A Christmas Scandal

by Jane Goodger

“I saw Annie Oakley,” Amelia gushed from across the table. She was seated next to the knight, and Maggie wondered if Elizabeth had been trying to pair them up. “She was magnificent. Can you ride like her?”

  Maggie laughed, shaking her head. “I’m sorry if I gave the impression that I am a younger version of Annie Oakley. I can ride, but not astride. I think my mother would faint.”

  Amelia warmed to the discussion. “There’s an American Wild West show touring in London. I saw a flyer…”

  “I heard it’s not nearly as good as the original. With Wild Bill and all that. Not the sort of show that would bring out the queen, like the original one did,” the knight said.

  “I don’t care,” Amelia said, her eyes sparkling. “Real cowboys in England. Can you imagine?”

  “It’s been my experience that cowboys are rather rough sorts. Uneducated roustabouts who prey on pretty English girls,” teased Elizabeth.

  “Oh, but you should have seen the flyer. It had this cowboy, or was he supposed to be an outlaw? I don’t know but he was dressed all in black and looked very mysterious.”

  “And handsome?” Maggie asked, smiling at Amelia’s obvious crush on the unknown cowboy. “I hear the artists take certain license when depicting their stars. No doubt he’s fifty years old and with a paunch.”

  Next to her, Maggie thought she detected Sir William sit a bit straighter as if sucking in a paunch.

  “I would so love to see the show. I was so young when the Wild West show came, I hardly remember any of it. Can we go, Edward?”

  Lord Hollings looked around the table for some help, and seeing none, he said, “We shall see, right, then?”

  Amelia instantly put on a mulish expression. “I suppose I will have to plague you daily until you agree,” she said, sounding rather happy at the prospect of hounding her brother.

  “Perhaps you should relent now, Lord Hollings,” Elizabeth said, laughing.

  The final course was delivered, ending the conversation, leaving Maggie making idle chitchat with Sir William and Sir John. She didn’t mind in the least that Elizabeth had placed her near two eligible men, and she wondered if her friend would be surprised that she was enjoying Sir William’s company far more than the younger man. The fact that she could enjoy anyone’s company was a complete shock to her. She’d thought, well, she’d believed she was so damaged by what she’d done that she could never behave normally again. And yet here she was, enjoying a dinner, flirting and chatting with men as if she were the same girl she’d been six months ago.

  “Elizabeth,” she said, drawing her friend’s attention. “I want to thank you again for having me. You cannot know how much I needed this.”

  Elizabeth smiled warmly at her. “As much as I did, no doubt.” Elizabeth turned to Sir William, who was pretending not to listen. “Maggie and I have been friends forever and I found I could not survive any longer without her with me.”

  “She does seem rather special, actually,” Sir William said, clearing his throat.

  Maggie inexplicably felt a bit panicky hearing his words of praise, and she hoped he hadn’t misunderstood her bit of flirtation. Elizabeth used to warn her, though Maggie never once believed her, that men could become enamored very quickly with her. And tonight she felt as if she’d drunk too much champagne even though she’d not touched a single drop. She knew she was flirting, knew that perhaps she was making Sir William think she was interested in him, but did not care. Besides, Sir William was a very nice man who seemed inordinately gentle and completely harmless.

  Moments later, the duke rose, and everyone else followed suit. The men went off to have cigars and port and the women gathered in the main parlor, a breathtakingly lovely room with gilt trim and intricate moldings that gave the space a kind of fairy-tale beauty.

  Maggie found herself sitting by Amelia. “Are you enjoying your stay so far?” the younger girl asked, then blushed. “Except, of course, for this afternoon. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I do believe there was a part of me that believed we would never marry.”

  “Star-crossed lovers,” Amelia murmured, and Maggie found herself stifling a laugh.

  “It wasn’t as romantic as all that,” she said. “In fact, it wasn’t romantic at all. Arthur was a nice man, good-looking enough, I suppose. But I’d known him for years. We went to the same birthday parties as children. He was more like a brother to me, really. So perhaps it’s just as well.”

