A Christmas Scandal (3 page)

London, late October

“Mother, I am ready to go,” Maggie said, tugging on her kidskin gloves. Not two minutes before, an excited girl had knocked on their hotel door and gushed about a fine coach that was waiting for them. At least they would ride in style, she thought, frowning at the fray marks on the tips of the fingers, a sure sign she came from a family of former means. They had been expensive gloves and now they were simply old gloves, but, she supposed, they were better than no gloves at all.

“How long a drive is it?” Harriet asked, giving her hair one final inspection, then shrugging. The two women could have taken a train, for it would have brought them to Bellingham far faster, but were grateful the duke had sent his coach. In truth, their funds were so far depleted from hotels in New York and passage to England, they’d hardly been able to pay for a respectable hotel. As it was, they had only the fare to return home in their pockets. The two women had become exceedingly thrifty in the past weeks, counting their coins and carefully devising a budget.

They could not afford to bring a lady’s maid with them, so the two of them had muddled through the best they could in the past few weeks. Maggie, especially, had become quite proficient at her own grooming, but not so successful with her mother’s dandelion fluff hair. Her own springing black curls were quite forgiving and Maggie could gain a rather charming affect by pulling them back loosely in a single ribbon.

“It’s a two-to three-hour trip if we do not stop,” Maggie said pointedly, as her mother almost always found it necessary to stop.

“And they are expecting us.”

Watching her mother tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear gave Maggie a sudden jolt of tenderness for the woman who could drive her quite mad sometimes. She realized Harriet was nervous, more nervous than she herself was. No matter how many times her mother had told her she actually preferred traveling to England with her rather than going immediately to live with her sister in Savannah, Maggie still did not quite believe her.

“They are expecting us,” she said with an indulgent smile, and held up a missive she’d received just yesterday from Elizabeth gushing about how she couldn’t wait to see her friend.

“Oh, don’t look at me as if I’m daft,” her mother said with good humor.

Maggie came up behind her mother and helped her with her hat. “There,” she said, pushing it forward a bit. “You look quite dashing with it cocked this way.” The ostrich feather was looking a bit battered, but there was nothing to do for it. She kissed her mother’s cheek.

“It’s not the latest style,” Harriet said, eying herself critically.

“Oh, what do they know about style so far out in the country? And really, Mama, you know Elizabeth won’t care.”

Maggie beamed a smile at her mother hoping to ease her worry. She’d decided the day she received that invitation from the duke that this was the chance of a lifetime, a chance to begin a new life, a life that did not include a father in prison and one that certainly did not include all the horrible sordid things that she had done. She was Maggie Pierce, the indomitably happy, buoyantly joyful woman she always was. Fooling people was remarkably easy, including her own mother.

Maggie had not told Elizabeth of their woes in her letter accepting the duke’s invitation, though she had attempted several times. Somehow, writing it down made it all seem so sordid, and what her father had done to his friends was so absolutely unforgivable. Which, of course, it had been.

Her mother walked toward the door, then stopped and clutched her hands to her middle. “We had a maid, but she became violently ill before we departed and so refused to go aboard the ship.”

That was the story Harriet insisted on telling when the two women showed up without a personal maid.

“You know I do not feel comfortable lying to Elizabeth. They’ll have to know the truth eventually, Mama.”

“She refused to go aboard the ship,” she repeated, almost as if it were true.

“Fine. She refused to go aboard the ship. We had a boatload of servants who all refused to go with us. Does that make you happy, Mama?”

“Excessively so,” she said, smiling rather coyly for a woman in her forties.

“They are here,” Elizabeth said, hurrying as fast as her growing belly would allow to her husband’s study. “How do I look?” she asked, standing in front of the Duke of Bellingham and smiling.

“Like a cow,” Randall said dryly, standing immediately when she entered the room.

“Better a cow than a peacock,” Elizabeth said pertly, eying his jewel-toned vest with mock horror.

“You said you liked this.” He looked down at his rich-looking vest with doubt.

“And you,” Elizabeth said, edging around his desk and coming up to him to kiss his freshly shaved jaw, “told me I was beautiful just this morning.”

“You are and you know it,” he said, drawing her close. “I’ve noticed you getting a bit full of yourself lately. It’s decidedly unfashionable for a woman about to give birth to look so beautiful.”

