A Christmas Scandal. Jane Goodger

of complete disbelief. Most people who did not know him well could not picture him wading through piles of books to find the exact copy of a fifteenth-century tome, but it was, by far, his favorite thing to do.

      “You’re not joking, are you?” she asked, as if he’d said he collected human bones.

      “One of the reasons I am here, other than to entertain you, is to assist His Grace in restoring his library. It was indeed tragic what happened here.”

      “Oh?”

      “The old duke sold every book. It was perhaps one of the greatest collections in England. They had original manuscripts from Archimedes. My God, just thinking of it.”

      “I didn’t even know you could read,” she said, clearly jesting him.

      Edward forced a smile, but truthfully, he was more than a little insulted by her amazement, something she immediately noted.

      “I see I have struck a nerve. I had no idea you were so serious. You were much more fun to needle in Newport, Lord Hollings. Not nearly as sensitive. I do believe you’ve become entirely too stodgy since returning to England. Is it the air, do you think, that has stolen your sense of humor?”

      “It is the responsibility.”

      Maggie looked properly chastised, for which he was glad. This happy banter of theirs was somehow not nearly as satisfying as it once was. Perhaps because it was all so meaningless and could lead to nothing. Why flirt with someone he could never have, after all? She was engaged to marry another man, which made her more unattainable than had she been married. She really was none of his business. Whether she found books as fascinating as he did was of no consequence whatsoever. In fact, he didn’t know what had possessed him to ask her on this walk with him.

      “Do you love him?” he blurted. Well, hell, he hadn’t even realized he was going to ask such a nonsensical thing until it came out of his mouth.

      He watched in dreaded fascination as her cheeks bloomed with color.

      “Whom do you mean?” she asked, being purposefully obtuse.

      “Your fiancé,” he ground out, thrusting his hands behind his back to prevent him from shaking her.

      “Love Arthur? Of course I do.”

      His heart plunged more than he would have admitted, even upon threat of death. “Then that explains why you are marrying him.”

      She swallowed; he watched the slim column of her throat move. She was still staring at the palace, and now it was clear to him that she was simply finding the home so fascinating because she did not want to look at him. She moved her hands up in front of her and grasped them together before pushing them down to her sides, where she fisted them in her skirts.

      “I don’t think I could ever marry someone I didn’t love,” she said finally and with odd emotion.

      “No. I don’t suppose you would,” Edward said, wishing this Arthur fellow was here before him so he could pummel him.

      Maggie shrugged, and with her dark curling hair and fair complexion, she looked decidedly French. “We found we suit each other quite well. He adores Egyptology. Mummies and all that. It’s quite…fascinating.”

      Edward chuckled. “You do not find it fascinating at all, be honest.”

      Maggie looked up at him with all innocence. “I find it as fascinating as listening to you talk about books,” she said, which only made him laugh aloud.

      “For your sake, I hope you do. There are enough miserable married people in this world without adding to them.”

      “I agree wholeheartedly. And I know you do as well.”

      Her fervent agreement and her reminder that she knew he was opposed to the state of matrimony bothered him. He recalled when they met in Newport her saying she was opposed to marriage, but he hadn’t really believed her. He didn’t like being proved correct this time. It was incredibly annoying to realize Maggie would never agree to get married unless she were madly in love and that thought only depressed him further.

      “If you are engaged, then I have a proposition for you.”

      “This sounds positively intriguing.”

      He explained his sister’s request. “She very much wants a season and I cannot come up with a good excuse not to give her one. The only one I had, the lack of a chaperone, could easily be remedied by you and your mother, if she was willing.” He nearly choked on the next. “And you could have a season as well. American girls are all the rage in England about now.”

      “Rich American girls,” she reminded him. “Why on earth would you deny your sister a season?”

      He let out a big-brother beleaguered sigh. “She breaks hearts the way Matilda’s children break fine vases. Often and without conscious thought. I think, despite her grand age of nineteen, my dear sister is far too immature to be on the marriage market, though I daresay I would never tell her that.”

      Maggie laughed. “Then she is like every other girl searching for a husband. You do remember the duchess, do you not? She believed herself to be in love with a scoundrel. Girls do the most foolish things for what they believe is love.”

      “And what foolish thing have you done?” he asked.

      “I’ve never been in love, so I wouldn’t know,” she said, smiling brilliantly at him before she realized what she said. “Except for Arthur, of course. And I haven’t done a single foolish thing.” She smiled again, and for just an instant, he was fooled by that smile.

      “There’s no shame in doing foolish things for love,” he said, and watched with fascinatiom as she struggled mightily to maintain her smile.

      “Spoken by a man who has never been in love,” she said, giving up any pretense of a smile. “As for a season, I am sorry, but I do not believe my mother and I will be staying here that long. We have plans to visit my aunt in Savannah when we return home. My mother hasn’t seen her in more than two years, you see. We were supposed to be there now, but for the duke’s request that we come here for the birth. It’s quite impossible.”

      Edward found himself making a valiant effort to not show his disappointment, when he hadn’t truly been aware that he’d at some time in the past day decided he wanted them to stay for the season. “I’m sure I can dig up some spinster aunt from somewhere to do the deed,” he said.

      “I thought England was full of spinster aunts.”

      “Quite so. Then again, perhaps my step-aunt will be able to act as chaperone. Janice may be feeling better.”

      “What is wrong with her?”

      “No one can say, though God knows nearly every doctor in England has examined her. She’s a little slip of a thing. Nothing to her.”

      “It must be difficult for Lady Matilda.”

      “It is. For all of us, really. Of all her children, Janice is the sweetest little thing. She never complains, not even when it is clear she is suffering. A little trooper, that one.”

      As they got closer to the home, those who were still on the veranda stood up as if anticipating their return. Maggie trudged along, relieved that her first time alone with the earl had gone so smoothly. She’d flirted lightly, managed to talk to him in a manner that almost seemed normal, almost like that lifetime far away that was Newport. She hadn’t given in to the urge to touch him, to tell him that she’d missed him.

      Maggie could see Amelia on the veranda, waiting with visible anticipation for them to appear. Behind her sat Maggie’s mother and Elizabeth, both smiling at the girl who stood clutching the rail in barely contained eagerness. As they walked up the shallow marble steps, Amelia ran to greet them.

      “Oh, Edward, the most wonderful news. Mrs. Pierce has agreed to chaperone me this season.”