Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal (26 page)

A kiss for courage. Who knew there were so many different kinds of kisses?

Maggie tapped on the door and fortified herself against the prospect of dealing with a disappointed duchess.

***

Esther turned to regard her husband’s eldest daughter. Maggie was in a riding habit, looking trim, fit, and composed. If anything, there was a subtle glow to her beauty, a luminance.

“You don’t look ruined.”

“I don’t feel ruined.”

“Then come sit with me. We’ll determine what’s to be done.” Esther did not hold out her arms to this woman she’d raised. From the posture of Maggie’s spine, a maternal embrace would be politely tolerated, as it had been on the rare occasions Esther had attempted it since the girl had joined the household all those years ago.

Esther resumed her seat on the sofa and lifted the pot. “Shall I pour?”

“I don’t think tea and crumpets will put this right, Your Grace.” Maggie took the same seat Hazlit had used, but whereas he’d affected a casual posture, Maggie’s form was a study in propriety.

“Tea and crumpets won’t make it worse either.” Esther put a crème cake on a plate, poured Maggie a cup, doctored it, and prayed for something wise and useful to say.

“Could you be carrying?”

“Possibly.” Maggie accepted the tea but shook her head at the crème cake.

“Come, Maggie. His Grace will be back soon, and there won’t be a crème cake to be had. Your brother Bart was a seven-months baby. Were you aware of this?”

Maggie paused with the teacup halfway to her lips. “Bartholomew came early?”

“He came exactly on time.” For pity’s sake, did none of her children know this? “His Grace and I could not contain our enthusiasm for each other, though it likely horrifies you to hear of this.”

“Times were different.” Maggie took a sip of her drink, her expression distracted.

“Maggie, thirty some years ago was not exactly antediluvian. Times might have been a little more tolerant, but young people in certain situations behave with just as much disregard for common sense.”

“I’m hardly young.”

“You’re hardly old, and this might be your last and only worthy chance for a match with a man who esteems you and will give you children. What do you want to do?”

Maggie stared at her tea. “I want to emigrate to Baltimore.”

“Or perhaps darkest Peru?”

Maggie looked up, her expression revealing a hopelessness that tore at Esther’s heart.

“My dear, your circumstances aren’t so unusual as all that. Did Mr. Hazlit take advantage of you?”

Maggie set her teacup down and rose, but she didn’t go to the window. She went to the wall opposite Esther’s seat, the one where a row of framed sketches hung in a grouping.

“Mr. Hazlit is constitutionally incapable of taking advantage of a woman. His sisters endured some bad treatment years ago, and it haunts him.”

“His Grace has alluded to this.”

Maggie had paused beside the sketch of her brother Bart. Maggie and Bart had been close, partners in mischief, with Maggie always trying to take the blame for Bart’s wild starts.

“If I’m to be honest, I took advantage of Mr. Hazlit, though he does not agree with me.”

“Were you trying to trap him into marriage?”

Maggie whirled to face the duchess. “Of course not.”

“Was he trying to trap you?”

“Most definitely not.”

“This will be a great comfort to your brothers.”

The comment had the intended effect of bringing Maggie back to her seat. She collapsed into it, her gaze horror-stricken. “There must not be any duels. You cannot allow it.”

“When men take a notion to be honorable, the voice of reason, much less the voice of their mother, has little to say to it. Valentine, in particular, can be deaf to logic, much like his father.” That wasn’t unfair, though it bordered on ruthless.

“Valentine…” Maggie stared at her hands, probably thinking of Valentine’s very talented hands picking up a gun, perhaps never to create beautiful music at the keyboard again.

“My dear, you must decide. As I see it, you have several options. You can weather the scandal. Whoever came upon you and Mr. Hazlit is likely of less consequence than your own family. In a year or two, the impact on your sisters’ prospects will be negligible.” Esther spoke briskly, despite the color leaving Maggie’s cheeks.

Percy, forgive me.
He fretted over Maggie, fretted over her as if she were still seven years old and pining for her doll.

“My sisters don’t deserve to suffer over this.”

“We are agreed on that, but if you asked it of them, they’d cheerfully stand by you. I hope you know this?”

A nod.

“So you can do nothing, hope you are not with child, and in time, this will blow over. More tea?”

“No, thank you.” So polite. While Esther put another crème cake on a plate, Maggie wiped a tear from her cheek.

“You can marry Hazlit, who strikes me as a decent man. He’s already privy to some of our less-savory history, having investigated Anna’s situation last year. Your father approves of him, if that makes any difference.”

“I do not want to marry him. It would not be fair to him.” Another tear, while Maggie continued to sit ramrod straight.

“And if you are with child?” Esther spoke as gently as she could, considering she was using logic to bludgeon someone she dearly loved. “Do you want your child to bear the same burden you have?”

Maggie shook her head, but the tears were coursing down her cheeks unchecked. Esther passed her a serviette, when what she wanted to do was hurl her teacup against the wall. “You have another option, Maggie.”

Maggie turned her head an inch to meet the duchess’s eyes. “If I have conceived, I will not do anything to harm our child.”

Our
child?

“Put such notions from your head. For God’s sake, Maggie… to think we’d let you risk yourself, much less… For God’s sake.”

Boys were difficult to raise into young gentlemen, but girls… girls were the biggest challenge. Especially girls who, despite every effort to the contrary, seemed to have a thorough knowledge of things too sordid and awful to be contemplated.

It was time to conclude this interview and get a pigeon to His Grace.

“Maggie, you can buy yourself a little time and make your choice later, when you know better what your circumstances are.”

Maggie blotted her eyes and made no immediate reaction, as if her hearing were slow. She heaved out a sigh and met Esther’s gaze. “What do you mean?”

