A Christmas Scandal

by Jane Goodger

  The next Duke of Bellingham, Henry Randall Blackmore, was born twelve agonizing hours after the duchess’s water broke, a lusty big baby who cried angrily to be pushed from his warm, watery world. As soon as Rand heard that cry, he was out of the library and up the stairs, taking two at a time.

  Thank God, Edward thought. He didn’t know if he could have taken another minute of his friend’s stark fear that something would happen to his beloved wife. Edward had to give him some credit; he’d only banged on the birthing door half a dozen times before Dr. Walton threatened to tie him to a chair. Edward knew what he was going through, for there is nothing more agonizing than having someone you love in pain and being able to do nothing to help. If it had been him, he would have gone mad hearing his wife’s screams.

  By the sounds of it, the baby at least was healthy. He had only to wait for the news that the duchess came through the birth before he could leave. He settled down on a chair and halfheartedly grabbed up a book to catalog it for the duke’s library.

  “Lord Hollings.”

  He stilled for a moment at the sound of her voice, then continued writing as if he weren’t being torn apart by her mere presence in the same room.

  “I’ve come to say good-bye.”

  He looked up then, he couldn’t help himself. She looked so damned sad he had to stop himself from going to her. What kind of fool was he?

  “All right, then,” he said, his eyes drifting back to his work. If he ignored her, perhaps she’d go away. But she walked toward him instead.

  “I’m going back to America.”

  “I can’t see how that concerns me,” he said, staring blindly at the book’s binding.

  She knelt beside him, placing her hands on his knee, and he turned his head away, unable to bear the pain of her touch. “Please look at me,” she said softly. “Please.”

  Against his better judgment, he did look and wished he hadn’t. She looked pale and as tormented as he felt, which made no sense. She’d broken his heart, not the other way around.

  “I’m looking at you,” he said coldly. “What do you want?”

  “I’m going home, but I’m almost certainly coming back. I have to do something. And when I return…” Her throat closed as if she were fighting tears. He didn’t care. He did not care. She took a deep and shaking breath. “I don’t want you to hate me. Please don’t hate me.”

  He tried to remain cool, but failed, and so he had to look away so she wouldn’t see what was in his heart. She didn’t deserve his love. “I don’t hate you,” he said, though his heart screamed for him to drag her into his arms, to beg her to love him. Ah, God, why couldn’t she love him just a little?

  “I’ve brought you something.” She tried a smile, but failed miserably. “Here.”

  He couldn’t bring himself to take whatever it was, so she simply put it on the table next to him.

  “It’s an early Christmas present.”

  He could feel her standing next to him silently, staring at him, but he didn’t move to take the gift, he didn’t look at her again. And when she bent and pressed a kiss to his cheek, he thought he might die from the anguish of it.

  She straightened. “Well. Good-bye.”

  He could only nod, for he knew his throat was too tight to utter a word. It was only after he was certain she was gone that he buried his face in his hands and squeezed and squeezed, willing himself to forget her. After a long time, he looked over at the table and saw immediately that she had left him a book, tied in a bright red ribbon.

  It was a copy of All But Lost by G. A. Henty, the first book his father had ever given to him. He picked it up, moving his index finger along the book’s spine, wondering where she’d found such a fine copy. He smiled sadly down at it and held on to it, almost as a child holds on to a favorite toy. Suddenly he felt so damned tired. He meant only to rest his eyes, but he fell asleep, the book on his chest, giving him strange comfort.

  Chapter 18

  “You have to go find her,” Elizabeth said frantically. “You have to stop her. Oh, my God, what have I done?”

  “What the devil are you talking about?” Rand demanded.

  “Maggie. Maggie’s gone.”

  Rand’s color slowly returned to his face as he realized Elizabeth was simply upset about Miss Pierce’s departure. She had left before dawn. He’d chanced upon her as he was crossing from the kitchen to go back up and be with his wife. “Yes, I know. I saw her this morning. She said something about returning in a month’s time and asked if I wouldn’t mind having her mother as a guest in the meantime.”

