Mrs. Bolton blew her nose. “I know. And the children want you to get out to enjoy yourself, but it is impossible.”
Margaret knew of an old woman back in her parish who was afraid to leave her house. Perhaps the viscount’s aunt suffered a similar affliction. No, she did sit in the rear garden, Mrs. Olive had said. Either way, Margaret would not upset the overwrought woman further. “Think nothing of it. My nieces have a silly idea that his lordship and I— That is, a mere companion has no need for a chaperone, and no excuse to be jaunting about Town.”
“Oh, but it is an excellent idea, and just the thing. Straight out of one of my Minerva Press novels. And I would help, I swear. But I cannot,” Mrs. Bolton ended on a wail.
“But why not? Perhaps I can help overcome your fears. Or is it that you do not have proper attire? Neither do I, so we could be unfashionable together. Or that you do not have a circle of acquaintances? I assure you, your nephew knows everyone and can introduce us. If you are shy of crowds, I would stay by you. I am used to that, with Lady Bartlett.”
The mention of Margaret’s employer made Great-Aunt Glorianna wail louder. “None of that matters a whit.”
“Then why will you not come out for rides or walks in the park or ices at Gunter’s? Why will you not let Lord Wolfram escort us to all the entertainments London offers? Please tell me, so I understand.”
“You cannot understand. How could you know of fear and poverty and having nowhere to turn?” Margaret understood all too well the concerns of a woman on her own without funds. Granted she was young and healthy, but she knew the dread of a desolate future as well as Glorianna Bolton. “But you have your nephew to look after you.”
“I am not his aunt!”
“His great-aunt, then.”
Not that, either. Gloria Bolton, it turned out, was Wolf’s great-aunt. His grandfather’s sister, she was married to James Bolton, a country gentleman of no particular distinction or property or longevity. He died, leaving Gloria with little income beyond her widow’s portion. James also left her his penniless spinster sister, Anna. When Gloria succumbed to an influenza epidemic, Anna was left with absolutely nothing, no home, no money, no family—nothing except the current Lord Wolfram.
With more daring than she had possessed before or since, Anna had sold her gold locket for coach fare and deposited herself and her few belongings on Wolf’s doorstep in London. She had claimed to be his great-aunt, Glorianna.
Wolf, bless his kind heart, had taken in an elderly relative he had not seen in decades. He made her welcome, and he made her an allowance. Oh, the shops, the bookstores, the museums—and oh, the people who might recognize Anna Bolton. Why, Anna had gone to school with the gorgon next door, Lady Bartlett, which was why she seldom showed her face outdoors. Someone was bound to recall that James Bolton’s wife Gloria was a short little dumpling, while his sister Anna was a tall, thin beanpole of a woman. Besides, Great-Aunt Glorianna felt guilty. She hated spending Wolf’s money when he had no obligation to give a groat for her upkeep. She did not like making more work for his servants or disturbing the tenor of his bachelor existence. Let him waste his time with a lying old lady while he could be carousing with his friends? Mrs. Bolton refused his invitations. Take her meals with him? How could she eat, with falsehoods stuck in her throat?
So she stayed in her rooms, which were more spacious than any she had known in her lifetime. Her joints did ache and she was prone to headaches; that was no lie. Mostly, she lived in dread that Wolf would throw her out. She saved every shilling he gave her, for that rainy day she knew was coming. Her gravest fear, though, was being buried under the wrong tombstone. “How will the angels find me if Glorianna is not on St. Peter’s list?” she cried. “If they look for me at all, after my sins.”
Margaret handed over a fresh handkerchief and agreed to speak to Wolf. The deception had to end, for all their sakes. Interfering in his family matters was nothing Margaret wanted to do, but she was already turning his house upside down. What was one more bit of effrontery? At the worst, she would have one more mouth to feed and house when he threw them all out. How much could an old lady eat, anyway?
She found him in his library after luncheon. His blond hair was mussed and his neckcloth was loosened. He looked wonderful to Margaret, less like the perfect London nonpareil and more like someone who could be a friend to her. His welcoming smile gave her the confidence to sit across from his desk and ask, “Did you know your aunt was afraid of you?”
Wolf sat down again and poured them each a glass of wine. “I swear, I never yelled at her. I believe you are the only woman I have ever shouted at, for which I apologize. I cannot promise never to yell again, considering the brats. That is, the little beauties.”
Margaret smiled and accepted his apology graciously. “You had just cause to raise your voice. But about your aunt. She is immensely grateful to you, but she also fears your wrath, you know.”
“Is that why she will not come out of her rooms?”
“No, she is more afraid of being revealed as an imposter.”
“What, is she one of Napoleon Bonaparte’s spies then, hiding out from the War Office in my guest wing?”
“She is not your aunt.”
“Of course not.”
Margaret almost choked on her sip of wine. “You knew.”
“How could I not? The solicitor naturally notified me of Great-Aunt Gloria’s death, as a relative, and also since her annuity ended. I did not know of Anna Bolton’s existence, since she was not living with her brother the one time I visited. I do not recall if she ever came to Wolfram Hall with my great-aunt and uncle when they came for my father’s funeral, or holidays before that. I swear I did not know of her, or I would have made provisions.”