“Put a finger in the dike, so to speak. Announce an engagement; do not set a date. If you are not carrying, then you can cry off quietly next year. If you’re expecting, you can marry just as quietly, and when the baby comes, enjoy a long respite in the country, such that dates of birth and other details are not in the forefront of gossip. I will, of course, assist in any and every regard.”

Silence, while Maggie contemplated the snow-white serviette balled up in her lap. She stared at the thing as if it held oracular significance, while Esther sent up a prayer for patience.

“I suppose that’s the best course.” Maggie tossed the napkin onto the tray in the only unladylike gesture Esther had observed in their entire exchange. “We’d best inform Mr. Hazlit.” She frowned and blinked. “He’s an earl.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Mr. Hazlit is the Earl of Hazelton. He travels under an assumed name in deference to his sisters’ past.”

Now
wasn’t this an interesting detail?
“And you are not sure you want to be his countess?”

“What I want doesn’t matter.”

She sounded so forlorn, Esther couldn’t hold back a snort. “What you wanted is what got you into this situation, or am I wrong?”

“You are not wrong, Your Grace.”

There was so much dignity in that admission, Esther felt momentarily flummoxed.
What, exactly, had transpired between Maggie and Mr. Hazlit?

“Come along, Maggie. Your intended is likely on tenterhooks awaiting your decision. Buy yourself some time to adjust to this development, and the two of you can sort out where you go from here.”

Esther rose and went to the door, Maggie moving more slowly behind her. Hazlit was waiting in the corridor, leaning back against the wall, hands in his pockets. He shoved away from the wall without using his hands, his expression guarded.

“Your Grace.”

“Congratulations, your lordship.” Esther gave him her best, warmest smile. “It seems you are engaged. I’ll see to the announcement, while you two let Maggie’s sisters know your good news.”

She did not welcome him to the family. She wanted to, but Maggie was standing beside her, tense and silent. A mother could do only so much. An unacknowledged stepmother even less.

Beside Ben, her hand barely resting on his arm, Maggie radiated tension as they headed back toward the conservatory.

“Was she unkind to you?” He kept his voice down. There were footmen posted at each end of the corridor, tall serious fellows who put him in mind of Lady Dandridge’s matched set.

“Her Grace is never unkind. Never.”

He decided not to pry. Whatever Her Grace had said, he was now an engaged man, which had become his objective at some point in the recent past. The relief was fading, leaving a fierce determination to get the woman beside him to the altar, from which position he would be able to keep her safe.

Maggie paused outside the door to the conservatory. “We are not going to set a date.” She glanced around and dropped her voice to a whisper. “I do not want to marry you, Benjamin.”

“You’ve been crying.” He brushed the pad of his thumb over her cheek, her skin silky soft to his touch. “We don’t need to set a date if you’re not ready to.”

“You aren’t listening to me.” She wrapped her fingers around his wrist and removed his hand from her face. “I cannot marry you, and this is all moving too quickly. I don’t want to shame my family—that’s the last thing I want, but I don’t want…” She raised troubled eyes to his. “I don’t want to make a laughingstock of you when I jilt you.”

“Portmaines are not strangers to broken engage-ments.”

“Port…?”

He saw when she recollected his family name. “Were we to marry, you’d become Maggie Portmaine.”

“But we’re not going to marry.”

She was appallingly convinced of this, and it irritated him more—
worried
him more—each time she emphasized her position. “You said things were moving too quickly, Maggie, but if you’ve conceived, they can’t move quickly enough.”

Her gaze became haunted, and her hand went to her belly.

“You listen to me,” he said, dropping his voice and covering her hand with his own. “Just for today, we are engaged. We need make no other decisions than that. You can jilt me, and I’ll step aside, or we can marry, or we can remain engaged for a time and make further decisions later.” She was listening; she was even watching his mouth as he spoke. He kissed her on the lips for no other reason than he didn’t want her arguing with him.

“I want you for my countess, Maggie. I’d made up my mind before we found ourselves in this contretemps, but I wanted to woo you, to squire you about and give you the attention and courting you deserve. Give me a few weeks. We’ll know better what we’re dealing with, and we’ll placate the Lady Dandridges of Society in the meanwhile.”

“I can do that,” she said slowly, “but, Benjamin, that’s all I can do. You must not take a notion that we will be wed.”

“And if there’s a baby?”

She shook her head, but when he took her in his arms, she went unresisting into his embrace. He hoped there was a baby, which surprised him. He understood the necessity for an heir but hadn’t felt any urgency as long as Archer enjoyed good health. With Maggie, though… He kissed her again, bussed her cheek and her temple.

“Why were you crying, Maggie mine?”

“This is such a tangle.” She heaved a sigh but stayed where she was. “My sisters will be happy for me. His Grace will strut and preen. My brothers will be relieved.”

She didn’t mention the duchess, but she raised her head to peer at him. “May we not tell your sisters just yet?”

He wanted to tell them, wanted to be married at Blessings, with both sisters—as well as their doting husbands—on hand for the nuptials. “We’ll wait if you prefer. Neither Avis nor Alex read the social pages, and they both live very retiring lives. Unless I tell them, there’s little likelihood they’ll get wind of it. Shall we tell your sisters, though? Her Grace seemed to expect it.”

She drew back and physically squared her shoulders. “They’ll make a lot of noise.”

“For today, we’re going to let them.” He winged his arm at her and led her into the conservatory. The humid air was almost pleasant, with soft late-afternoon sunshine pouring down through glass panes.

“We’re over here!” A petite blonde waved at them from one corner of the room. “Jenny and I are losing at whist, and the tea has long since gone cold.”