  “I can’t wait to fall in love,” Amelia gushed.

  “From the way you were describing that cowboy, I’d say you already have,” Maggie teased, then felt bad when Amelia flushed. “I once had a crush on my mother’s portrait artist. I was very young, much younger than you, just thirteen. I thought he was magnificent and he knew I thought him so. When I look back, he really was quite cruel, but then, perhaps he didn’t know how to handle a little girl’s crush.”

  “What happened?”

  “I proposed,” she said.

  Amelia let out a laugh. “You didn’t.”

  “I did. I was quite ardent, quite passionate, as you can imagine a thirteen-year-old being.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He laughed. I suppose it was rather amusing, but I’ll never forget that feeling of being made to feel foolish for having fallen in love.”

  Amelia scowled. “The cad,” she said fiercely.

  “And so you see, I have not had very much success with men. It’s been one rejection after another since then,” she said airily. She couldn’t help but think of Lord Hollings as being perhaps the most painful of those rejections.

  “My brother has had little success, either. I keep threatening him that I will not marry until he does, but I fear it is an idle threat and he knows it. He has absolutely no interest in marriage.”

  “Yes, I know,” Maggie said. “Did you know that the very first time I met your brother he announced to me he had no intention of marrying and had a particular aversion to American girls?”

  Amelia opened her mouth in horror. “He didn’t.”

  “He did.”

  “No wonder he’s still a bachelor,” Amelia said, rolling her eyes. “I do worry about him.”

  Something in her tone sparked Maggie’s curiosity. “Why is that?”

  Amelia let out a sigh. “He is so very responsible in every other way. When our parents died, he immediately bought a commission in the Light Guards, hired a governess for me, made certain I was educated at the best schools even though I know it was difficult financially for him to do so. At that time he was only a mister with no thought of titles or wealth. He was the son of a youngest son,” she said, shrugging. “He came to visit me whenever he could. When the other officers took their leave, they went off with their friends, but Edward always came home. Always.”

  “How did your parents die?”

  Amelia looked down to her lap. “I was twelve, Edward twenty-one and still in university. When he came home on holiday, he was ill. But he was young and strong and got better. My parents had spent that winter fighting one sickness after another. They weren’t frail by any means, but a bit worn down. And then we all got Edward’s sickness. I was abed for more than a week and my parents…well, they both died. It was quite the most awful time for us.” Amelia blinked quickly, obviously fighting tears. “I’ll never forget Edward. I was only twelve and so very sad. Unbearably so. But Edward was, well, he was never the same after that. He’s become a bit of a tyrant, to tell you the truth.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “For two years after that, he would not let me leave the house for fear that I would contract some horrid disease. He ordered my governess to contact the physician if I so much as sneezed. If he himself gets ill, he refuses to see anyone until he is completely better. He has no close friends but for the duke and that is only because His Grace will not allow him to abandon him.” Amelia looked about the room, then into her lap. “I probably shouldn’t have told you all that.”

  �
��Don’t worry. I have absolutely no one to gossip with here,” Maggie said lightly, trying to put her at ease.

  “Neither do I,” Amelia said, pouting. “I’ve become quite isolated. I’ve been begging for a season for two years now. I’m nineteen! I can hardly believe that he’s agreed to let me go. Hopefully, he’ll attend some of the events himself and find a wife.”

  “What about those two?” Maggie said, leaning forward and whispering while she gave a furtive look to the two women who’d been flirting all evening with Lord Hollings.

  Amelia wrinkled her nose. “All those two talk about is gowns, floral arrangements, and my brother.”

  “Oh?”

  “I do believe they both think they are vying for his hand, though nothing is further from the truth.”

  Maggie studied the two women, a pretty girl with bright blond hair and another with an unfortunate nose.

  “They’ve only met him one other time, and I’d wager my brother doesn’t remember either one of them.”

  “Has your brother ever fallen in love?” Maggie found herself holding her breath, as if it were possible that not only had Lord Hollings loved her but had actually told his little sister of his feelings.

