not much older than you who needs her own chaperone. And not two minutes ago you were gushing on and on about Mr. Kitteridge and how much you were in love. Why attend the season if you’ve already found the love of your life?”

“You are very unattractive when you are mocking,” Amelia said.

“I’m sorry, Amelia, but be reasonable.”

“Be reasonable! I have never had a season and you promised me that I would. Are you to tell me that the only purpose for attending all those parties and balls and operas is to find a husband? I daresay if that were true, then ninety percent of the people who attend those things are wasting their time. I’m hoping I can convince Carson to stay a few more months. Surely his brother can handle things at the ranch for a little while longer. That way we can experience the season together. Perhaps even as husband and wife.”

Edward, who had been trying to work while he was talking, threw his pen into his inkwell. “Must we have this discussion now? The season doesn’t even begin for months.”

“And when it does, I am going. With Carson.”

“This discussion is over,” he said.

“I’ll attend the season if I have to bring myself round,” she said, then strode angrily away from her onerous brother. She could not believe that just moments before she’d thought him charming.

Edward watched his sister stomp from the room, knowing he was being unfair but not caring. There was no way in hell he would be able to endure a season with Maggie and her mother tagging along everywhere. How absolutely torturous to have her beneath his roof, attending parties, dancing with suitors, while he would have to pretend he wasn’t being ripped in two. The only alternative, though, was to act as his sister’s sole chaperone and Lord knew, he didn’t want to escort his sister to every ball and soiree that London had to offer. And he had promised, not only Amelia, but Mrs. Pierce, who was probably as excited about attending a London season as his sister.

But he simply…could not.

When his parents had died, he’d been more than devastated. Their deaths had changed him forever. He’d been forced to grow up seemingly overnight, and he’d been forced to endure pain like he couldn’t have imagined. Of course he knew logically that he wasn’t to blame for their deaths. He hadn’t known when he’d arrived home sick that it would result in the deaths of the two people he loved most in the world. He’d almost lost his sister, too. And when he’d sat by her bed, begging God to spare his sister, he realized that if she’d died, he would want to die as well.

“You feel too much,” his mother would often say. Edward had seen it as a flaw, something that made him weaker than he ought to be. And from the way he’d reacted when he lost his parents, it was true. He lived, he breathed, he ate, he slept, but he wasn’t alive for a very long time.

It frightened the hell out of him, loving someone that much. It hurt too much, the loss was far too painful. He hated it, hated the weakness, the loss of control.

Yet he’d allowed himself, finally, to fall in love. He’d let it happen. He could have avoided her, he could have married Maggie off to one of his friends and be damned with her. Instead, he’d thrown himself headlong in front of her, declared his love, asked her to marry him.

And she’d said no. God, how could she have said no? Edward let out a curse for allowing himself to get all maudlin yet again, and he picked up his pen with renewed vigor.

He’d just lost himself in his work again when Amelia walked into the room, white-faced, holding a copy of the
London Times
in her shaking hands.

“What is wrong, Amelia?”

“What ship did Miss Pierce sail on?” she asked, her eyes glued to the newspaper.

“I haven’t any idea,” he said. “Why?”

“Because a ship that sailed out of Liverpool soon after Miss Pierce left has sunk. The
White Star.
”

“Does it say anything about survivors?” he asked quietly.

His sister scanned the article. “No, only that it sank. Do you think the duchess would know?”

“I suppose I could ride over there to see,” Edward said, feeling his panic grow. What were the chances that two passenger ships left Liverpool the same time in December? Edward started to leave his study, only to be stopped by Amelia, a bemused look on her face.

“Edward. The telephone. You can call the duke.”

Edward looked momentarily startled, then smiled broadly. “You’re right. I’d forgotten Rand had a phone installed a few months back. You, my dear, are a genius.”

“Aren’t I, though?”

Edward shuffled through the top drawer of his desk, looking for his phone directory. He lifted the receiver and gave the telephone a good crank before lifting it to his ear. Edward dragged his free hand through his hair while he waited for the operator to respond. “Yes. Operator,” he fairly shouted. “Connect me to Bellingham 241, please.”

He clutched the phone hard so Amelia would not see how badly he was shaking, saying silent prayers over and over. It seemed to take forever before the operator said, “Your party is available.”