“I am sure you would have.”
He smiled again, inside and out, that she trusted him to do the right thing. “Then she appeared on my doorstep here in London, and it seemed easier to let the old girl satisfy her pride than take her in as a pauper who was no true relative whatsoever. When she avoided me and the rest of London, I assumed she was simply old and ailing and perhaps grieving for the life she had known. I asked if she would rather go to the country. Wolfram Hall is three times the size of this place and always fully staffed. She refused.”
“She was afraid of being recognized there, too.”
“By whom? Aunt Gloria had not been to the family seat in ages. She never came to London that I knew of, at least since I came into the title. Besides, after all those years Miss Anna Bolton could not possibly resemble the schoolgirl she might have been. And her friends’ memories cannot be all that good, at their age.” He sighed. “I did not wish to embarrass the skittish old dear by forcing her into the public eye, and she seemed content to stay in the house.”
That was about to change.
Aunt Bolton, as they decided to call her, used her own money to refurbish her wardrobe, and Margaret’s too, out of gratitude. She could, now that Wolf had raised her allowance, which he’d done hoping for precisely that outcome. He could not purchase fashionable apparel for Miss Todd without raising eyebrows. His great-aunt could. Wolf also insisted on establishing an annuity for the old lady, so she never had to worry about the future, no matter who was viscount. Aunt Bolton wept, then went shopping.
While her new clothes were being sewn, she went to call on Lady Bartlett, so that the baroness—and her wide circle of gossips—would know that Miss Todd was well chaperoned. That was how she was repaying dear Wolf and Margaret and the children.
To Aunt Bolton’s surprise, as well as Margaret’s, the two old ladies had a comfortable coze, spending hours reminiscing about their school days and deceased friends, and made plans to meet again and often.
Aunt Bolton also befriended My-lo, once she stopped trying to pick up the big kitty. She went for walks with the children, offered Wolf her novels for his library collection, and helped Margaret with the handkerchief-hemming.
Then she declared them ready to
face London society. There was nothing like a new gown to give a woman confidence, she told Margaret. In her new green velvet, Margaret could only agree. She had never owned such a pretty frock, or one so revealing of her bosom. She had never had a generous fairy godmother, either, or such a handsome escort.
Wolf was disappointed. Not in Margaret’s bosom—hell, no. He was disappointed there were so few places he could take her. And his great-aunt. Most public entertainments were closed for the holidays or shut for the winter, leaving fewer nights of music or dramatic offerings. He could not take them to Vauxhall, balloon ascensions or fairs because of the weather. Fewer people in town meant fewer balls, not as many dinner parties or Venetian breakfasts. Some of those hostesses were too high in the instep to entertain an unknown old woman or a paid companion or a rake. Others of the party-givers were too low-minded.
Wolf found a few gatherings where his womenfolk would be welcome and comfortable. He also found that one dance with Miss Todd was not enough, that his fists clenched every time another gentleman approached her and that he could not eat when she was seated far down the dinner table from him. Then again, he could not eat when she was next to him, for staring down the neckline of her new gowns. His hungry gaze kept her safe from other rakes. Her lack of a dowry kept her safe from other gentlemen.
Wolf did not forget the children in the new round of gaiety before Christmas. On a nice day they all drove to Richmond and the maze, where Aunt Bolton got lost. One night they visited Astley’s Amphitheatre, where she fell asleep during the trick riding. But she was there, and no one could slander Lady Bartlett’s erstwhile companion, who seemed to be working for the viscount’s aunt now…or working on bringing the Wolf to heel.
The gossips noted that the companion was looking better every day, and that Lord Wolfram was constantly looking at her, for her or after her. Miss Todd was looking at his lordship as if he had hung the moon. Mrs. Bolton was looking at both fondly, and with great care for their reputations. Everyone quickly consulted his or her Debrett’s and Lady Bartlett. A baronetcy in Miss Todd’s background? Then it was not an entirely ineligible match for the viscount. No money in her family? Then it was a brilliant match for the pretty companion. Luckily Lady Jennifer Camden ran off with her butler that week, so no one cared that the wolf seemed to be in the trap for sure.
The trap was not yet sprung, to the little girls’ despair. Their plan was not working, or it was working all too well. Aunt Maggie and Wolf were out and about, enjoying each others’ company…and Aunt Bolton’s. How was Wolf going to ask her to marry him if he never had a private moment? How was Aunt Maggie going to accept if they were never alone?
Alexandra and Katherine skipped the parts in their guide about poems and serenades. Wolf seemed to like Aunt Maggie’s singing just fine when they joined in the caroling, and he complimented her playing on the pianoforte, but that was no proposal.
So they ran away from home.
Chapter Seven
The object of a chaperone is to keep a fellow honest. The object of a courtship is to win one’s beloved’s hand. These two goals are not necessarily complementary. Sometimes a bit of privacy is needed to express your affections. You will also wish to be certain you and your chosen bride suit in character and commonality of goals. Remember, a proposal is irrevocable, marriage is forever, and eternity is a long time to discuss nothing but the weather.