Another kiss. “You just said I looked like a cow.”

“A lovely Hereford.”

She gave him a gentle smack on his shoulder as he continued to smile down at her.

“Excuse me, Your Graces,” Tisbury, their butler, said after clearing his throat. “Miss Pierce and Mrs. Pierce have arrived.”

Elizabeth clapped her hands, completely overjoyed at the prospect of having her greatest friend with her. How she had missed Maggie. No one knew her better, was a greater champion—except, perhaps, her new husband. Joy bubbled up her throat and came out as laughter. Maggie had always been the one to cheer her up, but she was undoubtedly more happy than she’d ever been and didn’t need her friend’s effervescent personality about now. Perhaps when she was in the throes of labor she would need Maggie’s incessant happy chatter.

“Where are Lord Hollings and Lady Matilda? And the children? They should be here,” Elizabeth said, dragging her smiling husband along. “Tisbury. Are Lord Hollings and Lady Matilda coming? And the children?”

Tisbury, one of the most efficient of men, was not affronted by the question. He simply nodded and said, “They are all in the grand hall, Your Grace.”

“The flowers. Did the maids check the flowers? They were looking a bit droopy and—”

Suddenly, Elizabeth found herself being kissed soundly. “Stop. Everything is perfect. And if it is not, I hardly think your Miss Pierce will notice. Your stomach will block out any view of the flowers.”

Elizabeth laughed, then scowled. “I don’t know why I laugh at you when you are perfectly horrid to me.” He bussed her cheek and looked down at her with such utter love, Elizabeth could not maintain her scowl for more than a few seconds. “It’s just that Maggie is not used to all this. I’m not used to all this yet. I still cannot believe this is where I shall live for the rest of my life.”

“She’ll be fine, Your Grace,” he said, tucking her arm against him.

“You’ll be fine, Mama,” Maggie whispered harshly to her mother, who hadn’t stopped her panicky monologue since the moment they’d peeked out of the carriage window and seen their first glimpse of Bellewood.

“We’re pretenders,” Harriet whispered in her ear as they walked up the shallow steps that led to the grand entrance of the enormous palace. Elizabeth’s descriptions had not done the place justice. It was far grander than any private home Maggie had ever seen. One could hardly call it a home at all. “We don’t belong here. We were always pretenders. How do you think your poor father ended up where he is today? Because we were trying to be something we are not. Oh, my goodness, I do believe I’m going to faint,” her mother said, waving a hand in front of her face.

“You are not going to faint,” Maggie said sternly, as if saying it in such a tone would prevent her mother from keeling over. Harriet’s face was quite flushed, Maggie had to acknowledge, but just now her mother’s chatter was more irritating than anything else. She knew, more than anyone, what being a pretender meant.

Before they reached the top step, Maggie looked up to see Elizabeth breaking away from her husband and rushing toward her, completely unmindful that she was a pregnant woman rushing headlong toward a set of hard marble stairs. The two friends embraced, and it was so strange to feel Elizabeth’s belly protruding. Elizabeth had always been so painfully thin, thanks to her mother’s strict diet and stricter control. Both woman were laughing and crying and clinging together as if it had been years and years they’d been apart instead of just a few long months.

“You look absolutely stunning,” Maggie gushed, meaning every syllable. Elizabeth, who had always been a beauty, had gained some much-needed weight. She had about her an air of exuberant health, the quintessential glow of pregnancy.

Elizabeth stepped back, wiped the tears from her eyes using a handkerchief instantly produced by her husband, and placed her hands upon her belly. “Randall says I am a cow.”

“A lovely Hereford, if I recall,” His Grace interjected.

Maggie watched the miracle of two people who’d hardly known each other on their wedding day look at each other with such unabashed love it was almost painful to witness. Especially painful for a woman who knew she would never know such love.

Just beyond the duke and duchess, a small commotion was growing, and it seemed as if a crowd was forming in Bellewood’s grand entrance. Maggie was vaguely aware of the sound of children, which didn’t quite make sense since there were no children at Bellewood, as well as a man and woman. Elizabeth was saying something to her, something about visitors and how she was certain she would be happy to have a familiar face here in England.

