A Christmas Scandal

by Jane Goodger

  Maggie had been to any number of American balls, but this one seemed to hold an extra bit of excitement, a thrum of anticipation. Perhaps it was simply the Christmas trappings that lent the evening such an air of expectancy. The ballroom was decorated throughout with boughs of greenery. In one corner stood the largest, most elaborately decorated Christmas tree Maggie had ever seen. It towered over the guests and was festooned with lighted candles, little presents wrapped in golden paper and bright red ribbon, and sprigs of holly. It was all beautiful and Christmassy, but no decorations could keep her mind off Lord Hollings. Maggie pretended to be admiring the decorations when in fact she was snatching glimpses of Lord Hollings. She’d look around and let her eyes rest, torturously, on him for just a few seductive seconds, before forcing herself to look away.

  And when he looked up at her and scowled she pretended it didn’t matter. “Your brother looks displeased,” she said to Amelia, who’d been spending every ounce of energy looking around the room for her cowboy.

  “My brother always looks displeased,” she said absently.

  “And he’s coming this way with another gentleman. Do you know him?”

  Amelia squinted her eyes at the man making his way around the ballroom with her brother. “I believe it’s Lord Havershaw. Single. Boring. Poor.”

  Oh, dear, boring and poor. Lord Havershaw had been dismissed before he’d even arrived.

  “He was at my coming-out ball. I suppose he’s nice enough.” Amelia shrugged and continued her search around the room, her frustration growing. Clearly any man not wearing spurs and a cowboy hat was far too boring for Lady Amelia.

  “Is your dance card full?” Maggie whispered.

  “No, but he’s not coming here for me. He’s coming here for you,” Amelia said. “He hasn’t taken his eyes off you all evening.”

  “Miss Pierce.”

  God, even his voice could make her insides swirl. Maggie turned to find herself looking into his eyes, those blue eyes that so many girls apparently swooned over. “Yes, Lord Hollings?”

  “May I introduce to you Lord Havershaw? Lord Havershaw, Miss Pierce.”

  Maggie gave a small curtsy then extended her hand, which Lord Havershaw took and held briefly. He was a good-looking enough fellow, rather nondescript, the kind of man you’d meet in the evening and need to be reintroduced to the next day. He had brown hair, parted in the middle, brown eyes, and a mustache, trimmed thin over his upper lip. That mustache was the only distinguishing thing about him. Maggie decided she like clean-shaven men, even if it wasn’t the style of the day.

  “How are you enjoying London so far, Miss Pierce?” he said, in a strange rushing way, as if he’d run a mile to ask her that question. Maggie darted a look to Lord Hollings and saw him looking at his friend with slight bemusement.

  “I haven’t seen enough of London to really form an opinion, but what I’ve seen so far is very lovely. I’ve been staying at Bellewood and I’ve only been in London this one day, you see.”

  “You’ll need someone to take you sightseeing, then,” he said, pouncing on the opening like a hungry cat.

  “I’m afraid I’m bringing Miss Pierce and my sister back to Bellewood tomorrow,” Lord Hollings said.

  Both women turned to Lord Hollings in surprise. It was the first time they’d heard such a thing. Maggie would have been perfectly happy to go back to Bellewood, but Amelia actually stomped her foot in dismay.

  “Tomorrow! Why, we’ve only just arrived in London. Surely we can stay longer than that,” Amelia pleaded. “I wanted to see the Wild West Show. I promised Miss Pierce we’d go.”

  She’d done no such thing, but Maggie didn’t say a word because she knew how much Amelia wanted to see the silly show.

  “Sorry to cause such an uproar,” Lord Havershaw said with a nervous smile. “No need, no need. I’ll just content myself with a dance. Miss Pierce. If you would do me the honor?”

  Maggie looked down at her dance card, nearly full thanks to Sir William’s introductions but for a handful of dances—a quadrille, a galop, and a waltz. “I do so adore dancing the galop,” she said of the lively dance.

