A Christmas Scandal

by Jane Goodger

  Just now was the most genuine of smiles as she looked at her dearest friend, bed-bound, surrounded by more pillows and blankets than an entire family should need. Her husband was rather frantic that his wife be as comfortable as possible, especially since the young Dr. Walton had suggested that, given her size and since it was her first pregnancy, the duchess might be—might be, he’d stressed—carrying twins. Elizabeth had said the doctor had been half joking about it only because her belly was so large, but the duke had taken it as near fact.

  That was the day the duke tried to assert his absolute authority over his wife and demand that she remain abed until the baby or babies were born. It rather deflated the duke’s bluster, and served only to increase his concern, when Elizabeth readily agreed.

  And so it was upon Elizabeth that Maggie shone her most wonderful smile.

  “Twins. You always had to be better than anyone else,” Maggie said in mock anger.

  “One is frightening enough. I cannot imagine two. I’ve never even held a baby, can you believe it? Rand is impossible. I wish Dr. Walton had never mentioned such a possibility. Before he was nervous. Now he is an absolute wreck. He has vowed to never touch me again.”

  Maggie sat down on the huge bed next to her friend. With the doctor ordering bed rest, Elizabeth was put in a separate room from her husband. It was a pretty room and Elizabeth’s bed was set so that she could gaze out the window and look out to the garden below. Dr. Walton felt that as she could go into labor at any moment, she should be put into the birthing room, the general idea being that the birth and the mess associated with it should not be part of the marriage bed. The doctor’s words were still bouncing off the walls when the duke called the servants to ready the special room. If the doctor had told him Elizabeth should eat toad tongues three times a day until the birth, no doubt he’d be force-feeding her toad tongues.

  “So,” Elizabeth said, her hands resting on her large abdomen. “What is all this I hear about Sir William?”

  Maggie knew her friend was curious, but she wished she hadn’t brought the subject up quite so quickly. She’d hoped to enjoy her visit a bit longer before addressing her most pressing problem. “I have no idea what you’ve been hearing,” Maggie said evasively. “Do you feel as if you’ve got two babies in there?”

  “No, I don’t. I’ve heard that Sir William is showing interest. Perhaps more than interest.”

  “I’m curious who would be gossiping about me. Most unbecoming. Perhaps you’re carrying three. I have heard of such a thing.”

  Elizabeth continued their strangely disjointed conversation. “I have one large baby. And my husband has been relegated to telling me all the goings-on of the household since I am stuck here. It is my understanding that Sir William is besotted.”

  “With whom?”

  “Maggie!”

  “Don’t ‘Maggie’ me.”

  “What are you thinking? I know you do not love him.”

  Anger surged, unexpectedly. “You don’t know anything of the sort.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Do you?”

  Maggie looked down, feeling her cheeks flush. “No. I don’t.” Then she gave her friend a fierce look. “Did you love the duke when you met him?”

  “You know I didn’t. But the situation was entirely different,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “My mother forced me to marry him. You can choose who you want. I’m not saying that Sir William isn’t a fine man, but…”

  “But?”

  “He is very old, Maggie.”

  Maggie let out a sigh. “I know.” She fiddled with the blanket, wondering how much she should tell her friend. “My situation is actually far more dire than yours was. I have to marry to save my family. My mother. Oh, Elizabeth, I’m so worried about my mother. I fear she is coming unhinged. Everything that has happened has affected her far more than I would have imagined. The only thing that seems to calm her is the idea that I will marry.”

  “I had no idea,” Elizabeth said.

  “She is obsessed with the idea. And because Sir William has shown such interest, she has sunk her teeth into him—”

  “Like a rabid dog.”

  “—and I fear she won’t let go until he proposes. Which I believe he will.”

  “And you’ll say yes?”

  Maggie looked helplessly at her friend. “I don’t know what else to do. He’s not an awful man. Quite the contrary. I actually quite like him. It’s just that…”

  “He doesn’t make your head spin.”

