Читать книгу A Christmas Scandal - Jane Goodger - Страница 9

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?”

“Let me think on it, Mama. I cannot think of that now,” Maggie answered dully. “I’m going to lie down, if you don’t mind.” When her mother called her name, she kept walking, shutting out her cries, her disappointment, her anger.

When Maggie went into her room she lay dry-eyed staring up at the ceiling trying to stop herself from thinking about anything, but the images she’d been fighting for weeks kept assaulting her. Flashes of what had happened, bits of that terrible conversation flew at her, like some unstoppable pestilence.

“Bend over, my dear. Grab the desk.”

He always seemed to have too much saliva in his mouth and would noisily slurp at it, swallowing audibly. His hands dug into her hips, pressing, leaving marks that remained for weeks. She’d feared at first they would never go away, a brand that would never fade.

Charles Barnes had been one of her father’s business associates. She’d known him for years, and had instinctively, even as a child, stayed away from him. She’d never liked the way he looked at her, the way on those few occasions when she’d been forced to offer him her hand, he’d grasp it and hold, pressing her flesh in a way that made her want to go bathe. He had a way of sweeping his gaze up and down her body that was slightly repugnant. But he was one of her father’s good friends and Maggie had always tried to be polite.

Mr. Barnes was a soft man, not overly fat, but simply soft, like a blob of melting butter. His features looked like so much moist dough plopped together with two small raisins pressed in for eyes. And his mouth, Maggie had always thought his mouth too full, too red.

This was the man who took her virginity. This was the man she bent over for. This was the man who put his penis inside her, who jerked in and out, grunting like a pig behind her, smearing her blood on her buttocks, who laughed when he was done as she’d cried.

This was the man who promised if she did this thing, this disgusting mating, that he would guarantee her father would only serve one year. He’d said he knew the prosecutor, that he would make a deal. He’d told her, even as he painfully squeezed her breasts, that her father would be so proud of what she was doing, the sacrifice she was making, and he laughed when she begged him to never tell.

As if he would. That is how stupid she’d been. How stupid and willing. She’d bent over that desk, felt the cool air on her legs, felt him drag down her bloomers, felt him separate her, felt him, felt him, felt him.

Maggie pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, trying in vain to press the images away.

It had been her idea. Certainly, he had hinted at it. He’d told her he had the power to lessen her father’s sentence, but why should he? What would he get out of it? There was no money left to give him. What would be worth such valuable information? What could anyone give him? What?

“Myself,” Maggie had said. “You can have me. Once.”

A slow, horrible smile had appeared on those too-thick, too-red lips. “Do you think you are worth it, my dear?” he asked as he moved one thick finger across his lips.

She’d swallowed down the bile and lifted her chin. “More than worth it.”

“All right, then. I agree.”

Maggie stood before him, her body suddenly bathed in a cold sweat, and she’d nodded. “But you must promise me my father will not be in prison for more than a year.”

“Yes. I promise. Now. Bend over, my dear. Grab the desk.”