A Christmas Scandal (5 page)

The relief that swept over him was so ridiculously intense, Edward nearly forgot to smile. This was the woman he remembered, the witty, chatty, confidence-filled charmer he’d known in Newport. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something had seemed a bit off with her, like a cake missing its secret ingredient—still marvelous but just not right.

“I believe I can manage to control myself,” he said dryly.

“All right, then. You may accompany me back to the palace.” She stopped and stared at the massive home. “It is a palace, isn’t it?”

“One of the grandest in England,” he stated. “Makes my home look like a country cottage.”

“Oh, I hardly believe that,” she said. “You are an earl, after all. I imagine earls live in very nice houses.”

“It is nice. Quite lovely, in fact. My uncle was a very astute businessman. He saw the agricultural depression coming years ago. It was very unfashionable of him, you see, to have business investments, to actually work for a living. My only regret is that I didn’t spend more time with him learning how to manage it all. I’m afraid I had to hire business managers to do all that for me. I am learning, however, and I imagine at some point I’ll take it all over.”

“You sound absolutely despondent.” He noted she seemed rather thrilled by the idea of his misery.

“It will simply take me away from things I’d rather be doing.”

“Such as balls and hunts?”

“My dear,” he said, “you are looking at England’s foremost bibliophile.”

He was uncertain whether he was pleased or annoyed by her expression of complete disbelief. Most people who did not know him well could not picture him wading through piles of books to find the exact copy of a fifteenth-century tome, but it was, by far, his favorite thing to do.

“You’re not joking, are you?” she asked, as if he’d said he collected human bones.

“One of the reasons I am here, other than to entertain you, is to assist His Grace in restoring his library. It was indeed tragic what happened here.”

“Oh?”

“The old duke sold every book. It was perhaps one of the greatest collections in England. They had original manuscripts from Archimedes. My God, just thinking of it.”

“I didn’t even know you could
read,”
she said, clearly jesting him.

Edward forced a smile, but truthfully, he was more than a little insulted by her amazement, something she immediately noted.

“I see I have struck a nerve. I had no idea you were so serious. You were much more fun to needle in Newport, Lord Hollings. Not nearly as sensitive. I do believe you’ve become entirely too stodgy since returning to England. Is it the air, do you think, that has stolen your sense of humor?”

“It is the responsibility.”

Maggie looked properly chastised, for which he was glad. This happy banter of theirs was somehow not nearly as satisfying as it once was. Perhaps because it was all so meaningless and could lead to nothing. Why flirt with someone he could never have, after all? She was engaged to marry another man, which made her more unattainable than had she been married. She really was none of his business. Whether she found books as fascinating as he did was of no consequence whatsoever. In fact, he didn’t know what had possessed him to ask her on this walk with him.

“Do you love him?” he blurted. Well, hell, he hadn’t even realized he was going to ask such a nonsensical thing until it came out of his mouth.

He watched in dreaded fascination as her cheeks bloomed with color.

“Whom do you mean?” she asked, being purposefully obtuse.

“Your fiancé,” he ground out, thrusting his hands behind his back to prevent him from shaking her.

“Love Arthur? Of course I do.”

His heart plunged more than he would have admitted, even upon threat of death. “Then that explains why you are marrying him.”

She swallowed; he watched the slim column of her throat move. She was still staring at the palace, and now it was clear to him that she was simply finding the home so fascinating because she did not want to look at him. She moved her hands up in front of her and grasped them together before pushing them down to her sides, where she fisted them in her skirts.

“I don’t think I could ever marry someone I didn’t love,” she said finally and with odd emotion.

“No. I don’t suppose you would,” Edward said, wishing this Arthur fellow was here before him so he could pummel him.

Maggie shrugged, and with her dark curling hair and fair complexion, she looked decidedly French. “We found we suit each other quite well. He adores Egyptology. Mummies and all that. It’s quite…fascinating.”

Edward chuckled. “You do not find it fascinating at all, be honest.”

Maggie looked up at him with all innocence. “I find it as fascinating as listening to you talk about books,” she said, which only made him laugh aloud.

