by Cheryl Bolen
When they came to Edward’s door, Fiona took both his hands and stood back to look at him. “Oh, Edward dearest, I’ve missed you so dreadfully.”
He had not remembered she was so small, so exceedingly fair. Even her voice was not like what he remembered. It seemed more youthful than the voice of a woman who was five and twenty. “It’s been a wretched four months for you,” he said, his voice gentle.
“And I’m so wretchedly selfish. I know how fatigued you must be from the journey. I know you need to wash up and rest, but I cannot bear to part from you. There’s so much I want to say.”
She wanted to be alone with him, but for the first time in the many years he had been so devoted to her, he did not wish to be alone with her. His heart thudded. “I assure you rest is something I can do without. After so tedious a journey, the prospect of stretching my legs is most welcome. Where would you like to go?”
A winsome smile washed over her delicate face. “It doesn’t matter--as long I’m with you.”
He took her hand and tucked it within the crook of his arm as they retraced the steps that had brought them to the second floor.
“We can go to the drawing room,” she said. “There’s a nice fire there.”
“As you wish."
A moment later she was closing the door to the gold and ivory room, backing herself into it and searching his face with smoldering eyes. “Please, Edward, put your arms around me.” Her voice cracked, becoming suddenly child like. “It’s been so very long.”
He took two strides and pulled her to him, her slender arms snaking around him as he held her close. He felt as if he were embracing a thirteen-year-old boy. Why had he never before noticed her absence of a bosom? Then she lifted her face. She wants me to kiss her. But all he could think of was the scorching kisses he had shared with Maggie. He could almost feel Maggie’s soft tongue mingling with his, kissing her with a passion that was absent from his and Fiona’s chaste kisses. His head lowered until he felt the brush of Fiona’s lips. He held the kiss for a few seconds. Never before had he been so willing to terminate one of Fiona’s kisses.
And never before had Fiona kissed him with such passion.
After the kiss, she burrowed her face into his chest and smiled. “Oh, my dearest, I’ve missed you so bitterly. How many times I have wished that we had married before Mama’s death.”
“Things have a way of working out for the best. I’m sure you’ve been a great comfort to your father in his grief.”
Her little head nodded. “Poor Papa, he’s been far too mired in his grief.”
“Perhaps having house guests will be good for him.”
Her eyes glittered. “Oh, it will! He’s been enthusiastically looking forward to your visit.”
She angled back, then faced him. “Is your visit still to be kept in secret?”
Fiona might have an ethereal look about her, but she was a typical woman, through and through. She had not been able to wait even an hour before demanding an explanation of her intended’s clandestine trip.
"I'd rather you not tell anyone of my presence here in Yorkshire." His brows plunged. “You're to say nothing of this, even to your father."
Her eyes wide, she nodded.
"Someone’s been stalking the countess--someone who’s up to evil. The night we fled London, four armed men tried to abduct her.”
She gasped. “Who, pray tell?”
“We don’t know.”
“I daresay it’s a spurned lover. The woman is breathtakingly beautiful. I’m very jealous that you’ve spent so much time with the exquisite creature.”
His insides clenched. Fiona had no idea just how exquisite Maggie was. Already, he rued the termination of their journey, the termination of his intimacy with her. “I am betrothed to a woman who’s breathtakingly beautiful," he said, a grin pinching one side of his face. "Just ask any of her myriad of suitors.”
A smile played at her delicate lips. “Why would someone . . . The threats against the countess have something to do with that wretched position of yours at the Foreign Office, do they not?”
He nodded.
She watched him through narrowed eyes. “Did you injure yourself trying to extricate her from the miscreants?”
“What makes you think I’d be that foolish?”
Her rosy little mouth lifted into a smile. “I’ve known you, Edward Stanfield, for a very long time. You’re . . . you’re the most gallant man I know.”
Deuced awkward the way these women kept finding him so gallant and all. “As it happens,” he said, “all those mornings spent at Jackson’s Salon came to good use in thwarting the cutthroats.”
“It’s your arm, isn’t it?” Her worried gaze dropped to his left arm.
“How did you know?”
“There was a hesitation in your movement when you drew me into your arms.” Her eyes narrowed and her voice hitched, “Oh, my dearest, are you hurt very badly?”
“Not very.”
“I’ll have my old nurse look at it," she said. "She’s awfully knowledgeable about illnesses and wounds and broken limbs and such.”
Not as good as Maggie. He laughed. “She would have to be, given your brothers’ propensity for getting into scrapes.”
“Allow me to get you a drink.”
