Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal (35 page)

Maggie got up, donned a cloak, bonnet, and gloves, stashed Bridget’s letter in her reticule, and headed off into the rain.

***

Ben stood on Lady Dandridge’s stoop, feeling frustration like a live thing roiling in his gut. It was early afternoon—the proper time to make a morning call—but he was at a point-non-plus.

No Lady Dandridge, no footmen, and the deaf fixture serving as her butler had no idea when her ladyship might return. Rather than head for his club, Ben sidled around the block until he came to the alley running back to the mews.

It was a private mews from the looks of it, serving only the houses in the immediate vicinity.

“We’ve none to hire today, guv,” one of the lads reported when Ben ducked into the stables. “Not that we ever have for hire. Her ladyship says it brings in the riffraff.”

The man was well under five feet tall, likely a former jockey and thus acquainted with the ability of ready cash to facilitate many a transaction.

“It’s Hazelton,” Ben said. “Earl of, but you’re to forget that.”

The gnome smiled, revealing a fine set of teeth. “Me memory ain’t what it used to be.”

Ben flipped him a sovereign. “Perhaps you can still recall where Lady Dandridge has gone off to?”

Bushy white eyebrows lowered. “I am right fond of ’er ladyship. She pays proper and dotes on the cattle. Why do you want to know?”

“I have no interest whatsoever in her ladyship’s whereabouts, and wish in fact The Almighty would keep her far from me and mine, but I need to speak with her footmen.”

The little man’s look brightened. “She dotes on them, too, and a pair of big buggers like ’em can look after theirselves, but they’ve gone off.”

“I beg your pardon?” A second sovereign was neatly caught.

“’Er ladyship took the traveling coach, which means she’s away on her annual trip to Bath. Wouldn’t think of going nowheres without the twins, though.”

“And when will they return?”

“No telling. ’Er ladyship do enjoy takin’ the waters.”

“Who would have her direction in Bath?”

It was a mistake to indicate how desperately Ben wanted to track the woman down, but the stable lad was an honest snitch.

“Keep yer coin, guv. She always stays at the same ’otel.” Ben got the particulars, including the roads Lady Dandridge would take, the inns she favored, and a description of her traveling coach. By the time he was ready to depart, the rain had started down in earnest, not a downpour, but a steady, cold drizzle that might not let up for hours.

Archer would kill him for taking the team clear to Bath, but the alternative was riding through this mess.

He’d do it—ride the whole damned way to Bath—if it was the only way to track down Maggie’s brothers and gain a clue into what in the ever-loving hell was troubling her.

***

As she slogged her way to Lady Dandridge’s town house, Maggie tried to think up a credible reason to be making a call in such rotten weather, much less a call on somebody even Her Grace would consider only an acquaintance.

Too late, Maggie realized she hadn’t brought along a maid or a footman, nothing to lend credence to the idea that she was out and about for any sane or social reason.

A cold, wet deluge sloshed up onto her cloak.

“Careful there, ma’am.” A passing stranger caught her elbow and hauled her back from the street. “Best watch your step.”

As a brewer’s wagon rumbled past, Maggie felt the dampness seeping up from her boots into her bones. The man who’d stopped her from marching right out in front of an enormous team tipped his hat and hurried off.

Gracious
God.
She looked around, getting her bearings, trying to slow the pounding of her heart. “Steady on,” she muttered. “Bridget is depending on you.”

And still, she got lost on familiar streets twice, until she was as sodden as the lanes she was wandering. By the time she arrived shivering at Lady Dandridge’s town house, she probably resembled a drowned rat, and her cloak, at least, smelled just as noisome.

She was thumping the knocker hard for the third time, ready to pound on the door with her fists, when she sensed a presence behind her.

“She’s not here, and neither are your brothers.” Benjamin’s voice, raised just enough to be heard over the passing traffic and the miserable rain.

She turned to find him standing right there on the stoop, bareheaded and barehanded. “They’re gone?”

He nodded. “To Bath for an indefinite stay.”

The last shred of warmth evaporated from Maggie’s insides, leaving behind only despair and desolation. An airless darkness denser than description threatened to engulf her.

“Maggie?”

Benjamin’s voice came from far away, and yet Maggie could see him clearly right in the center of her vision. Even dripping wet, he looked solid and warm, impervious to wind, rain, and weather.

“Maggie, please let me help you.”

She thought maybe he was taking off his greatcoat to wrap around her shoulders, but then she thought nothing—nothing at all.

“Sleeping Beauty awakens.”

Maggie blinked open her eyes to see two men peering down at her. “Benjamin?”

“Here.”

The other man, the handsome blond who’d called her Sleeping Beauty, moved off to let Ben perch at her hip.

“Where is here?”

“My town house, which is less than two blocks from Lady Dandridge’s establishment. Archer, fetch the tea.”

“I want to sit up.”

She thought he’d argue with her, but instead he helped her into a sitting position and rearranged the afghans draped over her body. By the time she was decently covered and comfortable, Archer was backing through the door with an enormous tray in his hands.

“This is your cousin?” She watched Archer as he fussed with the tea tray.

“Lady Maggie Windham, may I make known to you my cousin, Archer Portmaine, Viscount Blessings—of all things. Archer, Lady Maggie.”

“You stopped me from stepping out in front of that beer wagon.” She recognized eyes of a cerulean blue, and the lean, almost ascetic cast of his features. “Were you following me?”

“I was, ah…” Archer looked from Benjamin, whose expression was severe indeed, to Maggie. “I was merely out for a stroll.”

“He was following you, though without my permission. Tea, Maggie, or chocolate?”

“Chocolate, please. Why were you following me?”