  Lord Havershaw looked instantly worried and began emitting an odd humming sound. It took a few moments before Maggie realized that the sound was coming from the gentleman in front of her.

  “I think perhaps a quadrille?” he asked hopefully.

  “Lord Havershaw has two left feet, you see, Miss Pierce,” Lord Hollings said. “Pencil me in for the galop and a waltz. One near the end of the evening.”

  Maggie flashed him a look of irritation. He hadn’t asked to dance, as the other gentleman had, but simply demanded it.

  “A quadrille it is, Lord Havershaw,” Maggie said, smiling sweetly at the gentleman, who’d begun humming even louder. How very odd.

  “And my dances, Miss Pierce?” Lord Hollings smiled at her expectantly, as if completely unaware that she was slightly miffed with him.

  “The galop is next,” Maggie said, with some dismay.

  “Excellent,” Lord Hollings said, holding up his arm for her to take.

  He immediately began leading her toward the dance floor, forcing her to call back to poor Lord Havershaw that she’d been happy to meet him and looked forward to their dance.

  “That was quite rude, you know,” she said as they took up their positions and waited for the orchestra to begin.

  “I thought if you stayed standing near him for much longer the man would explode.”

  Despite herself, Maggie giggled. “It was him humming, wasn’t it?”

  “A nervous habit. One that was extremely annoying, not to mention sometimes dangerous, when we were in school together.”

  The music started and they stepped simultaneously to the lively tune.

  “Dangerous?”

  “We were schoolmates at a place called There-ford’s. It was very strict and the punishment for even the slightest infraction was quite severe. Poor Havershaw would begin that god-awful humming every time one of the schoolmasters walked by. We must have been nine or ten.”

  “How terrible,” Maggie said, though she was trying not to laugh.

  “No matter how many times we tried to get him to stop, he simply could not. The more nervous he was, the louder the humming. One time a few of the boys, myself included, snuck into the kitchen after dark. They hardly fed us, you see, which was quite shocking considering how much our parents were forced to pay for the privilege of sending us there. One of the boys knocked down a pot and it made a terrifying noise. We all hid beneath this large wooden table in the center of the room.”

  “You poor things.”

  “Yes, well, Havershaw was with us.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “And he was quite, quite nervous.”

  Maggie began to giggle.

  “One of the boys, it might even have been me,” he said disingenuously, “suggested giving him a pop to knock him out.”

  “You didn’t,” she said, beginning to get a bit breathless, for the galop was quite a vigorous dance.

  “No. Though later we wished we had. His humming led the headmaster directly to our hiding place. We went two days with nothing more than gray porridge and water. And we got whippings, too.”

  Lord Hollings was smiling, as if the memory was a fond one.

  “It sounds like an absolutely horrid school.”

  “It was. But I’ll tell you what, Maggie mine, in all my years I’ve never had closer friends. We still call each other friend today.”

  Maggie nearly stumbled when he called her “Maggie mine.” Clearly, he was so comfortable, he was unaware that he’d called her anything but Miss Pierce. He had never done so before, and to have it slip out so casually was odd, indeed.

  “Did you ever go away to school?” he asked, and it wasn’t simply to make conversation. It was clear he was interested in her answer. That’s when Maggie felt it, the way she’d felt it all those months ago in Newport, that tug, that pull, that strange sen
sation of falling toward him even though she knew she wasn’t. He was doing it to her again, making her feel comfortable in his arms the way she’d never thought she would again. She could simply melt into his arms and stay there forever, and she would have if she’d truly thought he would be there to catch her.

  “My father would have none of it,” Maggie said, smiling at the memory of her dear father. He’d been so adamantly opposed to her going away. “He could not bring himself to send me away to school even though I begged him to. At the time I was quite angry with him, but now I realize it was only because he has such a soft spot in his heart for me.” Suddenly, her throat closed and she found she couldn’t speak. She stared at his cravat, willing herself not to cry.

  The music had stopped, they’d stopped dancing, and she hadn’t even been aware of it. “Maggie.” She felt a gentle finger beneath her chin as he lifted her face. “Are you all right?”