God, but he did need a drink. “A glass of Madeira would be most welcome.”
She went to the decanter, poured out a glass, and handed it to him. “Come let’s sit down.”
They sat on a silken sofa some ten feet away from the blazing fire, and he sipped his drink. For the first time today he felt warm.
“Now that you’ve come,” she said, “you must help me with Papa. He’s been most vexing.”
“How so?”
“About our engagement. I’ve begged him to post the announcement in the newspapers, but he refuses to. One would almost think he didn’t like you--when I know for a fact he’s exceedingly fond of you.”
“What does it matter if you post the announcement now? We can’t marry until you’re out of mourning.”
“I should like to proudly tell the world you’re to belong to me.” Her eyes softened. “Besides, you cannot imagine how my suitors have contrived to use their condolences over my poor mama’s loss to secure a position in my heart. The sooner I can send them away, the better.”
A month ago he would have fumed over Fiona’s long line of suitors, but now he was strangely indifferent. “Why does your father say he won’t post the announcement?”
“He doesn’t say! He’s being extremely obtuse. I’ve talked to Randy and Stephen about it, and they think Papa’s transferring all the love he felt for Mama to me, that he does not wish to let me go.”
“Your brothers are likely right. I suggest you humor your father until the end of your mourning period when it will be easier for him to accept your marriage.”
“I know you’re right. And I know I’m being ever so selfish. Do you suppose . . .” She set her dainty hand upon his. “Can you procure a special license so we can wed the day after I come out of mourning?”
He stiffened. “If that’s what you’d like.”
Chapter 22
“Fiona tells me you married old Lord Warwick before he died,” Lord Agar said to Maggie at dinner that night. She had been placed to his right while his daughter presided over the opposite end of the table, Edward at her right. With diamonds sparkling in her silvery blonde hair and a frothy snow white gown billowing about her graceful body, Fiona looked like a fairy princess, at least like Maggie's vision of what a fairy princess ought to look like.
Maggie tensed. She hoped Lord Agar would not question her about the old earl since she knew nothing about him. “That’s true,” she said, feeling guilty for lying.
“May I say the old codger showed remarkably good judgment in his selection of a wife?” Lord Agar said.
“That’s very kind of you, my lord,” Maggie said. She thought perhaps Lord Agar was a bit of a codger himself, he had so easily forgotten his mour
ning in order to shower her with his attention.
“Never could figure out why old Lord Warwick was so devilishly reclusive, but come to think of it, even when he was a young man, he was a loner. His last year at Oxford was my first. The fellow had already succeeded and was extravagantly rich, but kept to his rooms. Never socialized. Never even----Well, I don’t need to discuss such a topic in the presence of you lovely ladies. Suffice it to say he thought he didn't need anyone.”
“Yes,” Maggie embellished, “my late husband was very lonely when I met him.”
“Robbed the cradle, he did!” Lord Agar said. “I daresay you’re younger than my Fiona.”
Maggie directed her brightest smile on him. “I’m four and twenty.”
“See!” he boomed. “You’re a year younger than my daughter.”
“I suppose my . . . husband treated me more as a daughter than a wife.” Maggie detested lying but thought she might have a natural talent for it.
“How long were you married?” Lord Agar asked.
Thinking of her marriage to The Scoundrel, she said, “Two years.”
“And no babies?”
Maggie felt the blood rushing to her cheeks.
“Papa!” Fiona said with exasperation. “Leave the lady be. Don’t ask such personal questions.” Sending Maggie a warm smile, Fiona said, “I do apologize for my father’s meddling.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Maggie said.
“Papa, you must have Lady Warwick tell you about America. That’s where she was raised.”
“Is that so?” he asked. “Where in America?”
“Our home was in Virginia, though I must tell you my parents were English.”
“Where were they from in England?”
“Bristol.”
Lord Agar shook his head. “Don’t know any Peabodies from Bristol.” He filled his plate, then continued the discussion. “I expect the red savages run amuck in America.”
Maggie could barely suppress a giggle. “Actually, I’ve never seen one.”
“Is that so? I daresay you had a great many slaves, though.”
She was sorry to admit the truth. “My father--as all the planters in Virginia did--owned slaves.”
“Nasty business.”
“I’ve always wished to go to America,” Lady Fiona said, graciously redirecting the conversation, “but you ladies have quite changed my mind.”
“Why?” asked Maggie.
Fiona gave a self-conscious little laugh. “Because I should feel quite ugly, indeed. Are all the women in America as beautiful as you and your sister?”