“For your sake, I hope you do. There are enough miserable married people in this world without adding to them.”

“I agree wholeheartedly. And I know you do as well.”

Her fervent agreement and her reminder that she knew he was opposed to the state of matrimony bothered him. He recalled when they met in Newport her saying she was opposed to marriage, but he hadn’t really believed her. He didn’t like being proved correct this time. It was incredibly annoying to realize Maggie would never agree to get married unless she were madly in love and that thought only depressed him further.

“If you are engaged, then I have a proposition for you.”

“This sounds positively intriguing.”

He explained his sister’s request. “She very much wants a season and I cannot come up with a good excuse not to give her one. The only one I had, the lack of a chaperone, could easily be remedied by you and your mother, if she was willing.” He nearly choked on the next. “And you could have a season as well. American girls are all the rage in England about now.”

“Rich American girls,” she reminded him. “Why on earth would you deny your sister a season?”

He let out a big-brother beleaguered sigh. “She breaks hearts the way Matilda’s children break fine vases. Often and without conscious thought. I think, despite her grand age of nineteen, my dear sister is far too immature to be on the marriage market, though I daresay I would never tell her that.”

Maggie laughed. “Then she is like every other girl searching for a husband. You do remember the duchess, do you not? She believed herself to be in love with a scoundrel. Girls do the most foolish things for what they believe is love.”

“And what foolish thing have you done?” he asked.

“I’ve never been in love, so I wouldn’t know,” she said, smiling brilliantly at him before she realized what she said. “Except for Arthur, of course. And I haven’t done a single foolish thing.” She smiled again, and for just an instant, he was fooled by that smile.

“There’s no shame in doing foolish things for love,” he said, and watched with fascinatiom as she struggled mightily to maintain her smile.

“Spoken by a man who has never been in love,” she said, giving up any pretense of a smile. “As for a season, I am sorry, but I do not believe my mother and I will be staying here that long. We have plans to visit my aunt in Savannah when we return home. My mother hasn’t seen her in more than two years, you see. We were supposed to be there now, but for the duke’s request that we come here for the birth. It’s quite impossible.”

Edward found himself making a valiant effort to not show his disappointment, when he hadn’t truly been aware that he’d at some time in the past day decided he wanted them to stay for the season. “I’m sure I can dig up some spinster aunt from somewhere to do the deed,” he said.

“I thought England was full of spinster aunts.”

“Quite so. Then again, perhaps my step-aunt will be able to act as chaperone. Janice may be feeling better.”

“What is wrong with her?”

“No one can say, though God knows nearly every doctor in England has examined her. She’s a little slip of a thing. Nothing to her.”

“It must be difficult for Lady Matilda.”

“It is. For all of us, really. Of all her children, Janice is the sweetest little thing. She never complains, not even when it is clear she is suffering. A little trooper, that one.”

As they got closer to the home, those who were still on the veranda stood up as if anticipating their return. Maggie trudged along, relieved that her first time alone with the earl had gone so smoothly. She’d flirted lightly, managed to talk to him in a manner that almost seemed normal, almost like that lifetime far away that was Newport. She hadn’t given in to the urge to touch him, to tell him that she’d missed him.

Maggie could see Amelia on the veranda, waiting with visible anticipation for them to appear. Behind her sat Maggie’s mother and Elizabeth, both smiling at the girl who stood clutching the rail in barely contained eagerness. As they walked up the shallow marble steps, Amelia ran to greet them.

“Oh, Edward, the most wonderful news. Mrs. Pierce has agreed to chaperone me this season.”

Maggie was not a woman who got angry, and if she did, she always managed to hide it well. But she could not hide the flood of irritation she felt upon hearing Amelia’s happy news. What was her mother thinking? How could she accept such an invitation when they had no money, no clothes, and no way of obtaining them?

“Mother,” Maggie said in such a sharp tone, Amelia stopped her happy chatter and looked from daughter to mother with dismay. Maggie forced herself to remain calm, when inside she was burning. “Perhaps we should discuss this.”