  Amelia shook her head. “I thought once, but if he did nothing came of it. I’m probably wrong. I blamed his bad mood on a lost love. I am a bit of a romantic.”

  Maggie swallowed her disappointment. “So I guessed. The cowboy.”

  Amelia smiled, no longer embarrassed by her infatuation. “Have you seen that poster? I have never before seen such a magnificent man in my life. He’s so…so…” She let out a sigh. “American.”

  Maggie laughed. “I had no idea that was such a good thing.”

  “It’s fascinating. English men are so proper, so completely bound by society and its rules. I want a man who will be his own man.”

  “And ride a horse?”

  “Yes,” Amelia said with a firm nod.

  “I lived in America my entire life and never met a cowboy. I do believe there are more cowboys in England than in America,” Maggie teased.

  “Who knows?” Amelia said pertly. “Perhaps I’ll meet one here.” Then she scowled. “Lord knows my brother would never let me go to America and find one for myself. I might catch the sniffles.”

  Just then the men filed in, looking flushed from their port and smelling of expensive cigars. The two young women vying for Lord Hollings began whispering furiously to each other, probably fighting over who would get him down the aisle first. Nose apparently lost the argument, for she looked to be near tears when Pretty One smoothed out her dress and moved toward where Lord Hollings was talking with His Grace.

  “I truly dislike her,” Amelia said, glaring at the girl. “I’d bet my best dress that she said something horrid to Miss Sterling.”

  Maggie was about to go to the poor girl when her mother swooped down on her and tugged her to the side. The poor girl was obviously suffering a blistering attack for her lack of attracting Lord Hollings. She kept shaking her head, looking as if she wished she were any place in the world but this particular drawing room. Maggie knew that feeling well and again felt a tug of compassion for her.

  “Maggie, I wonder if I could have a word with you,” Elizabeth said, drawing her aside. “Amelia, could you please rescue your brother?”

  “My pleasure,” Amelia said, looking much like a soldier going into battle.

  “Is everything all right?” Maggie asked, seeing a pained look on Elizabeth’s face.

  “I’m not feeling very well. I really shouldn’t be in public at this stage anyway. I’m as big as a house. I think I shall lie down and I was wondering if you and your mother could handle the hostessing duties.”

  “Of course,” Maggie said. Elizabeth let out a sigh. “What is it?”

  “I haven’t told Rand yet. He’s going to overreact and call for the doctor. I’m sure it’s nothing. The baby’s not due until Christmas and it’s only mid-November.”

  Maggie sensed that Elizabeth was far more concerned than she was letting on. “Tell me what’s happening.”

  “I just feel strange. It’s difficult to explain, but it’s almost as if someone is tightening a corset inside me.”

  Maggie and Elizabeth moved to a more private corner of the room and Maggie waved her mother over. “Tell my mother.”

  Elizabeth repeated what she’d told Maggie, and Harriet smiled. “Completely normal. Believe me, Your Grace, you will know when labor is starting. It’s quite painful and very obvious.” She leaned in and whispered, “And can be quite messy.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Messy?”

  “I was confined, thank goodness, but my water broke in my bed, quite ruining the mattress. I stood up and Mr. Pierce thought I’d had an accident. I was soaked.”

  “Soaked? With what?”

  “My dear, hasn’t anyone told you what to expect?”

  To Maggie’s dismay, her friend’s eyes filled with tears. “There’s no one here but servants. And Rand certainly doesn’t know what to expect. The doctor, well, he’s talked a bit about what will happen when we first learned I was enceinte, but I was so overwhelmed I confess I hardly was paying attention.”

  “The baby is happily floating in water right now. When the time comes for the birth, the water breaks in some women. In others, it happens later. But either way, you will know when the baby is coming because it is quite painful.”

  Elizabeth swallowed. “How painful? I know it hurts, everyone knows that. I’ve seen colts born. Oh, God, is it like that?”

  Harriet chuckled softly. “Not quite, dear. And while it is painful, it’s not so bad. After all, every one in this room was born and most everyone has more than one sibling.”