  “And you let her go?” Elizabeth asked, clearly distraught.

  “Elizabeth. What is going on?”

  “She came in last night, to see the baby, to see me. And she was so calm. Far more calm than she’s been. She told me she was going home, home to take care of…” She darted a look around the room. “…something important and I fear she’s going to get into terrible trouble. It has to do with her father. I believe, oh, God, that she might do someone harm.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know Maggie’s father is in prison for embezzlement. I believe she blames someone for her father’s stiff sentence.” She couldn’t say more without completely breaking her friend’s trust.

  Rand furrowed his brow. “I can understand her being upset, but why return now? After all this time, why would she?” Rand asked calmly.

  “Because I told her to,” Elizabeth wailed. “I was trying to make her feel better and told her a certain someone should be murdered. I even told her I would supply the gun. I never believed she would take me seriously, but she came in last night. I was so tired, I didn’t truly take in what she was saying until this morning when I realized she was gone. You have to stop her.”

  “Miss Pierce seemed very calm to me. I cannot imagine her harming anyone.”

  “She’s under a lot of strain,” Elizabeth said. “Oh, Rand, that poor girl has endured so much. I fear she might snap. I fear that I am the catalyst.”

  “If it will make you feel better, I’ll send one of the footmen to search for her. She can’t have gone far. And at this time of year it will be near impossible to find a ship. But I can hardly force her to return if she doesn’t want to.”

  Elizabeth worried the sheets. She was still so exhausted from her ordeal. “Send Lord Hollings. He’ll make her come back.”

  “I hardly think Edward would so much as blink to help her. He’s rather devastated, you know.”

  “Not as devastated as Maggie.”

  Rand bristled. “I’d hardly say that rejecting a man’s proposal is acting devastated.”

  “Oh, Rand, Maggie loves Edward. With all her heart. That’s why she couldn’t marry him. It’s very complicated.”

  “She has a rather interesting way of showing her devotion,” he said dryly.

  “You don’t know what she’s gone through.”

  “Then, please, enlighten me.”

  Elizabeth swallowed miserably and shook her head. “If anything should happen to her I will always blame myself.”

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Rand said, sounding very imperious.

  Elizabeth laughed and held out her hand. “I do believe you think you could stop me. I love you, even when you are acting like a duke.”

  “That’s good to know. I’ll go tell a footman to try to find Miss Pierce and then I’m going to get my son and bring him to you.”

  “That would be very nice,” she said, suddenly completely exhausted. “Very nice, indeed.”

  He bent and kissed her forehead. “The only thing I want you to worry about is your son. We’ll find Miss Pierce and if we don’t, she’ll be fine. She seems to be a very levelheaded young woman.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Elizabeth said, slightly appeased. Most likely Maggie would be back by nightfall, feeling a bit guilty to have worried everyone.

  Amelia had pouted for perhaps twenty seconds when her brother to
ld her he was going home and she was going with him. She wanted to spend more time gazing at the baby, imagining what it would be like to have her own baby. With Carson, of course.

  Now that she was nearly home and close to the general chaos of her nieces and nephews, she had to admit that coming back to Meremont was a good idea. She didn’t realize how much she missed the smell of the sea until their carriage crested the hill overlooking the estate and the Irish Sea. She’d opened her window to let the cold blast of sea air buffet her face and breathed in deeply.

  “You’ll catch cold,” her brother muttered darkly. It seemed lately he muttered everything darkly and she wondered if he’d gotten into some sort of disagreement with the duke. That would explain their abrupt departure. Amelia had asked if anything was wrong and got a grunt for an answer.

  “Fresh air is good,” she said, making a great show of breathing in deeply. “It cleanses the lungs and brightens the skin. You could use more of it, Edward. You look like death.”