“There’s nothing to discuss. It’s perfect. We can order your trousseau. And I’ve always wanted to experience a season in London. Why, since you were a little girl it’s always been something I’ve dreamed about. We could visit Mr. Worth, perhaps. Or maybe Her Grace has some recommendations.”

It was almost as if Maggie could feel her blood begin to boil. “Mother, may I have a word with you?”

“I’m sorry,” Amelia said softly. “Did I do something wrong?”

Maggie felt immediately contrite, and gave the girl a reassuring smile. “Not at all. It’s only that my mother and I had other plans after Christmas and staying for a season was not something we’d thought of doing. I would like to discuss this with my mother before we make any final decisions.” What on earth was her mother thinking? It was almost as if she truly believed they had to purchase a trousseau, as if they had the money to do so, as if her father was not in prison, leaving them destitute.

“All right. Of course,” Amelia said, but Maggie could see the dreams of a wonderful season dying in her pretty blues eyes. She nearly gave in, then and there, but her reasons against a London season were so many she could not.

“Oh, dear, I’m afraid my daughter is quite angry with me,” Harriet said with a laugh. “I’d best go have it out with her.”

Maggie could not even pretend a smile. As she was leaving, she heard Lord Hollings gently chastise his sister. “You should not have said a word until you spoke with me.”

“I know,” Amelia said, in a voice that told Maggie she was clearly on the verge of tears, which made her feel even more like a shrew. A correct shrew, but one nonetheless.

When they’d reached their private apartment, Maggie waited for her mother to sit like a chastised child.

“I don’t know what you are so upset about, my dear. This is the opportunity of a lifetime for us.”

Maggie ignored her. “Do you have any idea what it costs to finance a season, Mother? How am I going to buy the necessary gowns? I will not be able to. So you will chaperone a girl while I sit at home—a home we shall not be able to afford, I might add. Did you not think of that?”

“Oh.”

“Mother, how could you have agreed to something without giving it any thought?”

Her mother worried her hands in her lap. “You have some lovely gowns,” she said, then stopped as if finally recalling how desperate their situation was, and she slowly deflated, shrinking before her daughter’s eyes.
“Had
some lovely gowns.” Then, to Maggie’s horror, her mother started to cry copious tears. Her mother, who couldn’t bear to see anyone sad, buried her face in her hands and sobbed in an almost childlike way.

Maggie knelt beside her, grasping her hands. “Mama, please don’t cry. I’m sorry. It’s just we have to be more practical now. We hardly have the funds to return home and go on to Savannah. You know I spent hours trying to budget this trip.” She’d sold her best gowns, her piano, all her jewels to fund this trip. They literally had nothing left to their names.

“I don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t thinking, I suppose. I just wanted to be normal, to go to balls, to…pretend,” she ended on a whisper.

Lord, Maggie wanted that, too. But she was obviously far more practical than her mother.

“I’ll tell Amelia I cannot. It wouldn’t do for me to go to balls and dinners and concerts and leave you home. How will you find a husband if you do not come with us?”

Maggie felt a tingling of fear that her mother was losing her mind. “Mama, you know that is impossible now,” she said softly.

Something fierce and rather terrifying crossed her mother’s features. “It is not only not impossible, it is imperative that you find a husband. I have given it much thought and it is the only answer.”

“After what I told you…”

“You told me nothing that will prevent you from finding a husband.” She said the words as if she truly believed them, as if she had no recollection whatsoever of their conversation.

Maggie shook her head in disbelief. She did not know this woman, for she did not resemble her mother at all.

“I don’t see how I can pretend to look for a husband when I am supposed to already be engaged,” Maggie pointed out reasonably.

Her mother stared at her blankly for a moment. “We can say he’s broken it off,” she said calmly, as if they had not argued this point not a day before and agreed it was vital that Maggie maintain the lie she was still engaged. “You will receive a heartbreaking letter from Mr. Wright. You will cry. Not too long, of course. That would grow tiresome and we really do not want anyone to think you were too attached to Arthur. We want them to believe you are ready to move on. Then we could—”

“Mama…”

“Do not argue with me!” she shouted, throwing her hands to each side of her head, almost as if she were holding it together.

