by Gaelen Foley
Having to face him again and admit it merely doubled her shame. He was going to think she was the world’s worst weakling. And who would want to marry that?
Certainly not a man who practically personified strength.
He was going to feel sorry for her, and that thought utterly depressed her. She knew how it felt to pity a suitor, after all. She shook her head, then took another deep drink of the tea. She might’ve been trounced by her sister, but she refused to be laid low by a stupid cold, too.
Her eyes watered at the fiery scotch in the tea, but she finished it all, coughing a little as it burned its way down to her belly. Then she set the cup aside on the tray Penelope had rested on her night table.
“If you’d excuse me, Pen, I really think I ought to get some sleep.”
“Oh yes, of course, my lady. Do ring me at once if you need anything at all.”
“Thank you. I will.”
Penelope gave Maggie a fretful look as she collected the tea tray, and then bustled off to the door and closed it silently behind her.
When she had gone, Maggie stared at the ceiling, then heaved a great sigh. Meanwhile, the fight between Edward and Delia raged on below.
She hoped with all her heart that her sweet-tempered brother-in-law fared better against the redheaded dragon than she had, but deep down, she rather doubted it.
Delia always won.
* * *
The next night, a cloud of cigar smoke hung over the green baize table. The card game at the Grand Albion gentlemen’s club was well underway.
The smell of tobacco, the taste of good whiskey, the raucous sound of male laughter, and the sight of the colorful playing cards spread out before him…it all brought Connor back to his Army days. Of course, the luxurious club tucked away at the back of the hotel’s ground floor was a far cry from the cramped and moldy officers’ tent where he used to play. But he could not deny that it felt good to be a part of things once more.
He was not, by nature, a solitary soul—a thought which, inevitably, carried his mind back to Maggie.
Though he watched his male neighbors taking their turns around the table, by now—around eleven o’clock on Saturday night—his curiosity about how she’d fared at Hyde Park yesterday was killing him.
He told himself he was probably being overeager and nosy, to boot.
But, prodded by impatience, he had decided to send her a one-line note: How are you, my dear?
He’d had Will run it over and hand it off to her lady’s maid. When Will had returned, he had brought back her reply: Forsooth, Your Grace, I’ve been better. Fondly, ~M.
He’d arched a brow at the humorous tone of her answer, but what her words meant, exactly, he still wasn’t sure. It perplexed him.
It worried him.
“Your turn, Amberley,” said Netherford.
“Right.” Stirred from his thoughts, Connor considered his cards.
Netherford frowned across the table. “Rivenwood, what the hell’s wrong?”
Connor glanced over curiously as Azrael frowned.
“Yes, do tell,” Sidney chimed in. “Why the long face? You’re brooding even more than usual.”
Major Peter Carvel chuckled at that and took a swig of his ale while they all looked at the blond duke in question.
Azrael let out a huge sigh. “Alas, boys, I am out of my lady’s good graces,” he announced.
From all around the table, jovial protests erupted.
“What? No!”
“Say it isn’t so!”
“But you two never fight.”
“Really,” Sidney drawled, “it’s disgusting.”
“What did you do?” Netherford said, amusement dancing in his dark eyes.
Azrael shook his head. “My fair duchess asked for a favor I couldn’t grant. Serena,” he said, “is not used to anyone telling her no. Especially me.”
“What on earth did she want from you?” Netherford asked with a grin.
“Yes, what labor of Hercules did she ask?” Gable chimed in. “Although, for what it’s worth, I feel your pain. Trinny has the same unholy power over me.”
Azrael laughed softly and sat back in his chair. “Well…” He paused, glancing briefly at Connor, then kept his voice down. “She told me I needed to have a word with Lord Birdwell.”
At the mention of Maggie’s brother-in-law, Connor looked over his hand of cards, his stare homing in on his fellow duke’s angular face. “Why is that?”
“You’ve probably all heard by now how Lady Birdwell threw her poor sister out of their coach yesterday?”