  Suddenly, Elizabeth grasped her stomach. “Oh, there it is again.”

  “Is it pleasant or painful?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t describe it as pleasant. But, no, it doesn’t hurt.”

  “Then you’ve nothing to worry about.”

  “Go lie down,” Maggie said. “Mother and I will take care of hosting duties.”

  “Of course we will. That is what we are here for, to make this time easier for you. And, Your Grace, if you have any other questions, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

  Elizabeth grasped Harriet’s hand. “Thank you.”

  Maggie watched as Elizabeth went to the duke and whispered into his ear. The way he looked at her, God, if a man ever looked at her that way, she would know what pure love was.

  Edward saw her coming from the corner of his eye and resigned himself to the fact that he was about to engage in yet another tedious conversation with his dinner partner. Pittswell. Yes, he thought with a small bit of triumph, her name is Miss Pittswell. Or was that the other one, the one with the large nose? He rather liked her better, come to think of it, and he looked past the blonde to see if the other girl was following. Instead, he saw her. With him. Again.

  Sir William was a dratted good sort. Solid, dependable, rich enough, if the cut of his clothes said anything. He lived in this district, close to Bellewood, and raised horses, which explained why his friend Rand had taken such a liking to the man. It turned out that some of Sir William’s horses had been sired by the very horseflesh once gracing the ducal stables. He’d never seen Rand get so excited about something as when he showed him a stallion and mare that were descendants of his grandfather’s breeding.

  Unfortunately, the handsome Sir William was not one to bore you with the details of his horse rearing if he had any indication that his partner was not interested. He was a well-rounded, well-traveled man who’d spent years abroad with his sons, exploring nearly every continent. He was damned fascinating. Legends more interesting than he himself was. He fairly cringed when he thought about how he’d explained about his books to Maggie, how he’d gone on and on, sounding much like a stodgy old professor about how one could tell a real treasure from a worthless bit of pulp. Maggie had been too polite to tell him just how excee
dingly boring he was, but now thinking back, he was lucky she hadn’t drifted off to sleep.

  Sir William was old. That was one thing in Edward’s favor, if indeed he was vying for her hand. Edward was younger, richer, had a better title, and was probably slightly more charming when he wasn’t boring people to tears by talking about books. He knew, with a slightly sick feeling, that his title meant nothing to Maggie. She appeared completely uninterested in it, in him, if he was honest.

  “Lord Hollings, are you looking forward to tonight’s performance?” Miss Pittswell asked, as if it was the last thing on earth he would look forward to. He hoped it was Miss Pittswell, so he thought he’d just take the plunge and call her that.

  “As a matter of fact, Miss Pittswell, I am. I enjoy the children and they’ve been working very hard.”

  Miss Pittswell (he must have been right, for she hadn’t corrected him) pursed her lips a bit, as if recognizing her strategic error. “Indeed. I do remember putting on little shows when I was small. I’m quite certain they were horrid.”

  “I’m sure they were,” he said rather distractedly, and only realized what he said when she let out a small gasp.

  Edward laughed aloud. “I do apologize. I did not mean that as it came out.”

  Miss Pittswell laughed as well, but it came out as such a false sound that Edward found himself trying not to laugh again. It was so absurd, all this social dancing, this please like me, please dance with me, please marry me rot. He’d only been an earl for a little more than two years and already he was weary of it all. The thought of escorting his sister to a multitude of balls and soirees, to the operas, to plays, to Hyde Park, it was almost more than he could bear. No wonder some men married the first pretty thing that interested them; they simply wanted it all to end so they could pursue the women they really wanted. Edward was about to make some excuse to leave the room, that he needed a smoke, that he needed some air, that he needed to be anywhere but in the same room with eligible women, when his sister came to his rescue. It was such an obvious rescue that Edward couldn’t help but beam a smile at her.

  “Edward, I wonder if you could help with some of the scenery,” Amelia said. “Some of it’s quite heavy and I fear the children and I could hurt ourselves.”