He looked as if he had no idea how to respond.
Warming to the topic of her personal expertise on his nature, Maggie added, “You have escorted more than one Cyprian to the opera and to the ballet, though it seems you have not had an association with more than one at the same time. Since you are not married, I do not hold such behavior against you, especially as you had none of these ladies at your home, to the best of my knowledge. What’s more, you kissed me under the stairs, thus I do not think you a prude. So why can’t we speak freely?”
His mouth was open again. In a second, he snapped it closed. Then he ran a hand over his eyes. When he looked at her once more, he seemed almost surprised to see her still sitting there. Or maybe he wished her to have disappeared.
“For one thing, Miss Blackwood, we are not alone.” He kept his gaze firmly on hers, yet she knew he meant her maid, whom she’d practically forgotten and who was seated in the far corner next to a tall potted palm.
Perhaps Maggie was too trusting, but she’d never had one of their staff betray a family confidence, at least not that she knew.
“Bess,” she called to her maid. Silence.
Turning in her seat and looking over the back of the sofa, Maggie tried again. “Bess.”
The woman stirred, yawned, stretched, and then at last turned toward her mistress. Her cheeks flushed bright red, truly shocked to see two people staring at her from across the room.
“Bess, would you like to go to the kitchen and tell Lord Cambrey’s cook you need a cup of tea. Oh, and if they have any sponge, you must have a slice. I will call you when I’m ready to leave. I won’t be long.”
Standing slowly, looking from her mistress to the earl, she was evidently unsure if she should leave Maggie alone.
“Go on now, tea and sponge or a biscuit,” Maggie ordered. “Whatever Lord Cambrey’s cook has for sweets. It will perk you right up.”
“Yes, miss.” Backing toward the door while keeping her eyes on Maggie and Lord Cambrey, she finally turned and fled.
“I don’t believe she heard anything we were discussing. Don’t you think it would be the height of boredom to spend your days eavesdropping? I imagine Bess has her own thoughts to keep her occupied.”
“Frankly, I think you are naïve as all get-out. You were extremely fortunate your maid had nodded off. If that is your method for keeping things private, remind me never to tell you a secret.”
Maggie laughed. They were becoming friends again. She was certain.
“Where were we? Oh, yes, I was telling you how I felt badly you came upon me and Lord—”
“Yes, I know whom you were with.” He leaned back and crossed his arms again.
“And I believe you now have the wrong impression of me, which pains me.”
“Really? I suppose you are going to shower me with a heartfelt apology as you did for cutting me at the dance. Except, as I recall, you didn’t really apologize for that, either.”
She felt her ire growing.
“I believe I did offer you an apology in measure with the offense you believe I committed, namely neglecting to look at my dance card.”
“Oh, I see,” he drew out the end of the word. “A tempered apology, moderated and diluted until it is only what you deem I deserve for the small portion of the insult toward me.”
Sighing, Maggie was finding this harder than she’d anticipated.
“I thought we were past that supposed but unintentional offense. In any case, I am not going to apologize for kissing Lord Burnley. In fact, I wanted to tell you it was a good thing I did. Though in truth, I did not kiss him. Well, not any more than I kissed you. In point of fact, he kissed me.”
John looked pained. Such was the only word for his expression.
“You are happy he did so?” he asked, his voice sounding odd.
“Immensely.” Finally, they were getting somewhere, she thought. Now she could tell him of her great discovery, Lord Burnley’s kiss was nothing compared to his.
“And you felt the need to tell me.”
“Well, yes, of course, because—”
A soft rap sounded at the door, and John looked relieved at the interruption. “Come in.” He invited quickly.
His butler, the same who had shown her in, entered the room.
“Lady Emily Chatley and Lady Jane Chatley to see you, my lord.”