  “My head?”

  “When he kisses you. He doesn’t make your head spin.”

  Only one man’s kiss has ever done that. “He hasn’t kissed me yet. Goodness, Elizabeth.”

  “Rand kissed me, rather soundly as I recall, at the Astor’s Summer Ball,” Elizabeth confessed. “He was angry because I’d been meeting with Henry beneath the beech tree and I do believe that kiss was meant to punish me. I’ve never told him this, but I quite enjoyed it. He made my head spin. So I slapped him.”

  Maggie let out gasp. “You didn’t.”

  “No, I didn’t,” she said on a sigh, then giggled. “I wanted to, though. I’ve never in my life come so close to doing physical harm to another person.”

  “Sir William has been the consummate gentleman. If it wasn’t for the way he looks at me, I’d think he simply enjoyed my company.”

  Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “How does he look at you?”

  “You know, like a man looks when he wants to kiss you. And don’t look like that. He’s really quite handsome.”

  “For an old man.”

  Maggie narrowed her eyes and pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t smile; she wanted Elizabeth to think she was at least a little angry. “He’s not so old and you know it. Fifty-one is not old.”

  “True enough,” Elizabeth said without conviction. “Do you want him to kiss you?”

  “No,” Maggie groaned. “But I do like him. Maybe when he does it won’t be so bad.”

  “Maybe,” Elizabeth said doubtfully. Then she gave her friend the biggest of smiles. “We’ll be neighbors! Oh, Maggie, if you marry Sir William we can be like sisters again. Our children will grow up together, we’ll grow old and sit in rocking chairs with our horrid shawls wrapped around us. Two American crones ruling English society.” She let out a rather cronelike cackle.

  Maggie couldn’t help but get caught up in the idea that if she did marry Sir William she could be near her friend forever. Everyone would be happy, her mother, her friend. Everyone but her. There were worse things than marrying someone you didn’t love. Far worse.

  “If he asks, I’m going to say yes,” she said, almost feeling something like happiness envelope her.

  Elizabeth suddenly looked worried. “I would never ask you to do something you didn’t want to do simply because I miss you so.”

  Maggie grabbed her hand. “I know that. It will be the best thing for everyone if he does propose. But I’m not going to get my hopes up too high. You know what happened the last time,” she joked.

  But Elizabeth did not smile. “Does he know about your father, about your situation?”

  “No, but I am going to tell him.” She just wasn’t certain exactly what or how much she was going to tell him, for she was a girl who had a lot to hide.

  Chapter 12

  Maggie tugged on her gown, worrying over the tight fit of the bodice. The poor seamstress could only let out so much material, it seemed, to Elizabeth’s old gowns. While Elizabeth and Maggie were the same height, Maggie had far more curves than Elizabeth, whose mother had fairly starved the poor girl to achieve her tiny waist. Maggie let her corset do most of the work, something that was decidedly uncomfortable but absolutely worth the pain.

  Everything about this evening was decidedly uncomfortable. She and her mother were staying in Lord Hollings’s London town house at the insistence of Amelia. For practical reasons, she knew it made sense to accept the invitation; they could not have aff
orded a hotel in London. But the place was his. He’d sat in nearly every chair in the sitting room. His hands had touched the gleaming mahogany banister, he had been in this very room, no doubt looked into the very mirror she was looking into.

  Maggie let out a sigh. Lord Hollings would be at the ball tonight and no doubt he’d ask her to dance, but she would be escorted by Sir William. In the past week, Sir William had become inordinately contemplative. She would find him staring at her and she knew he was thinking about what sort of wife she would make. No doubt, he’d get “that look” in his eyes when he saw her in this formfitting gown.

  Still, she thought, gazing into the full-length mirror, the gown was pretty and she wouldn’t change it. It was a deep burgundy, cut lower than she was used to, and revealing far more of her than she was entirely comfortable with. It was a wonderfully rich color in keeping with the holiday season. She bit her lip in indecision, whirling when she heard a gasp behind her.