That’s when she saw him, her very own earl, and realized with heartbreaking surety that she loved him still.

It felt stunningly like being hit with a large and unexpected wave, slamming into her with such force Maggie literally stepped back from it. Lord Hollings was here. And he was standing next to a very pretty older woman with shockingly red hair. The two were surrounded by what appeared to be a brood of children.

“You remember Lord Hollings,” Elizabeth said, stepping aside so she might get a better view of him. “And this is Lady Matilda, Lord Hollings’ step-aunt. And four of her children, Mary, Janice, Robert, and Nathan.”

“Two others are all grown up and on their own,” Lady Matilda said with a musical laugh. “So glad to finally meet you.”

Maggie concentrated on her, on the woman with her hand extended, on her pretty navy blue dress, that looked so lovely with her dark blue eyes and red hair.
Don’t look at him, don’t.

“Miss Pierce.” He said her name and it sounded exactly as in her dreams, deep and slightly rough, a sound that made her chest ache.

Instead of immediately acknowledging Lord Hollings, Maggie grasped the woman’s hand. “So pleased to meet you, Lady Matilda,” she said, calling forth every ounce of social graces she possessed. She truly wanted to lift her skirts and run from the room, screaming like a banshee.

Why hadn’t Elizabeth warned her? Why? Then again, why should she? No one had known, especially not Lord Hollings, how desperately she had fallen in love. But perhaps he had known and that is why he’d managed to leave New York on the first available ship, a man escaping a desperate spinster.

Finally, she gathered the courage to turn to him. “Lord Hollings,” she said, proud that her acting skills were so intact. She gave him her warmest smile and grasped his hand briefly in greeting, glad she still wore her gloves and couldn’t feel the intimacy of his warm touch. “It’s so lovely to see you again.”

“Likewise,” he said.

Maggie turned immediately to Elizabeth, giving her a chastising look, but she could tell Lord Hollings stared at her or at least she imagined he did. “Elizabeth, you did not tell me you were living in a palace. Or should I call you Your Grace? Your Graces?” She let out a bit of laughter, feeling quite like she was about to lose the very tenuous grip she had on her emotions. She forged ahead.

“Your last letter to me had me believing you were living in a shambles, in a deteriorating old castle that was falling down upon your head. Mama, isn’t this the most beautiful home you’ve ever seen?”

Elizabeth laughed, then pulled her friend in for another embrace. “I’ve missed you so much, Maggie,” she said, tears making her eyes shine brightly. “You must bring Arthur here to live for I shall not let you go.”

At the mention of Arthur’s name, Maggie almost lost her smile. Of course, Elizabeth wouldn’t know about Arthur. She wouldn’t know about anything. She wouldn’t know they were destitute, that her father was in prison, that Arthur had jilted her, that she was completely ruined beyond redemption. That every time she smiled she felt as if something inside her was bending and would surely snap in two if she were forced to smile too much. She wouldn’t know anything.

“That’s a splendid idea. I do believe Maggie could convince Arthur of anything,” her mother said in a frenetically joyous way that left Maggie with no other choice but to lie or else make a fool of her mother. She wished her mother had given her some sort of warning that, in addition to pretending their maids had abandoned them, she would have to pretend she was still engaged.

“I shall write Arthur this very day and tell him to book passage,” Maggie said brightly, after giving her mother a telling look. “Do you think there’s room enough here for us both?” Her mother was so visibly relieved by her daughter’s fabrications, Maggie felt slightly less guilty for lying to her friend. She had plenty of time to tell the truth.

The small gathering laughed and Maggie was quite certain she had fooled them all, though she didn’t dare look at Lord Hollings. He’d always had an uncanny way of seeing right through her. When she finally gathered the courage to look his way, she realized how foolish she was being for thinking whatever she said even mattered to him. He was engaged in a conversation with one of the children and apparently not even paying attention to her.

“You must be exhausted,” Elizabeth said. “Your things should be in your rooms by now.” She turned to a plainly dressed woman standing sedately off to one side. “Mrs. Stevens, would you please have someone escort Miss Pierce and Mrs. Pierce to their rooms? Dinner is at eight, but we often meet in the library before if you’re up to it.”

“You sound much too much like your mother,” Maggie joked, then laughed at the look of pure horror on her friend’s face. Then the two women dissolved into laughter.