  As usual, at least as of lately, he ignored her. But Amelia was truly worried about him. It seemed that for a time at Bellingham he seemed more like himself. She’d actually sneezed in front of him and he didn’t lock her in her room. He’d done that more than once, fearing she was coming down with a sickness. Their poor doctor had been to their house numerous times when she was younger only to listen to Edward rail on and on that clearly his little sister was ill, for she had sneezed. Amelia gave him a bit of latitude, given what had happened to her parents and the fact that she’d been so very ill, but she was practically a grown woman now. A woman who would be setting up her own house, having her own children. And they’d be tall and robust and have wavy hair just like their father.

  Carson hadn’t asked her to marry him yet, but she knew he would. They’d been sneaking kisses for days now, and the last time she’d let him touch her in what could only be described as carnal places. Just the thought of his hands on her breasts made her feel wonderfully alive. She never would have allowed such liberties if she didn’t think a proposal was forthcoming.

  Carson was such a physical man. She shivered deliciously just thinking about the way they’d been sedately walking down a hall together and he’d dragged her into an alcove and kissed her silly until a maid walked by. He’d pressed his large body against her, letting her feel all of him, even that strangely foreign hard male part of him that she was just dying to see.

  All in good time. Carson just had to propose soon, he just had to. The company was leaving in January and he said he had to be back at the ranch to help his brother. Apparently his older brother was a bit of a simpleton and he didn’t like to be away from him for too long. Poor man couldn’t handle the large responsibility of running a ranch without help. She’d go with him to Texas, which seemed about as far away as could be. Imagine, America and being surrounded by cowboys and maybe even seeing an Indian. Texas was such a huge place. She hoped he lived near the sea, for she would miss the salty air.

  “When you were in America, did you see Texas?” Amelia asked her brother.

  “No.”

  “Because I might be going there soon, you know.”

  Edward just looked at her as if she were a child gushing about Santa Claus. He was clearly humoring her.

  “I think Carson is going to ask me to marry him.”

  “It’s Carson now. Not Mr. Kitteridge? Don’t you think that’s a bit informal?”

  Amelia crossed her arms and stared out the window, letting the cold air cool her anger. “Not at all, given that we are in love.”

  Edward made absolutely no attempt to stop from laughing. “Is that what he told you?”

  “Not in so many words,” she admitted, and watched amazed as Edward straightened in his seat as if stuck by a needle.

  “You are not to let him kiss you.”

  She blushed and hoped Edward would think her red cheeks were caused by the cold air. “Of course not,” she said, acting affronted and feeling guilty.

  “He’s not a gentleman, Amelia.” She began to protest and he stopped her. “He’s not had the benefit of a gentleman’s upbringing. I do not approve his courting you and certainly would not allow him to marry you.”

  “You are such a horrid man,” Amelia said, feeling her entire body heat with anger. “He is the first man I care about. How could you say such a thing about him? He’s far more the gentleman than you are, if you ask me.”

  “I did not.”

  “If he asks me to marry him, I am going to accept,” she said, glaring at her hateful big brother.

  “You will do nothing of the sort.”

  “We love each other,” she shouted, feeling angry tears in her eyes.

  “Love,” Edward spat.

  “Yes, love. You know, Edward, I feel sorry for you. You cannot imagine loving anyone enough to marry them, but I must tell you it can happen. Or perhaps you cannot find anyone who loves you enough. Now, that I can imagine. Who would want to marry such a domineering, controlling, hateful man as you?” She began sobbing in earnest now and slammed the window shut so no one outside their carriage could hear her.

  It was silent in the carriage for a long time before her brother let out a heavy sigh. “You cannot help who you fall in love with,” he said softly. “I know that. I simply want you to be careful. I don’t want you hurt and I don’t want you abandoned and carrying his child.”

  “I know. I’m sorry I said those awful things. You made me so angry.”

  “Yes. I know,” he said with amusement, handing a handkerchief over to her. “I had no idea you could be so venomous.”

  Amelia giggled. “I know you think I’m naive, Edward. But I would never let Carson do anything that needs a wedding to do. Never.” She blushed to be talking about such a thing with her brother. “If Carson does ask for my hand, what will you say?”