  “You look stunning,” Amelia gushed.

  “It’s one of Elizabeth’s old gowns,” Maggie admitted. “I hardly fit into it.”

  “It makes you look so…so…”

  “Womanly?” Maggie suggested with a slightly sick look. “I’m not used to this.” She fluttered her hands to her exposed cleavage. “I don’t remember Elizabeth wearing this, but I certainly don’t recall her revealing quite so much flesh.”

  “You do have more flesh,” Amelia said, trying to suppress a smile. “I wish I had more flesh. Look at me. I look like I’m twelve.”

  Maggie laughed. Amelia did not look anything like a twelve-year-old. The gown was a deep navy and her hair, like her brother’s, was a sun-kissed blond. Tonight it was upswept, lending Amelia, who usually did look quite young, an air of sophistication. “You look beautiful. You and your brother have nearly exactly the same color hair and eyes.”

  “The girls are always going on and on about my brother’s eyes, ‘Oooo, they’re so bluuue. Oooo, he’s so handsome.’ Honestly, he hates it all.”

  Maggie laughed. “How awful to be cursed so.”

  “He does hate this. I’d take pity on him if I was a grander person. As it is, I refuse to stay home simply because I know he loathes balls.”

  “I’ve never noticed that. Honestly, he never seemed uncomfortable at any of the balls we all attended in Newport. He seemed quite relaxed as a matter of fact.”

  Amelia looked shocked. “But surely all the American mamas were ready to sink their talons into him. No offense.”

  “None taken,” Maggie said, laughing. “Actually, we came up with the perfect solution. He pretended to court me and I pretended to be interested in him so the mamas stayed away from him and a certain group of brothers stayed away from me.”

  Amelia looked positively stunned. “That,” she said, “explains a great deal.”

  “Do you think I should wear my hair down like this? Or all up?” Maggie said, quickly changing the subject.

  At the moment, Maggie’s voluminous dark curls were pulled back, leaving a trail of spirals down her back. It was a lovely affect and even she knew it, but she didn’t want to talk about Lord Hollings or Newport any longer.

  “It looks pretty as it is,” Amelia said, squinting at her. “But I think you need a simple tiara. Nothing too gaudy, don’t worry. I have just the thing from my come-out ball.” As she rushed from the room she said, “That was nearly a year ago, so you can see why I am so excited about this night.”

  Maggie knew why Amelia was so excited and it had little to do with her lack of social outings. It had everything to do with a silly poster from what looked to be a rather seedy-looking Wild West show. It seemed the English were far more fascinated with the American cowboy than were Americans. They arrived at Hanover Square yesterday morning and Maggie accompanied Amelia on a last-minute shopping expedition. Quite suspiciously they’d ended up near the entrance of the show. Maggie hadn’t even noticed it until she heard Amelia say, “Oh, my.”

  Maggie looked up and saw a large poster depicting an impossibly handsome and rugged cowboy. His teeth were straight and white, his hair rather long and wavy, and he sported the fullest mustache Maggie had ever seen. He certainly was a sight. Oh my, indeed. Amelia sighed just gazing up at this example of American male.

  “Isn’t he the most handsome man you’ve ever seen?”

  The artist had even put a twinkle in his gray-blue eyes, a twinkle that no doubt had all the English ladies swooning at the sight of him and begging their husbands, fathers, and brothers to take them to the Real Wild West Show. The brightly colored poster announced the Real Wild West Show would be departing the isle “Forever” in January.

  “He is handsome,” Maggie said as she scrutinized the large poster. “He actually looks a bit like your brother. Put that hair and a mustache on Lord Hollings and he’d be the image of Kit Carson.”

  “Carson Kitteridge.”

  Maggie had laughed. “I know. I’m kidding. Kit Carson is a real American frontiersman.”

  “Mr. Kitteridge is real.” Maggie didn’t have the heart to set Amelia straight.