  She smiled shakily at him. “It’s only that I miss my father.”

  “You’ll be home before you know it,” he said, and that nearly was her undoing, because she was quite certain she wasn’t going home, not for a very long time. He dropped his hand suddenly, making her acutely aware of where they were.

  “Excuse me. Miss Pierce? Lord Hollings? I believe this next dance belongs to me.”

  Maggie turned to find Sir William staring daggers at Lord Hollings.

  “So it is, sir,” Maggie said brightly. “I do so love the polka.”

  “It is our waltz,” Sir William said curtly.

  Flustered, Maggie curtsied to Lording Hollings, thanking him for the dance.

  “My pleasure, Miss Pierce,” his said, then walked away.

  Maggie immediately went into Sir William’s arms, smiling brightly, pretending with all her skill that she didn’t want to run after Lord Hollings.

  “That was such a tender moment I interrupted,” Sir William said, sounding quite unlike himself.

  “Lord Hollings stepped on my toe. It was quite excruciating and he was awfully sorry. It was rather a surprise, really, because Lord Hollings is usually such an accomplished dancer,” she said.

  Sir William tightened the grip on her hands. It didn’t hurt but she could tell he was angry. “I am not one of your stupid young men who can be so easily misled, Miss Pierce.”

  Maggie instantly lost her false smile and stared over Sir William’s shoulder mutely, trying not to cry. It was a rule for young men and young women to look pleasant when they danced with a partner no matter how unpleasant one felt. But Maggie truly could not bring herself to smile, not when she was thinking of her father, not when she could still feel Lord Hollings’s touch.

  Sir William led her from the dance floor, giving up the pretense of a happy couple, a hand firm on her upper arm, almost like a father would lead a naughty child.

  “You must tell me what is going on between you and Lord Hollings. I thought from the beginning that there was some sort of undercurrent between you two. More fool I, I thought it was because you disliked each other, but I now have the feeling that it is quite the opposite.”

  Maggie clenched her jaw, giving him a mulish expression. “I have never behaved in a way that would make you think such a thing,” she said, knowing she was being purposefully vague.

  “Perhaps it is the way Lord Hollings behaves around you. I am sorry if I am mistaken about your own feelings.” He didn’t sound at all sorry, he sounded angry.

  “If you must know, Sir William, Lord Hollings mentioned my father, which is an extremely painful subject to me. I planned to tell you in a more private setting, but as I can see you are angry, I will have to tell you now and hope it does not taint your view of me.” She took a bracing breath. “My father is in prison and will be for five years. He embezzled thousands from his friends. Lord Hollings does not know this, very few people here do. My mother is ashamed, of course, and wants it to remain a secret, or at least not something we mention in casual conversation. I do not like pretending to be happy when I am not, and when Lord Hollings mentioned my father I fear I was unable at that moment to pretend to be happy. In order to explain my tears, I told Lord Hollings simply that I missed my father, and Lord Hollings, trying to cheer me up, told me I would see him soon, which could not be further from the truth. My father is deeply humiliated by this experience and has not yet allowed us to visit. I was quite overwhelmed and Lord Hollings, being apparently more sensitive to my emotions than others,” she said pointedly, “was only trying to comfort me like a gentleman. He asked only if something was wrong.” It was mostly the truth. She’d only left out the part where she was completely and utterly in love with Lord Hollings.

  If Maggie thought she would shame Sir William with her overly dramatic description, she was wrong.

  “He touched you.”

  Maggie lifted her chin. “We were dancing.”

  “He touched your face. He looked at you as if…”

  “As if what?”

  “As if he wanted to kiss you.”

  Those words hurt far more than Sir William could know. “You are mistaken,” she said, looking straight into his eyes.

  Sir William let out a sigh. “I am sorry for your father,” he said, his voice softening. “If you are worried that it has somehow lessened you in my eyes, you are wrong.” He looked around the vast ballroom and let out a soft chuckle. “I am very fond of you, Miss Pierce. You must know that.”