“What?” a few fellows asked.
Connor went motionless.
“Yes.” Azrael winced and nodded. “My wife did not witness the row, but she told me she and her friend, Portia Tennesley, happened across the two sisters while they were taking their drive in Hyde Park yesterday. Serena said Lady Birdwell was extremely unpleasant to her sister, making barbed jests at poor Lady Margaret’s expense.”
Connor felt a growl gathering in his throat.
“Serena gave the marchioness a bit of a sting to warn her to behave, but they parted ways then, so she did not witness the row itself. But by the time my wife had circuited the Ring, she happened across another friend who’d seen it unfold. Quite a heated exchange.” Azrael shook his head. “Apparently, the two sisters ended up in a shouting match, and then Lady Birdwell ejected Lady Margaret from the carriage. Made the poor girl walk home.”
Deaf now to the exclamations of shock that rose from around the table, Connor set his cards down slowly, ignoring the worried glances that several of the men cast his way.
Obviously, they knew that he and Maggie were on quite friendly terms; she was the one who had introduced him to most of the men present.
Indeed, half of Society had seen them dancing together.
Though his heart pounded and his hands itched to punch something, Connor held himself back from going on the warpath. He said not a word.
“And so, Serena wanted me to say something to Birdwell, tell the chap to get his wife in line. But, as much as I adore her, I told my darling duchess that a man does not tell another man how to manage his lady.”
“To be sure,” Netherford agreed, nodding and still looking shocked at Her Ladyship’s rudeness. “If anyone ever criticized Felicity in my hearing, let alone suggest to my face how my wife ought to behave, whew! Even if she’d been a wild hellion, it would not go well for him.”
“Exactly,” said Azrael. “If any man said a word to me against Serena…” He did not finish the sentence. He did not need to. But he sighed. “And so she is cross at me now. It pains me to deny her, but this, as I told her, I simply cannot do.”
“This is different,” Gable agreed, nodding. Then he glanced at Sidney, brightening. “Maybe you can drop a hint to Birdwell, Sid. You’re very tactful—when you mean to be.”
They all looked at the golden-haired viscount, who had an odd look on his face. A rather taut, rueful expression, as though he knew more about this Hyde Park matter than he had yet revealed.
Connor studied him with a sharp eye, listening to Azrael, who continued.
“Well, someone should warn Birdwell, because my wife is threatening to speak to the patronesses of the subscription ball about revoking Her Ladyship’s voucher.”
Netherford’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, that would take the woman down a peg, to be sure.”
Except that she’d probably just take it out on Maggie, Connor thought.
“What say you, Sidney?” Gable asked. “Will you be our diplomat once more?”
“Yes, you’ve been unusually quiet,” Netherford remarked.
“Um…” Sidney hesitated. He drummed the table with his fingers.
“What?” Connor said.
Sidney sent him a guarded glance. “I, er, wasn’t sure if I should say anything. But…I’m afraid there’s a further twist to this story that, ah, makes Delia’s role pale by comparison.”
Connor lean
ed forward, his elbows on the table. “What are you talking about?”
All his male neighbors seemed to have realized by now that this was his problem.
And, oh, to be sure, he would deal with it.
Sidney lifted his eyebrows, as though he feared violence was the inevitable outcome of his words.
Gable glanced uneasily at Connor, then looked over once more at his boyhood friend. “Sidney?”
Connor narrowed his eyes, waiting. “What did you hear?”
Sidney downed his last swig of rum. “Promise not to kill anyone, ol’ boy?”
Connor nodded.
“Right. Ah well.” Sidney set his glass down with a thud. “Bryce and a few of his set were here last night drinking till late. I’m afraid Lady Margaret’s ex-suitor was laughing his head off over having spotted her traipsing home through the streets in the middle of the downpour.” Sidney winced. “Bryce seemed to find it amusing that poor Maggie ‘had the nerve,’ as he put it, to hope that he might let her into his curricle and drive her the rest of the way home. He deigned not to, on account of her jilt.” Sidney paused. “In fact, he spoke of steering through a puddle to splash her on purpose with his carriage as he drove away.”