  “Here it is,” Amelia said, interrupting Maggie’s thoughts. She was holding a lovely, delicate-looking tiara, and Maggie smiled. “It’s just the thing, isn’t it? Sit down and I’ll put it in.” After a few moments of scalp-scraping and hair tugging, Amelia proclaimed her finished. She stood behind her as they both gazed into the mirror. Maggie had to admit she’d never looked prettier. She wasn’t used to looking so beautiful, and she credited Elizabeth’s gorgeous gown for her transformation.

  “My goodness, Maggie, there isn’t a man in London who isn’t going to fall instantly in love with you.”

  “My God, who is she?”

  Edward stood with an old friend, Lord Havershaw, his body so tense he ached with it. “She’s an American girl staying with Bellingham for a few months. Miss Pierce.” Nothing in his voice betrayed the gamut of emotions he felt watching her, watching men want her.

  “Weren’t you staying with Bellingham? What do you know of her?”

  Edward tried not to let his irritation show, but it was a difficult task. Lord Havershaw wasn’t the only man gazing at Maggie with avarice. Hardly a man in the place could take his eyes off her, and if he did it was to look at his own sister. He didn’t know which was more grating. Both women seemed completely oblivious of the sensation they were making, but as a pair they were, Edward had to admit, delectable. Amelia, with her blond hair piled atop her head, looked entirely too old for Edward’s liking. He wondered where the scraggly little girl that he’d known all his life had disappeared to. The sooner he had her married off to some nice sort, the better because he was quite certain he would not be able to keep his fists unclenched if one more ne’er-do-well ogled his little sister. And next to her stood Maggie, those dark curls frothing around her head, her striking eyes seeming to take in everything at once. Except, of course, for the fact that every man from sixteen to eighty was drooling for her.

  “I know only that she is an American. She’s pleasant enough, I suppose.”

  “Not interested, Holly?”

  “She’s practically engaged,” Edward said, cursing the pain in his gut that erupted at those words.

  “But nothing formal?”

  Edward forced himself to say no, she wasn’t officially off the marriage mart.

  “That never stopped you before,” Havershaw said, laughing.

  “Miss Pierce is not the sort of woman to trifle with. She’s marriage-minded and I am not.” Edward had no idea why he was lying to this man. He was within moments of stalking across the ballroom floor and dragging her from this room and hiding her away forever so that no other man could look at her, never mind touch her. Of dragging her to the nearest church and demanding an instant marriage. All this taking the high road and bowing out to the better man was not going at all as he’d planned. He was ready to scrap the entire plan and begin courting her in earnest himself. And he would have if he’d gotten even t
he slightest indication from Maggie that she would be receptive to the idea.

  “Well, I wasn’t suggesting you bed the girl. I was simply wondering why you didn’t pursue her for yourself.” Havershaw sounded defensive, which meant Edward must have sounded testy, which meant he was allowing too much of what he felt to show.

  “As I said, I have no interest in getting married.”

  Havershaw laughed and slapped Edward on the back. “I have to tell you that up until that girl walked in, I didn’t have marriage on my mind, either.” It sounded so much like what Sir William had said, so much like what he himself felt, Edward nearly winced. “Would you mind making introductions?”

  Edward minded very much, but he said nothing. He had a feeling Havershaw would not be the last man that evening to express interest in an introduction. “She’s not an heiress, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “Actually, I hadn’t even given the matter any thought,” he said, as if amazed by his indifference. “Though you know I would adore an heiress. Things are a bit tight. But I’d live poor if I could wake up to her every morning.”

  Edward smiled tightly and resisted the nearly overwhelming desire to punch the man in the face. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll introduce you.”

  Maggie was completely oblivious to the stir she was creating. In fact, if someone had said something, she would have told them they were insane, that it was Amelia the men were staring at. She was aware only of one man and that was, to her great disgust, Lord Hollings. He was standing with another gentleman across the dance floor apparently talking about something interesting. What it was, she couldn’t imagine. Perhaps books.