—George E. Phelber, A Gentleman’s Guide to Courtship
“Miss Todd!” Wolf was waiting in the hall when Margaret returned from listening to Lady Bartlett complain about her nephew, Oscar. The young fribble was expensive, lazy and lacking in sense, but between him and Aunt Bolton, the baroness was too busy to require a new companion.
Margaret did not rush through the door in a panic this time when she heard Wolf’s call. For one thing, he was not shouting. For another, the girls were at needlework lessons with Aunt Bolton. Finally, the house was not burning. She doubted Wolf would toss them out for anything less. The question was whether he would keep them after the new year. She’d tried not to think about that question these past days, deciding to enjoy herself while she could. She even warned the girls not to make too much of his lordship’s attentions, for he was being polite to a houseguest, Town was thin of company, and she was still a nearly impoverished lady’s companion. Fine feathers and flying high did not make her a member of his elite flock. But, oh, how he made her heart soar. No, she was not going to think about that, or how handsome he looked in his dark blue coat and buckskin breeches and gleaming high boots. “Yes, you were looking for me?”
He led her into the Rose Parlor and shut the door. “Margaret,” he began again, but changed that to “Maggie.” He cleared his throat. “Maggie, I do not know how to tell you, but the girls have disappeared.”
“Nonsense. I left them with your aunt.”
“She fell asleep. When she awoke, they were gone.”
“Then they are in the kitchen bothering Cook, or at the stable annoying your groom.”
“We looked there. And in the attics and the cellars and every room between. We searched every corner, the staff and I. I am sorry, my dear, but your nieces are not in the house, nor the garden.”
“The cat must have needed a walk.”
He shook his head sadly. “No. I was out in the park with My-lo and the handler, watching them train with feather decoys.”
Margaret would not cry or swoon or throw herself into his lordship’s arms, although the last was tempting. As calmly as she could, she tried to think of places where her poor lost lambs might have wandered. “Perhaps they wished to apologize to the colonel, although I know they were not supposed to visit him.”
“That pair does a great many things they are not supposed to. The colonel would not admit them to his house, though, and would likely call the magistrate if they did get in. Either they would be home, or the constables would be calling here.”
“Then they went to visit their friend Prince Qu’inn.”
“I thought we got the cat because His Highness was going traveling, but I was going to go ask at his hotel anyway as soon as you came in. I did not want you to hear about the disappearance from anyone else, or think I was not doing my best to return the girls to you. I already sent for the curricle.”
“I shall go with you.”
“My aunt is so distraught that Mrs. Olive gave her laudanum. She cannot accompany us and there is no time now to call out the closed carriage.”
“It makes no nevermind if people see me alone with you. What is my reputation compared to finding my nieces? If anyone is so mean-minded as to find fault in such an emergency, then a pox upon them. They are not worthy of my concern. The girls are. You don’t think they have been abducted, do you?”
He took her hands and held them between his, trying to ease her fears. “I pity the poor fool who tries. He’d have returned them long since, tossing them back like undersized fish.”
“Do you think they are injured, then, and that is why they have not come home?”
“Hurt? I pray not, not before I get my hands on them anyway.”
Margaret took her hands back, reluctantly, to retie her bonnet. “After me, if they are merely out playing somewhere.”
Wolf brushed her hands aside and tied the bow, then caressed her cheek. “More like playing another of their tricks on us. I am sure of it.”
Margaret felt her skin tingle where he had touched. He was merely being sympathetic, she told herself, nothing else. She stepped away. “Do you know, I think I might have been wrong about the girls.”
“What, that they are not the perfect angels you imagined them to be? I doubt I have ever met a pair of more mischievous, manipulating brats in my life, and I pray I never do again.” They were almost troublesome enough to make a man reconsider his plans for the future.
“Could that be why my sister sent them away with nothing but nannies and servants? I have been wondering about that, a mother parting from her babies.”
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br /> “The girls are not babies, being all of what? Eight and ten? Women regularly send their youngsters off to school at that age. Furthermore, I understand most of the prosperous English in India do retreat to the mountains in the summer. Your sister saved her children’s lives. So I can strangle them.”
Margaret smiled, as he’d intended. “They are only children.”
“And no worse than I was as a boy, I suppose, although my illicit adventures usually included big horses and broken bones. I merely hate to see you so distressed.”
As if Wolf weren’t. Lud, anything could happen to two innocents in London. But Maggie was being brave, so he had to be. Wolf wanted to take her in his arms for comfort—hers and his—but the curricle was brought to the front door just then. Leaving instructions and an itinerary with his man Paul, Wolf helped Margaret onto the carriage and set off.
First they stopped at the colonel’s daughter’s house, because it was closest. As suspected, no one had seen the children. The butler was under instructions not to admit them, but looked in the greenhouse anyway. Nothing was missing, which meant the girls had not paid a call.
The prince had left the hotel days before.
The guard at the Royal Menagerie knew the children well from their recent visits and pestilential questions, but he had not seen them that day.
An Enchanted Christmas Page 29