  Maggie tensed, dreading that he would ask her to marry him at this moment. Not now, she pleaded silently. Please not now.

  “I suppose I must get used to men staring at you. It will not be easy. You are very beautiful.” Those words were the closest he’d come to a declaration. I suppose I must get used to men staring at you. It was as if he’d marked her as his.

  “Thank you.”

  “You are still angry with me.”

  Maggie couldn’t help but smile. “Only a little. It is very difficult for me to remain angry with anyone. It really is a curse.”

  “A wonderful curse,” Sir William said, obviously relieved that she was no longer speaking to him in a monotone.

  Just then, the ballroom changed, conversations grew silent and then the dancers, noting the change, stopped dancing, and finally, the orchestra members lowered their instruments. Maggie let out a giggle, quickly stifling it. For standing at the entrance to the ballroom was the most ridiculous-looking man she’d ever seen.

  Carson Kitteridge had arrived.

  Chapter 13

  “Oh, my goodness, he’s even more beautiful in person,” gushed Lady Amelia as she clutched her brother’s arm, not seeing the look of complete disbelief in his eyes.

  Carson Kitteridge stood at the entrance of the ballroom dressed in white from head to toe, except for the large silver embellishments on his hat, fringed shirt, pants, and spurred boots. He swept the hat off his head revealing long, wavy hair that was tied loosely in back with a white and silver string. At his throat, he wore a strange little tie and a large silver medallion that seemed to hold the tie in place. He looked more dazzling than the star at the top of the Christmas tree. As his eyes swept the crowd, each woman sighed in turn as his gaze touched upon them.

  “Oh, good God,” Lord Hollings muttered.

  “Isn’t he the grandest man you’ve ever seen?” Amelia asked.

  “He certainly is…different,” Edward said. He knew only what he’d read in the Times, that Carson Kitteridge was supposedly a hero of the great Indian wars, rode with General Custer, and was generally considered an American hero. He owned a large ranch in Texas, was a member of the famous Texas Rangers, and was in England as a sort of ambassador for the great American wilderness. In between, of course, putting on two shows a day, which Edward had heard had little resemblance to the famous Buffalo Bill Cody Wild West Show that had all of England so enthralled six years ago. That show, which Edward had actually attended, was quite spectacular, featuring real Indians and real cowboys. Queen Victoria had even attended during the Golde
n Jubilee. This show, however, was considered far more pedestrian and less exciting than the original. Still, Carson Kitteridge was managing to engage London’s female population.

  He was a large man, standing above most of the men in the room, something, Edward noted, he seemed to enjoy. He wore a pointed beard and a large mustache that curled upward, no doubt helped by wax. Edward had to admit he was a fine specimen, though for the life of him he couldn’t understand why any woman would find him more attractive than, say, him.

  He looked about the room and found her, Maggie, and was immensely relieved when he saw her hiding a smile behind her hand. As if knowing he stared, she looked at him and her smile broadened as she rolled her eyes—just slightly—to let him know just how absurd she thought the man was. God, he loved her.

  Carson Kitteridge, looking like a king walking among his adoring subjects, entered the room flashing a smile that fairly made the gaslights and Christmas decorations seem dim. The orchestra resumed playing and ladies with their gentlemen began dancing while pretending not to look for the famous Carson Kitteridge.

  Edward chanced another look at Maggie and found her still standing next to Sir William, watching as the American cowboy started to mingle. Holding her in his arms tonight had been sheer torture. And he still had a waltz to live through before the grand Christmas feast. He simply could not keep his eyes off her and wondered why he should even continue to try. As he watched, she said something into Sir William’s ear, something only the older man could hear, and the man smiled. She’d made him smile. Damn him to hell, but even that made him insane with jealousy. Loud laughter filled the room. Apparently Mr. Kitteridge had said something impossibly witty. Maggie looked across at him and crossed her eyes.

  At that moment Edward vowed the evening would not end before he kissed her.