Archer took a seat across from her in a cushioned chair while Benjamin remained at her side.

“Ben gave you his word not to set strangers to watching you, which suggested to me he’d taken leave of his senses. Since I care for him, and he cares for you, it seemed prudent to make a few decisions on my own. I’ll be having tea if you’re pouring, Cousin.”

Maggie watched as Benjamin fixed Archer a cup of tea, adding cream and sugar. There was an odd intimacy to one man serving another tea, but it reassured her that Benjamin and his cousin did indeed care for each other—that they would respect one another’s confidences.

She took a considering sip of her chocolate, feeling as if both men were politely giving her time to marshal her scattered wits. “I suppose I should be grateful you made those decisions, else I might be suffering more than just a chill and some light-headedness.”

A look passed between the two men, such as Maggie’s brothers might have shared when a naughty topic was to be discussed only after the ladies had left the room.

Or a delicate subject.

“You’re safe and sound now,” Archer declared with a bit too much cheer. “I daresay that’s all that matters, isn’t it, Ben?”

“No, Archer, that is not all that matters.”

“Well, don’t start interrogating the lady just yet. She hasn’t even finished her chocolate.”

“I like your cousin,” Maggie said. “But you won’t have to interrogate me.”

“I won’t?” Ben’s expression—truculent when he glared at Archer—was simply concerned when he gazed at Maggie. “I mean, I wouldn’t. I might gently inquire, but I wouldn’t—Archer, shut up.”

“Just drinking my tea.” He lifted his cup in a small salute.

“You will not have to interrogate me. I am out of options, and the situation is quite dire, to use another’s word.”

Ben took her cup of chocolate from her hand, and Maggie felt a lump lodging in her throat.

She was going to do this—to reveal secrets she’d kept for most of her life—and she was going to trust Benjamin Portmaine to take those secrets with him to his grave. She turned to bury her face against his shoulder and spoke quickly, before she could swallow back the words that had been choking her for her entire adult life.

“I have a sister—a full sister.”

***

Maggie’s hand in Ben’s was ice cold, and her complexion was so pale the freckles across her nose were clearly visible.

Ben was cataloguing other indicators of her situation when her words sunk in. “A
full
sister?” Across from them, Archer’s casual tea sipping had been exchanged for a watchful stillness.

“Her name is Bridget, and she’s just a few days shy of her fifteenth birthday.” Maggie closed her eyes as if some pang gripped her from the inside.

“Does His Grace know?” Archer winced at Ben’s question, but Maggie opened her eyes, her gaze holding a world of misery.

“I’m not sure. Cecily claims he doesn’t—not yet.”

“Cecily is your mother?”

She nodded then pressed her face to his shoulder. Archer passed Ben a handkerchief and quietly withdrew.

“She is my m-mother,” Maggie whispered, “and the devil incarnate.”

He had to bend close to hear her last words, but then she was clinging to him, great silent shudders wracking her, and all Ben could do was hold her and hold her and hold her.

While he stroked her hair and murmured useless platitudes, he had the sense Maggie Windham had been overdue for some crying, maybe years—maybe an entire lifetime—overdue.

Then, too, there was her situation to consider. “Your chocolate will get cold, my dear.”

“H-hang my chocolate.”

He cuddled her closer, pressing his cheek to her crown. “I take it you are concerned for this sister?”

“I am concerned. I’m worried sick.” Maggie let go a huge sigh and relaxed into his embrace. “I am furious and entirely out of patience with the whole situation. Cecily is dropping hints she means to launch Bridget as a courtesan and have her revenge on me, Their Graces, my family, and probably God Almighty.”

“And how long has this Cecily been plaguing you?” Against his side, Maggie went still then huffed out another sigh, which suggested Ben’s hunch had been accurate. “The truth, Maggie Windham.”

“Since my come out. She figured I’d have my own pin money then, and she was right.”

“She’s been pestering you for
money
?”

Maggie nodded and brushed her cheek against Ben’s chest. “Pots of it. Every year, without fail, and all along she led me to believe I was buying a proper education for my brothers, a decent finishing governess for my sister when the time comes, and above all, peace of mind for Their Graces and my other siblings. And now this.”

He did interrogate her then, asked her all manner of questions about Cecily, their dealings over the years, the letters Bridget sent, and any memories Maggie had of her mother from years ago.

And all the while, he held her and rubbed her back and let her pour out a tale of misery and exploitation that made his fingers itch to take out his dueling pistols.

“And you’re sure Their Graces know nothing of this?” he asked when he’d convinced her to eat something and the pot of chocolate was empty.

“I am not sure. I did not know how to approach my father and ask, oh, just in passing, just how many by-blows did he have lurking in the bushes besides me and Devlin? Or should I have asked Her Grace, since there’s a very great difference between tolerating a young cavalry officer’s premarital indiscretions and knowing, fifteen years later, he was still sporting about with loose women.”

She fell silent while Ben stroked her hair and considered what he knew of Percival Windham. The man was an arrogant, overbearing ass on his worst days, an able politician with a keen eye for strategic compromise most days, and every day—best, worst, and in between—he was a devoted husband and doting father.

And Maggie Windham was every inch His Grace’s daughter.

“Maggie love, you’re going to sleep on me.”

“I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“So you’ve said.” More than once, in fact. “I’m having the coach brought around, and then I’m taking you home. You will go directly to bed and not awaken until you are thoroughly rested. You will eat a proper breakfast—do you hear me?—and then you will not go haring about in a cold rain without my escort.”

She gave him an odd look, and then the corners of her mouth turned up in that dear, unexpected smile. “You sound exactly like His Grace.”