  Edward shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ll have to speak with him, of course, and then think about it. You are an earl’s sister, Amelia. We really know nothing about Mr. Kitteridge except what is in the newspapers.”

  “I know him,” Amelia said feelingly. “He’s coming to Meremont soon. I thought we could let him stay for Christmas.”

  “Doesn’t he have shows to do?”

  “They’ve had to reduce the number of shows,” she admitted. The Real Wild West Show was not drawing the crowds it had, and with the colder weather, few people were willing to huddle in a drafty tent. “In fact, today is the last show. They’ll be staying here for Christmas, then leaving after New Year’s Day. Would it be all right if he were a guest until then?”

  Edward gave his little sister a look of disbelief. “You’ve already invited him, haven’t you?”

  Amelia pulled in her lips and looked very much like a guilty child. “Perhaps.”

  “Or do you mean, ‘yes, I invited him.’”

  “I didn’t think it would be a problem. And we have so much room at Meremont. And Lady Matilda could act as chaperone. And he’s leaving in only two weeks. Edward, please.” She thought she’d die if her brother didn’t say yes. She hadn’t seen Carson for two days and it was purely awful. Imagine if she never saw him again? It was unthinkable.

  When Edward let out a heavy sigh, she knew she’d won and squealed with happiness. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said, launching herself at her brother and kissing his cheek.

  “All right, all right,” Edward said, much like a man who is pushing away an excited puppy. “But I’m not happy about it.”

  Amelia beamed at her brother, thinking he was the most wonderful man in the world.

  Other than Carson, of course.

  Chapter 19

  Five days into her journey home, Maggie knew that she was going to die. She felt rather foolish to have thought that anything that had happened to her was important now that she stared death in its face.

  She’d always loved the sea, the few times she’d been on it, and had a stomach of iron, unlike Elizabeth. She loved the salty spray, the
frigid air, even the movement of the ship. Captain Sullivan had been duly impressed and joked at dinner one night that if she’d been a man he would have made her his first mate, for the other four brave passengers who had dared a December crossing rarely made it from their bunks. In fact, the only way Maggie knew there were others on board was the sound of retching coming from the cabin next to hers. Maggie felt at the time she’d booked passage it had been divine intervention that got her on a ship in December. The White Star was a passenger ship that was refitted each winter to handle cargo, so it was comfortable and fast—and because it was December, fares were low. It would take just seven days or perhaps even fewer to reach New York.

  The first four days had been crystal blue with choppy seas and a brisk breeze. She was so glad to be heading home, still determined to murder—or at least hurt very badly—the man she blamed for all her troubles. But it was difficult to dwell on that when the sun beat down on your upturned face, when puffy white cotton clouds filled the horizon, when the heaving sea was so blue it was almost hard to imagine a sight more beautiful.

  Then those puffy white clouds seemed to build and build, as if God were piling them up to a monstrous size. They became a frightening, roiling mass that seemed about to swallow up the ship as it trudged through waves that became higher by the hour. Maggie wasn’t overly concerned, for no one else seemed to be worried about the weather they were clearly heading into. The crew, perhaps, moved a bit more quickly, seemed a tad more diligent about making certain everything was secure. At lunch on the fifth day, Captain Sullivan ate a hearty meal and joked about the other poor passengers, who were driven below sick with the increased waves. For the first time, Maggie’s stomach felt a bit queasy, but she managed to eat a good meal. By two o’clock, Maggie was beginning to feel more than a niggling of fear as she clung to the railing, sea spray wetting her hair and stinging her cheeks. The sky had become menacingly dark, the waves shaved off by a fierce wind that sent a salty spray over the ship.

  “I think you ought to ride this ’un out belowdecks, Miss Pierce,” Captain Sullivan said, coming up beside her. He was smiling, but Maggie saw something in his eyes that frightened her more than those dark clouds—she saw fear.