“What a cad,” Gable murmured in amazement.
Azrael looked appalled, Netherford incredulous. The others were silent, then Carvel looked at Connor expectantly.
Connor was seething. He could picture the whole thing in his mind. No wonder the poor girl had gone into hiding.
She must be mortified. If she hadn’t caught her death.
“Thank you, Lord Sidney,” he said through gritted teeth, then slapped his cards down. “Gentlemen, you must excuse me. I have business to attend to.”
The room had gone absolutely quiet.
He swept to his feet. “Deal me out. Thanks for inviting me.”
“Amberley, what are you planning to do?” Gable called after him as he headed for the door.
Connor did not answer, but gusted away, banging out through the club’s double doors in a fury.
I’ll kill him, he thought as he marched back out across the marble-floored lobby. Aye, and I might just wring Delia’s neck, too.
The uniformed doorman saw him coming this time, and must’ve noticed the wrath on his face, for he quickly pulled the door open and held it. “Good night, sir.”
Connor jogged down the front steps of the hotel and paused for a moment, unsure which direction to go.
Part of him burned to go at once to Maggie’s and pound on the door, demand to see her, make sure for himself that she was all right.
The other half of him considered marching back inside to get Bryce’s address so he might go and kill the man.
Or at least send his second there now to finish what they’d started a week ago.
But no. He had to think.
Clenching and unclenching his fists, he pivoted and began stalking home. Though he was livid, his anger did not dull his awareness of his surroundings.
Casting a wary glance over his shoulder, he scanned the square for any sign of threat, detecting none.
I have to see her. I’ve got to do something! He could not believe that his goading could have led her into such circumstances. The poor girl. He felt awful for putting her up to this.
He’d encouraged her to stand up to her sister and then he’d ridden off to let her face it alone. True, she had told him to go. Still.
I knew I shouldn’t have left her.
His heart pounded in time with his footsteps as he marched the rest of the way to Amberley House, his dodgy knee aching from the change in the weather.
When he arrived, he slammed the door behind him with such savagery that they probably heard it in Dublin.
Enraged, he let out a futile war cry. Pacing across his own entrance hall, he unleashed a tirade of obscenities.
Seconds after his bellow shook the house, Will and Nestor came running.
“Major?” the lad cried with a blanch as he flew down the staircase. “What on earth is the matter?”
“And what did you do to that painting?” Nestor frowned at the landscape of Desert with Bedouins, through which Connor had just put his fist.
A growl was Connor’s only response. He stomped across the entrance hall and began bounding up the steps.
Will and Nestor got out of his way—but then Connor suddenly paused, turning to them. “Any word from Lady Margaret while I was out? Did she send a note?”
“No, sir,” Will said.
“What happened, man?” Nestor insisted, but Connor was in motion once more, pounding up the staircase.
“Did somebody try to murder you again?” Will called after him.
“Not this time!” he answered. Churning with fury, Connor ran up to the third-floor bedroom on the corner of his house.
Crossing the dark, little-used chamber, he paused only to plant his hands on the windowsill, briefly peering out across the square at the Birdwell residence.
Most of the windows were dark; a few glowed from within.
With everything in him, Connor longed to see her. He had to know if she was all right. He stared at the window that she’d said was her chamber…
In a heartbeat, his mind was made up. With that, he reached for the lantern and lit it. He set it on the sill and then, for urgency’s sake, lit the second one, praying Maggie looked out her window to notice his summons: Come to me. Now.
CHAPTER 18
A Light in the Dark
Maggie’s hands trembled with excitement as she lit a lantern to acknowledge that she had seen Connor’s signal and was on her way. Her heart pounded as she hurried to get dressed.