And Maggie stopped, because she had a terrible feeling that had she said even a single syllable more, her mother would have shattered right in front of her.

“A season sounds like a wonderful idea, Mama,” Maggie said, smiling. “We’ll figure it all out.”

Her mother lowered her hands and after a few long moments, gave her daughter a tenuous smile that nearly broke Maggie’s heart.

“Yes. A season in London will be lovely,” she said. “Quite lovely.”

Edward watched his younger sister playing like a child with her cousins, even though many women her age were already married and with children of their own. They were playing “statue,” the goal of which was to remain completely still for as long as possible when someone shouted “statue.” Matilda had suggested the game, knowing that for long minutes the children would be quiet and still. That was the goal, at any rate. But children being children, they found it much more fun to giggle and collapse on the floor in mirth when one of them got themselves into an impossible-to-hold position.

Amelia was in high spirits, for not minutes ago, Mrs. Pierce had announced that she and her daughter would be happy to participate in the season. Edward suspected Miss Pierce was not pleased, though for the life of him he didn’t know why. Maggie had seemed to him to be one of those women who adored balls and dinners and concerts and all that participating in a seasoned entailed. Perhaps now that she was safely engaged, such amusements had dulled.

“Miss Pierce,” Amelia called, having spied her walking furtively by the room. “Oh, do come play statues with us. And you, too, Edward. You must.” With a mischievous smile, Amelia came over to her brother and dragged him into the fray of children.

“I really should be helping out His Grace. I’ve not done anything about his library since I’ve been here and have wasted far too much time entertaining you.”

Amelia pouted. “You are absolutely ancient,” she said dramatically. “Is he not, Miss Pierce?”

“Why, I’d guess no more than thirty-five,” she said, a wicked gleam in her eye.

Amelia let out an unladylike laugh. “She thinks you
are
ancient, Edward. He’s actually only twenty-eight. Older than His Grace, of course, but still not old. Not
ancient,
anyway.”

“It must have been the gray hairs,” Maggie said, gazing at his temples.

And even though he knew she was joking, he found himself touching the side of his head as if he would be able to feel gray hairs sprouting there.

“Only one or two,” Mary said, happily joining in on the teasing. “And I don’t think he’ll be truly bald until he’s a bit older.”

Maggie laughed aloud, and he realized it was the first time he’d heard her laugh so since he’d seen her, a sound full of joy, holding no reserve. “Shh,” she said, putting a finger to her lips. “Gentlemen do not like to be reminded they are losing their hair. It makes them decidedly grumpy.”

“I am not losing my hair,” Edward said, even though he knew arguing would only fuel their teasing.

“Bald men can be quite handsome,” Amelia said, as if defending her poor hairless brother.

“Mary didn’t say he was bald,” Maggie said, studying his thick, wavy blond hair. “Bald
ing
, perhaps.”

“I am not balding,” he said forcefully, but he was starting to think that perhaps he was.

“No, you are not,” Maggie said, coming to his rescue. “And it’s a good thing, too. Someone with such an oddly shaped head would not bald well.”

Amelia had to sit she was laughing so hard. “Please stop torturing him,” she said, waving a hand in front of her face as if cooling it.

“A good idea,” Edward said dryly.

“I think it is good to sometimes make overly handsome men think that perhaps they are not,” Maggie said pertly.

“Are you calling me an overly handsome man?” Edward said, ridiculously pleased though trying hard not to show it.

“Uncle Edward, you may not be as handsome as His Grace, but you’re not as ugly as Jonathon Peters,” Mary said, mentioning a poor unfortunate boy who lived nearby their estate whose head was strangely overlarge for his body.

“Thank goodness for that. How did this discussion start?”

“I asked if you could play statues with us, and you declined,” Amelia supplied.

“And you,” he said, tapping his sister on her nose, “said I was ancient.”

“Well, will you play?”

“Do you really want me to?” he asked, and couldn’t help looking to Miss Pierce to gauge her reaction.