“Yes. This is Lord Hollings.” He waited. “I said, this is Lord Hollings. I wonder if I could speak with His Grace, please. His Grace.” He waited, his heart pounding in his chest painfully. The line had a loud crackling noise that made it nearly impossible for him to be understood or to understand the person on the other end. Finally Randall was at the telephone. “Randall,” he said without preamble. “What was the name of the ship Miss Pierce sailed on?”

“Her what?”

“Her ship. The ship she sailed on.”

“I don’t remember. Why? You going off to chase her, are you?”

“Was it the
White Star?
”

“Yes. The
White Star.
She sent a postcard from Liverpool with a picture of it. We got it two days ago.”

Edward felt his entire body go still. “Thank you.”

“Edward, is something wrong?”

Edward couldn’t talk, could hardly breathe.

“Edward. Is something wrong?” Randall repeated.

“No, no. Good-bye.” He didn’t want to frighten the duchess if all was well and he couldn’t bring himself to say aloud what he was thinking.

He looked bleakly up at his sister. “It was the
White Star.”

“Are you quite certain? Because…because…” She couldn’t finish her sentence.

She walked over to his desk and laid the newspaper down and pointed a shaking finger to the headline W
HITE
S
TAR
S
INKS
. S
URVIVORS
U
NKNOWN
.

Edward read: “The
White Star,
one of Britain’s premier passenger steamships, was reported sunk off the coast of New England. The ship and all its cargo were lost December twenty-second during a large coastal storm, according to the captain of the fishing vessel
Betsy May,
who witnessed the sinking. The fate of its crew and passengers is unknown at this time.”

His eyes scanned desperately for more information, but there was none. “Today is the twenty-fourth. This is yesterday’s edition. Did we not get today’s edition?”

“We never get it the same day,” Amelia said, and she began to cry. “It can’t be true. It can’t be. She was coming back. She was going to come back. She promised.” Amelia began sobbing into her hands. “I can’t take it if another person dies, Edward. I just won’t be able to take it.”

Edward’s drew his sister into his arms and comforted her, even though his tortured mind was thinking exactly the same thing. If Maggie were dead, he wasn’t entirely certain he could go on.

“I’ll call the
Times,
” he said, pushing Amelia gently away. He put his hands reassuringly on her shoulders and forced himself to smile. “No doubt they’ll have more information. Why the hell they would put such a story in a newspaper without anything about survivors is beyond me. But we’ll find out all is well and have an amusing story to tell Miss Pierce when she comes back.”

Amelia gave him a watery smile. “I do hope so. She will be tickled, won’t she?”

“We’ll have a great laugh,” he said, feeling an awful tightening in his chest.

He picked up his phone again, and asked to be connected to the
Times
in London. He began pacing and nearly pulled the telephone wire from the wall, and would have if Amelia hadn’t lunged for the phone and stopped it from tumbling off the desk. Finally, he was connected. “Yes. I need to speak to someone about the
White Star
sinking. I say, I need to talk…Hello? Yes. I need to talk to someone about the…Hello? By God, these wretched things are useless,” he shouted. “No, not you, sir. The
White Star.
I need information about the ship.”

“It sank,” he heard through a loud crackling. The person said something else, but he couldn’t make it out.

“What? I cannot hear you, confound it. Were there survivors? Hello? Yes, survivors.” He drew his brows together in concentration, trying to understand what the man was saying, but it was nearly impossible. Amelia hovered near him, pressing her ear near the receiver. No doubt she could hear even less than he could. “Bloody, bloody, bloody hell,” he shouted in frustration. And then he heard the distinct sound of the connection being terminated. Edward slammed down the receiver, letting out a curse no doubt Amelia had never heard before, and her eyes went wide.

“My apologies,” he said, “but I couldn’t understand the bloke and he’s hung up on me. I’m heading down to the wire office. Much more reliable service if you ask me.”

“I want to come, too.”

“No, I’ll get there faster alone. I’ll be home with news before you know it.”

He was about to rush from the room, but he stopped, opened his drawer, and grabbed the blue-bound book. Amelia gave him a curious look, but he ignored it and began shouting orders that his horse be prepared.

Amelia sat down, feeling emotionally drained. She knew why she was so upset, but why was Edward? It was more than being troubled about an acquaintance. She hadn’t seen him act this way since…her parents were dying. He’d looked tormented, which was quite astonishing since he claimed he held no special feelings toward Maggie. It made sense now. Maggie was the reason Edward had been so out of sorts when he’d returned from America, and she was the reason he’d seemed so briefly happy at Bellewood and why, of late, he seemed to have become the sort of man who hardly smiled.