“You are just what my wife needed,” the duke said. “She thinks I’m entirely too stodgy. This house needs a bit more laughter.”

Maggie and her mother made their escape to their rooms, following behind a crisply dressed upstairs maid. Her mother chatted beside her, completely unaware that her daughter was on the edge of losing herself. Her entire body felt numb and she was shaking uncontrollably. Only by grasping her hands tightly together could she mask the trembling.

The maid led them to a three-room apartment that contained a small sitting room bookended by two of the loveliest bedrooms Maggie had ever seen. Hers was done up in butter yellow with pure white trimmings and deep red accents. Every bit of furniture, every carpet on the floor looked as if no one had ever used it before. It was likely true that no one had, she realized, recalling Elizabeth’s detailed letters about the home’s disrepairs. Walking across a blue sitting room, Maggie peeked into her mother’s room finding a similar color scheme, but this room was primarily deep red with white trim and yellow accents.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Maggie asked from the door.

“Oh, Maggie, I am so glad we’ve come,” her mother said, with a rather unexpected gleam in her eye. It did not take long before Maggie found out what that gleam was about. “When I first saw Lady Matilda I had the horrible feeling that he’d gotten quickly married since the last time we’d seen him. But it is clear Lord Hollings is still available and still very much interested in you, my dear.” Her mother was positively giddy.

Just last summer, her mother had had high hopes that Lord Hollings would propose to her. Maggie never did confide to anyone that the earl had been paying special attention to her only to dissuade other marriage-minded mamas from hounding him. At the time, Maggie welcomed a way to thwart the Wright brothers from a similar matrimonial pursuit. In all of her life she would remember that Newport summer as the happiest of times.

And what followed as the worst.

For Lord Hollings had left her without saying good-bye, without promises. Without hope. Now he was here, in what she’d thought would be a safe haven for her heart.

“Lord Hollings is not interested in me,” Maggie said, suddenly weary.

“Of course he is,” her mother said. “He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.”

“Your imagination.”

“Oh, no.” Her mother clasped her hands together, much as a child does before a tray full of sweets. “This is an opportunity we cannot let go.”

“Mother, please,” Maggie said, bringing her hands to her temples in a futile effort to stem her growing headache.

Harriet looked shocked, then repentant. “I’m sorry, dear. You know how badly I feel about Arthur. None of this would have happened had your father not gotten us into this situation and I feel partly responsible for that. I only want the best for you.”

“I know, Mama,” she said, softening her voice. “What’s best for me is to stay with you and Papa forever. I truly have no desire to marry.” Maggie looked out the window and watched a crew of gardeners as they worked to cut the overgrown hedges of the garden below into something that resembled a straight line. “I have a confession to make,” she said. “I never truly wanted to marry Arthur. I never loved him. I never wanted to marry at all, but I knew how much you wanted me to, so…”

“But every woman wants to marry. I don’t understand.”

No. Her mother wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

“Would it be so horrible if I were to spend my life with you?”

Her mother looked at her with an almost blank expression, as if what she was telling her was so far beyond her experience it was as if she were speaking a foreign tongue. “Of course it would. Do you remember how very miserable Elizabeth was when her mother was pushing her toward the duke?”

“I’d hardly call forcing your daughter to marry someone she doesn’t love ‘pushing.’”

Harriet pursed her lips, obviously not liking what her daughter was saying. “But it all ended up well, did it not? I would never be quite so adamant. However, I’m certainly not foolish enough to ignore the fact that my daughter is in close proximity to a very eligible earl.” Maggie started to protest, but her mother would have none of it. “You must at least try.”

Maggie stood abruptly, her anger returning as quickly as her mother’s tears had doused it. “I thought we were going on with the ruse that I am still engaged,” Maggie said. “If that’s the case, I certainly cannot go out looking for a husband, can I?”

Her mother put a shaky hand to her temple. “I hadn’t thought of that. I only wanted to protect you from humiliation.”

Maggie didn’t bother to point out she didn’t feel humiliation as much as a bit of disappointment and a large dose of relief. “It’s of no consequence anyway. Why can’t you just let me be?”