After spending most of the day locked up in her bedchamber, not so much from illness—for she was feeling pretty much herself again, thanks to Mama’s ancient cure—but from her own mule-like recalcitrance, awaiting her sister’s still-absent apology, she had grown altogether bored and restless by nighttime.
Still refusing to come out of her room until Delia apologized, she had finally, from mere habit, drifted over to the window to see if, by chance, Amberley might have thought of a new assignment for her yet.
To her astonishment, she’d found the signal beaming.
She’d gasped to see not one light but two shining in the duke’s upper window. Two lanterns meant it was an emergency!
She had leapt into action to go to his aid, rushing about to dress, and wondering how long those lamps had been burning.
I wonder what he wants! Oh God, I hope everything’s all right. What if somebody’s tried again to kill him?
Or maybe it’s good news. Maybe there’s been a break in the case and he can’t wait to tell me…
If so, she couldn’t wait to hear it. She could really use some good news right now.
Wasting no time, she had sent Penelope scurrying downstairs to fetch the key to the tall wrought-iron gates that bound Moonlight Square’s garden park, for these were kept locked at night.
Residents of the square could enter the park whenever they pleased, of course, but it was closed to the public after nightfall.
While Penelope discreetly retrieved the Birdwells’ key, Maggie slipped on one of her favorite walking dresses, trembling with excitement.
It had been such a pretty yellow before; she’d been disappointed when she’d had to dye it black during her mourning period for Papa. Tonight, however, its ebony hue would serve her well, helping to conceal her in the darkness when she went to meet her Irishman at the gazebo.
Besides, the gown was made of soft merino wool. It would keep her warm after her brush with illness. As reliable as Mama’s old cure was, Maggie did not wish to risk another tussle with the weather, for yesterday’s rain had returned to sprinkle London again on and off all day, although it hadn’t stormed.
Just as she flung a hooded woolen cloak around her shoulders to ward off the night’s chill, Penelope slipped back into the room, bringing the key.
Maggie murmured her thanks and p
ut it in her pocket, a bit nervous to go out there and brave the night. The clock read quarter to midnight, after all.
Her maid scanned her face. “Are you sure about this, my lady? It seems awfully risky.”
“You will cover for me, won’t you?”
“Yes, of course, but is it wise?”
Maggie couldn’t help smiling, unable to hide her joy at the prospect of seeing Amberley again after the misery of the past thirty-six hours. “All will be well.”
If he had a new assignment for her, she was ready for duty—though she still had not come up with a lighthearted jest to make light of her Hyde Park ordeal. Lord willing, perhaps he had not heard about it. If he had, ugh, she barely knew how she’d face him.
Trying not to think about it overmuch, she fastened her cloak around her neck, then Penelope handed her gloves from her dressing table. “Are you sure you’ll be warm enough?”
“I’ll be fine.” Maggie sent her a conspiratorial smile. “Come, you know I’m only playing it up to make Delia feel guilty.”
Penelope grinned.
“To tell you the truth, after the misery of yesterday, seeing him will be just the thing for me. I confess, no one quite cheers me up like that rogue.”
Especially when he takes me in his arms…
“He is handsome,” Penelope admitted with a smile. “Oh, I know! Shall I make a great fuss in fifteen minutes or so, right when you’re out there alone in the dark with him? I could arrange for you two to be caught together, and then he’d have to marry you. You’d be free of this place at last. Problem solved.”
“Clever girl!” Maggie said with a laugh. “Tempting, but no.” She paused, lowering her gaze. “I should not want to win him by trickery.”
Penelope arched a brow. “Milady is starting to sound like a woman in love.”
Maggie shrugged as her heart bubbled with joy. “Perhaps I am.” Then she signaled for secrecy, laying a finger over her lips, and they were off.
Penelope whisked over to the door, opened it, and peered out into the hallway, glancing this way and that. Stealthily, she beckoned to Maggie, then guided her out of the house, distracting the butler so she could sneak over to the front door unnoticed.