“I cannot,” Maggie said. “I have about a dozen letters to write.”

“That I believe,” Edward said. “Miss Pierce is a very prolific letter writer.” He was gratified to see her flush, that at least she perhaps recalled the pages and pages she’d written to him when he was on his tour in America with Rand. “As it is, I cannot take time to play, either. I have His Grace’s library to rebuild. Perhaps, Miss Pierce, you can write your letters in the library and keep me company.”

He could see her struggling to come up with some sort of excuse why she could not. “Of course. Let me get my things.”

Maggie went to her rooms in search of her address book, cursing herself for being unable to come up with a quick and believable excuse why she could not write her letters in the library. Lord Hollings would be far too great a distraction—and a temptation, if she were honest. It was rather awful to be in love with him and realize she could not have him.

When she reached her room, she peeked into the sitting room she shared with her mother. She was sitting in a chair facing the empty fireplace, a book held limply in her hands.

“Mama, there you are. Why are you sitting here all alone?”

Harriet lifted her head as if startled. “Oh, my, I dozed off,” she said, sounding slightly muddled. “I’m so tired lately.”

Maggie gave her mother a worried look, then kissed the top of her head. “I’m going to be writing letters in the library,” she said. “There’s a lovely old desk in there. Very majestic. I shall pretend I am a duchess.” Her mother smiled, then furrowed her brow a bit.

“What are we going to do?” she asked, sounding so pathetic, Maggie’s heart wrenched. She wasn’t certain which was worse, her mother when she was unhinged or pitiable. Neither was tenable.

“Don’t worry, Mama, I shall rescue us,” Maggie said grandly. “I shall be the toast of the season. A feisty, daring American that none of these stodgy old Englishmen can resist.”

“I feel as though I’m as bad as Elizabeth’s mother for asking you to do this. Worse, perhaps. But I have thought and thought and, other than both of us going into servitude, I cannot think of another escape.”

“Please don’t, Mama,” Maggie said. “It is time for me to marry. I know that. I have, I think, the same romantic soul as you. I hoped to marry for love, but if that is not the case, I shall marry a man who can take care of all of us. I do hope I find someone to love like you did.”

Harriet let out a bitter laugh. “Yes, you can see where that got me.”

Maggie smiled, glad to hear her mother sounding a bit more herself. These past few months had been one trial after another. It was almost as if she were slowly watching her mother fall apart, little pieces left behind with every bad thing that happened. She feared if her mother ever discovered how she bargained away her virginity with Charles Barnes, it would completely destroy her.

“I’ll let you rest, Mama. I’ll see you at dinner. I hear the Lady Matilda’s children are putting on a little play tonight. They are so charming, are they not?”

“If you say so,” Harriet muttered.

“It’s a wonder you kept the boys and me,” she said, smiling. “I’m going to be writing to them both. I shall send them a hello from you.”

Maggie gathered her writing materials with far more enthusiasm than she should have, telling herself it was perfectly acceptable to look forward to spending time with an old friend. An old friend she had kissed. Last summer in Newport seemed so long ago. Likely her memory had distorted every wonderful thing that had happened because life had become so difficult since. Elizabeth had been miserable, dreading her upcoming marriage to the duke, but Maggie had had the most thrilling summer of her life because that was the summer she’d fallen in love with Lord Hollings. What a wonderful, terrible time that had been, for she’d never thought she’d allow such a disastrous thing to happen. At least, it had been disastrous for her. Lord Hollings had gone home, without saying good-bye, without a note, with nothing but memories that were made all the more painful knowing that all that time, she’d meant nothing more to him than a pleasant distraction. She tried not to dwell on everything about that summer, particularly that kiss. It had only been once and thankfully she had pretended it meant nothing. “I am afraid if you continue on in this amorous way, you will be in danger of falling in love with me,” she’d said, pretending that kiss had been part of their game to keep any possible suitors away. “I do not wish to be a party to breaking your heart when you leave for England. I must ask, then, for the sake of us both, for you to never kiss me again.” And he hadn’t.