“Why are you being so cross with me? Honestly, Maggie, you are talking in circles. First you are angry with me that I am lying about Arthur, and then you are angry for pushing you toward the earl. I don’t know what I should say anymore.”

Maggie’s nostrils flared. “I told you I do not want to marry. I cannot marry, Mama.”

“But the earl is here and I know he is interested. A mother knows these things. We can say Arthur has begged off. It’s not unheard of. I do wish I’d thought of that before I mentioned him. But it’s of no matter. And then you’ll be free to marry the—”

“Mama,
stop.
I cannot marry anyone, most especially not the earl.” God, if he knew what she’d done, he’d never forgive her.

Her mother stood, her face red with sudden anger. “I will not have a daughter as a spinster. And so that means you must marry. And you must find a husband now. Here. It is providence that we are here. You cannot throw this opportunity away as you threw away Arthur.”

Maggie gasped. These uncharacteristic outbursts from her mother were getting more frequent of late. “What?”

Her mother pressed her fingers against her temples. “This is all too much. Too much. I don’t understand you. You are a girl from a good family. A beautiful girl that any man would be proud to call a wife.”

“No, Mama.”

“How can you say that? Your father’s taint will not reach you here.”

“Please leave it be,” Maggie begged.

“Make me understand. I don’t understand.”

“Oh, Mama,
please.
Why won’t you listen to me when I tell you I cannot,
cannot
marry?” she said, beseeching her to stop or understand, she wasn’t sure which.

She watched as her mother’s expression changed subtlety, the slow dawning, the horror and disbelief. “It cannot be true,” she said, staring at her daughter. When Maggie looked away, so ashamed she couldn’t bear to look at her mother, Harriet let out a sound of distress. “Oh, no, Maggie. With Arthur? You let him touch you?”

Tears flooded Maggie’s eyes. She was so sick of lying, so sick of it. But she told one more lie, one more because she knew her mother could never bear the truth. “Yes, Mama.”

“And still he broke it off?”

“It was because of Papa,” she said, telling the truth for the first time.

“When?” her mother asked, her eyes drifting to her stomach.

“Many weeks ago. And I…I am fine.” It was the one thing she’d been grateful for, that he hadn’t planted his foul seed in her.

Her mother’s face turned a mottled red. Harriet was not a woman who got angry, who showed strong emotion of any sort. Indeed, Maggie hardly recognized her. “You have disgraced yourself,” she said. “And this will be rectified. We shall return to New York immediately and force him to marry you. He should do the right thing. You are a girl from a good family and it is unconscionable that he used you, then refused to marry you. He will marry you.”

“I don’t want to marry him. I don’t love him.”

“Do you think that matters at this point?” her mother asked. “Oh, dear, did he force you?”

“No. It was all me.” Again, the truth.

“I’m writing a letter today,” she said, rushing to a small desk. She began pulling out pieces of their precious stationery. “This minute, to demand he marry you. Do you have any idea what you have done? Do you? How could you let us leave New York without telling me this? How, Maggie?” Her mother sat down heavily in the desk chair as if her legs could no longer hold her. She stared blindly for a moment before pressing her face into her hands to begin a soft keening cry that tore at Maggie’s heart. When she dropped her hands, Maggie found herself looking into the eyes of a woman completely defeated. “It’s too late,” she said. “This cannot be rectified. I cannot think of anything worse. We must go on pretending you are engaged, of course. Unless…”

“Unless what, Mama?” Maggie said, too weary to even care what her mother was thinking.

“Unless we don’t say a word. Once you are well married, it will be too late for any objections. The earl—” She began warming up to her plan of deceit.

“No, Mama. Absolutely not,” Maggie said, even though she’d been thinking the very same thing when she’d thought Arthur would propose. At the time it had been so lovely to pretend none of it had ever happened, but she would never perpetuate such a lie to someone she loved. “I hate lying, but I don’t want to encourage anyone’s suit and most particularly not the earl, even if he should do such a farfetched thing. I have accepted what I have done and you should, too.”

Her mother’s face crumpled in grief. “You are ruined. What shall we do with you now? Oh, how could you do this thing? After your upbringing, after all the sacrifices we made to make you a better life, to make you attractive to men like Arthur. And to throw it all away. I just don’t understand you,” she said. “My God, Maggie, what shall we do?”