The annoyance Maggie felt was equal to a bee sting as had happened to her twice as a child in their country home in Sheffield. She used to get too close to the beautiful flowers in her mother’s garden, competing with the bees for the most fragrant blooms until she learned her lesson. Jane Chatley obviously thought John Angsley to be quite the eligible bloom.
What a nuisance, right when they were coming to an understanding, too. What’s more, John seemed to be finished with their discussion. He stood quickly and glanced at his pocket watch.
“I hadn’t realized the time. Tell them to wait in the drawing room, Henry.”
“Yes, my lord.” And the butler backed out, closing the door behind him.
“While our conversation has been most enlightening, I have a previous engagement, and I don’t want to keep the Ladies Chatley waiting.”
No, of course not, not like he kept her waiting! Maggie was practically being thrown out.
“If you stay here a moment, Miss Blackwood, I’ll have the vigilant Bess returned to you before you depart. Please give your mother, Lady Lindsey, and Miss Eleanor my best regards.”
With a curt nod, he walked out, leaving the door open behind him. If she’d hoped for another kiss, she would be sorely disappointed, and she was. Not even a brush of his lips over her knuckles.
She sniffed. Was she losing her charm? She had neglected to give him her dazzling smile. Clearly, that had been a fatal mistake. What’s more, she wondered if she would ever get the chance.
The only bright spot—Jane Chatley was not meeting alone with him but had her dear mama playing chaperone. But what if it were an important discussion? What if it were about a very serious matter indeed?
Oh dear!
Chapter Six
Cam tried to focus on the Chatleys. Truly, he tried. After such a bizarre encounter with Margaret, though, all he could do was ruminate upon what she’d said.
How impossibly strange for her to come to his home and tell him directly and in person she’d enjoyed kissing Burnley.
Why on earth would she think that a good idea?
For the upcoming match, the Cambrey family, along with the Chatleys, would host at Lord’s Cricket Ground in St. John’s Wood. Jane and her mother had a hundred ideas regarding the outdoor banquet before the match, designed to raise money for orphans. He ought to be entirely focused on the important occasion. However, Cam could only hope he’d made all the right responses and nodded at the correct moments, and he was relieved when the ladies rose to leave.
If only Simon were back so they could have a serious talk, man to man. Cam didn’t feel close enough to anyone else in London to discuss the infernal woman who seemed to still be filling his head with her strange words. Moreover, Simon knew Margaret through his marriage. If anyone could tell him whether the woman was insane or merely immature, he could.
He knew in his heart he ought to stop thinking about her altogether. If he truly wanted a wife, he could hardly do better than Jane Chatley, with her poised manner, her softly spoken words, and her attractive face. She was shapely in a classic way, and she never puzzled him or caused him to want to throttle her. In a word, she was perfect for him. He could already envision their Christmas parties at his family’s home, Turvey House in Bedford, where she would make their guests feel warm and welcome. Never uncomfortable.
Cam knew if he married Jane, at no time would he wonder if she were going to kiss another man. Also, they would have exceedingly well-behaved children.
He would never have to see those wickedly glistening, gold-tinged eyes or her breathtakingly dazzling smile again. Not ever.
It would
be heaven.
So why did it seem like a lifetime of deadly dullness?
*
Fine! Perfect! Brilliant! Lord Westing had left his calling card while Maggie was out having a perfectly terrible time at John Angsley’s townhouse.
Good! She would send Lord Westing, whom she would start to think of as his given name, Christopher, a return missive. She would allow him to call on her. She would invite him to go driving. She might even ask him to damn well kiss her, to carry on her experiment. In which case, she would hope for better results than with Lord Burnley, for she wanted to have that same exciting sensation as she’d had with John.
With a man who didn’t seem set against her, and surely not one who was falling for the incomparable Jane Chatley.
Over the course of the next few weeks of the Season, Christopher kept her busy, though they didn’t form an exclusive attachment. In fact, the closer they became as friends, the less she could picture him as her husband. Lord Burnley was still writing his name on her dance card as well as Lord Fowler, and other gentlemen. Oddly, the subject of kissing did not come up with any of them, nor did the situation arise. Maggie had to face it, she was in a blue huff and didn’t feel like kissing anyone.
