A Christmas Scandal. Jane Goodger

of messy curls, her clothing always slightly askew. Once they’d let go of almost all of their servants, poor Mama could not handle the daily ablutions required of her. She was clean but looked as if she’d just come in from a violent windstorm. And her eyes always darted about a room, as if the miseries that had struck this family were tangible things she could duck away from.

      “I’m almost certain that is why Arthur is coming over tonight,” Maggie said, smiling. This, at least, was a genuine smile, for Arthur had more than hinted that tonight was the night they would formalize their engagement. She knew her mother would worry until she was safely settled, just as she knew their worries were over. She and Arthur were already unofficially engaged; she was awaiting only the ring and a formal announcement in the Times. She should be ecstatic, but the truth was, Maggie didn’t want to marry anyone. At least not anyone in New York.

      “I’m so glad,” Harriet said. “We really shouldn’t hold out hope any longer.”

      “Hold out hope for what?”

      “Oh. I meant about the earl, dear. I was holding out hope that he’d return or write. Something. A title would have been so very nice.”

      Maggie let out a laugh even as her heart gave a painful wrench. She had met Lord Hollings over the summer in Newport. He’d been friends with the Duke of Bellingham, who’d married her best friend, then taken her away to England, away from her. Maggie had been stupid and naive enough to fall in love with the earl, though thankfully she hadn’t been foolish enough to let anyone know, including him. “The earl was just being kind to me because I am Elizabeth’s friend. You know that.”

      “But those dances,” Harriet said, letting her voice trail off.

      “It was great fun but nothing more than an innocent flirtation. What Arthur and I share is far deeper. Far more meaningful.” Goodness, she was getting so good at doing anything to make her mother feel better—which apparently included marrying a man she did not love.

      As she thought back, it seemed as if her life took a sudden and desperate turn for the worse when Elizabeth married her duke. Maggie was left with a world crumbling around her, with her flailing and trying with all her might to stop it.

      “I should probably get ready,” she said, attempting to sound like her old, perky self. “Arthur is coming for supper and he’ll be here within the hour. Could you help me with my dress?”

      Only the most loyal servants had stuck with the Pierces after it became clear there would be no more money forthcoming. It was something they would all have to get used to, fending for themselves, dressing themselves, cooking their own food. Maggie had always thought of herself as a modern independent woman until the day she realized she could not dress herself without help. Without Arthur there would be no balls, no new dresses every season, no French chef in a grand kitchen. Her mother was far more upset about their change in fortune than Maggie was, though she was greatly affected by her mother’s despondency.

      Without Arthur, her mother would have had to move to her sister’s home in Savannah, Georgia. It was a dreaded alternative, for neither wanted to live in Savannah.

      Once she was dressed for supper, Maggie glanced at the mirror, noting absently that it needed a good polishing. She looked exactly the same. Exactly. No one could know what was inside her, the secrets, the shame. She smiled brilliantly, her teeth white and straight, her eyes sparkling.

      “Of course I’ll marry you, Arthur,” she gushed to her reflection. Then she let out a sigh and for just a moment almost gave in to the tears that had threatened for weeks, that left her throat feeling perpetually raw. Arthur did not deserve what he was getting. He deserved the girl she used to be, carefree and innocent and full of hope, not the girl she’d become. Guilt assaulted her and she pushed it brutally away, knowing Arthur would be much happier to marry the girl he thought she was than be told the truth. With a start, she realized she was digging her thumbnail into her wrist again and she looked at the crescents with a bit of vexation. She’d ruined the sleeves of two blouses already with tiny spots of blood that would not wash away no matter what she tried.

      She heard the rustling of skirts and her mother, her hair in wild disarray, peeked into her room. “He’s here,” she hissed delightedly. Maggie shook her head fondly at her mother’s complete glee.

      “Arthur comes to dinner every Tuesday night, Mama. I don’t know why you have it in your head that tonight is the night he will propose.”

      “Because if he doesn’t, we’ll both be on a train to Savannah,” she pointed out. “Not that it wouldn’t be wonderful to see my sister, but Catherine’s house is so small, especially with her children and that huge husband or hers. She’s still got two at home, you know. Children, not husbands.” Maggie wrinkled her nose, making Harriet laugh. “It’s not Catherine I worry about.” Harriet had often commented on the fact that she didn’t like her sister’s husband, found him coarse and far too opinionated. “And I may have hinted that you would be safely married soon. It’s not that she wouldn’t welcome us both. It’s simply that she’s not expecting two more females for an extended time.”

      Maggie lifted her hand to stop her mother’s guilt-ridden monologue. “I understand completely. Besides, we don’t have to worry about Aunt Catherine or her children or Uncle Bert because we have Arthur. Now. How do I look?” she asked, swishing her yellow skirts back and forth. With her dark hair and flashing brown eyes, yellow had always been a good color for Maggie.

      “You look like a girl who’s about to get engaged,” Harriet said, her eyes misting a bit. “Now hurry before he changes his mind. He’s in the pink parlor.”

      “Oh, Mama, you didn’t. You know that men loathe that room. He’ll feel positively uncomfortable.” She followed her mother down the stairs, motioning to her silently to stay put and not eavesdrop at the door even though she knew her mother would.

      “Hello, Arthur,” she said, closing the door firmly and walking toward the tall man sitting awkwardly in a delicate Queen Anne chair. He was all knees and elbows, her Arthur. He stood abruptly, almost as if surprised to find Maggie here in her own home.

      “Good evening.”

      He didn’t smile. Perhaps he was nervous, Maggie thought. Or perhaps he’d decided that a buoyant greeting would be inappropriate given that her father had just been sentenced to prison.

      “I’m so sorry about your father,” he blurted out. Arthur Wright was a man who did not feel comfortable in the company of women, for he came from a family of five boys. He got on well with Maggie because she had older brothers and so knew how men ticked. He’d once told her that she was the only pretty girl he knew that he could spend more than a minute with. Maggie took that as the compliment it was intended to be.

      Maggie swallowed heavily at the mention of her father. She had not allowed herself to think of him locked away in prison with all sorts of rough men. Her father, who loved the ballet and a fine port and cigar after supper, was not at all the kind of man who would thrive in such a place. “I miss him already,” she said, her throat closing on the last word. She cleared his throat. “But we shall all be fine. Mama says the time will fly.”

      “Yes. Five years, I heard.”

      It was supposed to be one. One year. He could have endured one year. “Five years will go by so swiftly,” she repeated, her smile brittle.

      “Yes. But there will always be the taint,” he said, and Maggie stiffened. It was so unlike Arthur to say such a thing, for if he was anything, he was kind to a fault.

      “I suppose there will be.”

      “And that’s the thing. That’s it, you see,” he said, sounding muddled.

      Maggie didn’t understand until she looked at his face, filled with torment and real despair. And she knew, without a doubt, that Arthur Wright had not come that night to propose. He had come to break it off.

      His face crumpled briefly, but he regained control of his features and stood there, making her say it because no doubt