A Christmas Scandal. Jane Goodger

her own mother, knew the demons that plagued Maggie, the nightmares that visited her far too frequently, the dreams she still held even though there was no chance, none at all, that her dreams could come true.

      “What on earth do you have to be afraid of?” Lady Matilda asked, coming onto the veranda.

      Maggie turned, smiling, until she saw Lord Hollings following behind in her wake.

      “Losing my freedom,” Elizabeth explained. “When the baby comes. I think you have inspired me to be a more attentive mother, Lady Matilda.”

      Lady Matilda put on a look of horror. “My dear girl, please, I beg you, do not use me as a model of motherhood. It was frugality more than anything else, at least when I was younger, that had me forgo more conventional methods of child-rearing. Horace and I tried governesses,” she said with a laugh. “And tried and tried. Governesses are miserable creatures, you know, poor things. I don’t think most of them even like children.”

      Maggie flushed, because she’d been thinking that being a governess was one of her few options. Miserable creatures. Yes, that was about it, she thought. If she ever left here, being a governess was one of the few respectable options left to her. And did she like children? She truly didn’t know. She’d never been around any, not for any extended time anyway. What if she didn’t like children? Would she become one of those bitter, onerous creatures that she’d seen sometimes in Central Park walking about with their charges? Those unfortunate women from fallen families who would look at the privileged few around them with jealousy and longing?

      “I had a wonderful governess,” Elizabeth said. “Though I must say, I would never say she was a jolly person,” she added thoughtfully.

      “I expect when you have no choices, it is difficult to be happy,” Maggie said softly.

      “I’m certain it is the option of last resort,” Elizabeth said, and Maggie forced a laugh.

      “Oh, there are far worse things for a woman than to be a governess,” she said, sounding, she suddenly realized, like a bitter, hardened woman.

      “That is true,” Lady Matilda said with a light laugh. “But certainly not for us, thank God.”

      For a moment, the roaring in Maggie’s ears blocked out all sound as memories assaulted her. Only the piercing pain of her nail on her wrist saved her. That small discomfort allowed her to join in on the light laughter, to laugh at the joke that no woman of her class could think of a worse condition than that of being a governess.

      “Miss Pierce.”

      Despite her resolve to remain unaffected by the earl, Maggie stiffened when he said her name. “Yes, Lord Hollings?”

      “I wonder if you would care to walk the grounds with me.”

      Edward watched as Maggie stiffened and he wondered why she suddenly was so uncomfortable around him. Perhaps it was that he was nearly a stranger to her, a man she’d danced with, had kissed once, and was now embarrassed to be confronted by such memories. Despite her rather cool reaction to him, some mad part of his brain was making him walk with her, forcing him to fertilize the humiliating seeds of hope he’d planted when he’d heard she was coming to England.

      “Of course,” she said, putting down her teacup with what he thought was reluctance. “Lady Matilda, would you care to join us? I would love to hear about your travels in France. I do hope that Mama and I can go to Paris before we go home and I would like your advice on where to go and what to see.”

      Edward watched with disbelief as Maggie deftly brought up the one subject Matilda could talk with joy about for hours.

      “If you don’t mind, Edward,” she said.

      “Of course not,” he said, even though he very much minded.

      And so he was relegated to trailing behind his step-aunt and the woman he was quite certain he still loved but who most certainly did not love him. He tried not to let his thoughts wander to her, but it was impossible not to take advantage of staring at her when she was so completely unaware that he did so. He let his eyes sweep down her back, from her curling black hair, to the tiny bit of skin that showed at her neckline above her shawl, to her waist, to her enticing backside. She was just as he remembered. Perhaps a bit paler without the summer sun to give her color. Her laugh was as musical as he remembered, the way she’d toss her curls from her forehead, the sure way she had of walking, long boyish strides that for some reason he found incredibly intoxicating.

      He stared at her as they chatted seemingly nonstop, Maggie barraging his aunt with question after question, oohing and aahing over the minutiae of the glories of Paris and the French countryside. His aunt had lived in Paris for five years, so she had a great many stories to tell, and Maggie was very adept at ferreting them out. Clearly, Maggie had not wanted to be alone with him and he wasn’t certain whether he was amused, angry, or hurt, the last of which was completely unacceptable.

      Just when he was about to excuse himself from what had become a tedious and frustrating experience, one of his aunt’s children, Mary, ran up to her mother. “Janice just got sick,” she said. “It was the most horrid thing, Mama. She ruined the duchess’s settee, I’m sure she did. It went everywhere and smells simply awful.”

      “Yes, Mary, you may spare me the details. All right, then.” Matilda looked up apologetically to Maggie. “I’m afraid I’ll have to cut my walk short, if you’ll excuse me.”

      “Of course,” Maggie said, smiling down at Mary, who was being particularly precocious at the moment filled with the gory details of her sister’s sickness. “I think I’ve gotten enough exercise in this morning at any rate.”

      Edward watched as Matilda hurried off with Mary, leaving Maggie behind looking a bit bewildered as it dawned on her that she had absolutely no reason to hurry back to the palace the way the other two had.

      “Your plans have been foiled,” he said dryly.

      Maggie looked at him with pique, not even trying to pretend she didn’t know what he was implying?

      “I thought it rather dangerous to be with you even under the watchful eye of Elizabeth. Now that we have lost our chaperone, I fear we must return. For your sake, that is,” she said pertly, but with a mischievous gleam. “I am certain I am much too great a temptation for you. Though you have tried to hide it, it is very clear to me that you are still overwhelmingly smitten with me. While tragic, you can hardly blame me for your sad condition.”

      The relief that swept over him was so ridiculously intense, Edward nearly forgot to smile. This was the woman he remembered, the witty, chatty, confidence-filled charmer he’d known in Newport. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something had seemed a bit off with her, like a cake missing its secret ingredient—still marvelous but just not right.

      “I believe I can manage to control myself,” he said dryly.

      “All right, then. You may accompany me back to the palace.” She stopped and stared at the massive home. “It is a palace, isn’t it?”

      “One of the grandest in England,” he stated. “Makes my home look like a country cottage.”

      “Oh, I hardly believe that,” she said. “You are an earl, after all. I imagine earls live in very nice houses.”

      “It is nice. Quite lovely, in fact. My uncle was a very astute businessman. He saw the agricultural depression coming years ago. It was very unfashionable of him, you see, to have business investments, to actually work for a living. My only regret is that I didn’t spend more time with him learning how to manage it all. I’m afraid I had to hire business managers to do all that for me. I am learning, however, and I imagine at some point I’ll take it all over.”

      “You sound absolutely despondent.” He noted she seemed rather thrilled by the idea of his misery.

      “It will simply take me away from things I’d rather be doing.”

      “Such as balls and hunts?”