The other blight on her enjoyment was being forced to see John with Lady Chatley upon more than one occasion. When Maggie did encounter him alone, he did nothing more than politely nod as if they were the most distant of acquaintances. She usually stuck her tongue out at the back of his head if she thought herself unobserved.
It was most tiresome for he filled her thoughts in quiet moments and distracted her when she was otherwise occupied. She seemed to conjure John Angsley at events, nearly always with Jane, until Maggie supposed he must have a formal agreement with her—or was close to having one.
One afternoon, Christopher was dropping her home when he offered her an invitation to something a little different than their usual events.
“Will you accompany me to a sporting event? It’s a cricket match with a banquet beforehand. There will be others whom I believe you know, including Baron Ellis’s daughter. It will be a jolly group.”
“Cricket?” Maggie repeated. Immediately, she recalled a time she’d sat next to John Angsley before the Season started. “Yes, I do enjoy cricket.”
*
And then her Season was interrupted again, as it had been the year before. This time, though, in a happy way by the return of her sister’s husband, “Lord Despair” as Maggie had called him along with most of the cruel-tongued ton.
However, Simon Devere, Lord Lindsey, seemed despondent no longer. What’s more, her sister was once more glowing with happiness and with the babe blossoming inside her. Now, the heir could become public knowledge.
Maggie knew John had come by more than once to sit in the parlor with his best friend and talk. She’d stayed clear, not wishing to end up as the topic of the gentlemen’s discussion, should John be reminded of her existence.
And then one morning, quite by accident, she nearly plowed into him as she entered the dining room.
“Oh.” Maggie stopped in her tracks at seeing the earl in her path. It was the first time they’d been in such close proximity in weeks. Merely from his gaze locking with hers, appearing more green than brown due to his colorful cravat, she felt her cheeks warm.
Beyond him were her older sister and her husband.
“Miss Margaret,” John said, offering her a shallow bow.
“Lord Cambrey,” she returned with a deeper curtsey. “Have you just arrived? Are you joining us for breakfast?”
She nearly bit her tongue off. He was plainly at the door and about to leave. Why had she invited him like that, sounding far too desirous of his company?
It didn’t matter, for his answer was as expected.
“No, my lady, I was on my way out.”
My lady! Was he so used to addressing Lady Jane Chatley he forgot Maggie had no such title?
“Very well,” she bit out, keeping her back straight and striding past him to the sideboard to help herself to her morning meal. If John didn’t wish to even sit at the table with her, she could dismiss him as easily.
“I’ll see you out,” she heard her brother-in-law offer.
Keeping her back to the proceedings, she picked up a warm plate and took her time selecting a pastry and some eggs.
“Good day, Lady Lindsey,” John said to Jenny.
Maggie placed a sausage smack on top of the eggs.
“And to you, Miss Margaret.”
She didn’t turn at his voice. She cared not a fig for his good wishes. Yet, she had to be civil or her sister would know something was bothering her. Then Jenny would never leave her alone until she’d worried it out of her.
“Good day to you, Lord Cambrey.” Maggie stabbed at a piece of ham and piled it on as well.
And then he was gone, along with her appetite.
She wanted to forget how he looked, strikingly handsome even when he wasn’t smiling at her, and with eyes that made her catch her breath.
Jenny stared at her for a moment.
“I would have expected you to invite Lord Cambrey to eat with us and not take no for an answer.”
Maggie took a seat across from her sister, amazed at how much food she’d put on her plate. The deuce take John Angsley! Her heartbeat had returned to normal, and with him gone, she could relax, being neither observed nor judged. Most positively, she didn’t want to be compared to the incomparable Jane, who most likely never ate before noon, and then, most likely, nothing but clear broth.
“What has happened?” Jenny asked, pouring herself a cup of tea from the pot on the table.
“About what?” Maggie asked, attempting to sound oblivious.
“With you and Lord Cambrey, of course.”
Maggie paused before responding, cutting the end of the thick sausage, spearing it with her fork, and holding it to her mouth.
“I have no idea to what you’re referring. What about me and Lord Cambrey?”
Then she put the food in her mouth and gazed back at her sister while she chewed.
Jenny frowned. “I thought … that is, don’t you enjoy his company?”
Maggie shrugged, reached for a piece of toast from the center silver holder, tapped off the crumbs, and buttered it. Then she considered her choices: gooseberry or strawberry jam? Deciding on the gooseberry, she lifted the silver lid from the glass pot and dipped her knife in before spreading a generous layer onto her toast.
“He is nice enough, I suppose. Though, he is certainly no Lord Westing.”
There, that should put an end to her big sister’s prying.
“I see.”
Now, to push it home with a dash of reasonableness with which her pragmatic sister could not possibly argue.
“There is nothing to see, really, Jenn. I am meeting many gentlemen I like this Season. There is no reason to set my cap for any single one of them now.”
Jenny laughed.
“Now what is it?” Maggie asked.
“I just realized I was fretting over you sounding so practical, when you are saying exactly what I would wish you to say.”
Well done, Maggie thought. If only she truly felt that way. She would rather have the whole matter done and dusted, with her heart captured by one man who felt the same in return and was ready to offer for her hand.
If only. Instead, she feared the Season would drag on with her not feeling a particular tendre for any of the men who currently pursued her. And suddenly, the long weeks ahead didn’t seem entertaining at all.
Even less so when a couple weeks later, Maggie walked into the drawing room to find Eleanor having a spirited discussion with Jenny over the latter’s imminent departure for Sheffield. Yes, her sister was in the family way, but this seemed far sooner than expected to lose her to the country.
“I can’t believe you’re leaving before the Season’s end.” Maggie tried to keep the dismay from her voice, but Jenny was their rudder. The notion
of having to be the responsible one for both her mother and Eleanor was slightly terrifying.
True, it had been two months since Simon’s return, and he’d dutifully escorted all of them to many events, and yes, her sister deserved to have the remainder of her lying-in happen exactly how and where she wanted. In fact, Jenny hadn’t really wanted to come to London in the first place, even before she’d known she was with child.
“I want to take long walks, and I can’t do so here,” Jenny explained, sounding patient but determined. Evidently, she would not be swayed.
“Most women only want to lie abed,” Eleanor complained. “You can do that here in London.”
How on earth did Eleanor know anything about what women wanted when with child? Maggie wondered.
“Or perhaps they are given no choice.” Jenny crossed her arms. “Besides, what difference does it make if I’m locked away here in this house or back at Belton?”
Maggie was convinced her expression was as downtrodden as Eleanor’s. In truth, though, Jenny had started to stay home with Eleanor more and more, sometimes not staying awake to hear her mother and sister’s excited reports of a ball or a dinner party.
Reaching out, she touched Jenny’s arm.
“It does make a difference. We love you, and your presence is always welcome, even if you are back here at home waiting to hear the details of what’s happening with Lady Pomley or Lord Twiggins.”
Maggie could feel tears crowding her eyes, but this was the time to consider her sister’s well-being above all else.
“However, I completely understand I’m being selfish. You should do what’s best for you at this time. If you feel the need for country air and walks in the field, then those are what you should have.”
“Thank you.” Jenny sounded so relieved at having Maggie’s support, she felt positively saint-like.
Eleanor sighed. “I suppose we must get used to being without you, in any case. When we get back to Sheffield, we’ll be in our home and you’ll be far away in your manor.”
They all laughed at Eleanor’s flare for drama, and Jenny put her arm around both of them.
Beastly Lords Collection Page 42