Maggie felt Edward’s eyes on her and flicked her gaze to him, but he quickly looked away. “Actually,” Maggie said, “I was wondering if all the ladies in Yorkshire are as lovely as you.”
“Yes, Agar,” Edward said, “I should think we’re the most fortunate men in the three kingdoms to be dining tonight with such beautiful ladies.”
“Yes indeed,” Lord Agar concurred.
Maggie was pleased that she had chosen to wear the rose gown that draped off her shoulders and that--when she stood--gracefully hugged the gentle curves of her body. Even Rebecca's efforts to pin up Maggie's hair in the Grecian goddess mode had been more successful than any of her previous efforts. All of this inflated Maggie's sagging confidence, but not enough to compensate for the inadequacy she felt when she stared down the table at her elegant hostess.
“You must tell me about Windmere Abbey,” Maggie said to Lord Agar. “It’s not at all what the name conjures.”
He smiled. “That’s because the original abbey was pulled down in the early seventeenth century. My great-grandfather had this house erected in its place, but the old name stuck.”
“And my grandfather,” Lady Fiona said, “modernized the house in the Palladian mode toward the end of the last century.”
“Have you a library?” Rebecca asked Lord Agar.
“The new library was built during my father’s modernization,” Lord Agar said.
“It’s the room we’re most proud of,” Fiona added.
Edward smiled at Rebecca. “If you like my modest library, you will fall in love with Agar’s. It’s on the end of the new wing--a full two stories in height with a great many windows to provide good reading light.”
Through her spectacles that glistened beneath a glittering pair of crystal chandeliers, Rebecca’s eyes widened as she turned to her host. “Oh, Lord Agar, I should be ever so happy if you would allow me access to your library.”
He patted her hand. “I would be honored.”
“Do you think you could take me there after dinner?” she asked.
“Lady Fiona may have need of you for other pursuits tonight,” Maggie told her sister. Didn’t genteel ladies play at the pianoforte and sing after dinner?
“I hope I’m not such a demanding hostess that I don’t put my guests’ interests first,” Fiona said. “I perceive that Miss Peabody is enamored of libraries.”
Maggie and Edward both broke out laughing.
“Miss Peabody is . . . obsessive over books, books of all kinds,” Edward explained.
“And due to the fact my sister suffers from motion sickness that prevents her from reading in the carriage," Maggie said, "Rebecca is feeling rather deprived at the present.”
“I daresay your deprivation is at an end, Miss Peabody." Fiona smiled at the young lady. "Have you come out yet?"
Swallowing her stewed eel, Rebecca shook her head.
Fiona’s pale eyes began to dance. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to present you, Miss Peabody.”
“Lady Fiona--when not in mourning--is the toast of the ton,” Edward informed them.
Did the gorgeous Fiona have no faults? She was beautiful and kind and POPULAR, too. Maggie saw that her sister was weighing the ton against the library, and the ton was a distant second. “Perhaps by the time you’re out of mourning, Lady Fiona, my sister will be ready to come out,” Maggie said. “She’s not quite eighteen, so I believe it will not hurt to wait until next year.”
Fiona gave Rebecca a benevolent smile. “Attendance at assemblies here in Yorkshire would be an agreeable way to introduce you to society without the anxiety.”
Edward stiffened. “A good idea, but not this trip. The ladies--after so exhausting a journey--will require total peace and quiet.”
Which, Maggie realized with appreciation, was Edward’s way of keeping their presence here secret.
After dinner Lord Agar was only too pleased to show off his spectacular library. Even Edward’s flattering description had not done it justice. Maggie could not decide if its most striking feature was the circular wall of windows at the west end or the barrel-vaulted ceiling that soared forty feet overhead. Another impressive feature was the catwalk that ringed the second-floor level. The room’s rich dark woods, the deep claret of the Turkey carpets on the wide-planked floors, and the massive fireplace gave the room warmth despite its gargantuan dimensions. She watched for Rebecca’s reaction.
“My lord!” Rebecca shrieked, “so many books! How many volumes have you?”
“Thirty thousand,” he said.
“Not any more, Papa,” Fiona said softly.
“Oh, yes, I sold off a couple of thousand volumes after losing my shirt on that African gold mine.”
“I shouldn’t think a few thousand would even be missed,” Edward said.
Rebecca had walked up to a wall of books and was examining the titles. “Lord Agar?”
He turned to her. “Yes, my dear?”
“Would it be a terrible annoyance to you if I requisition the sofa by the windows for my own spot each day?”
“I would be most happy to have you take up the sofa every day for as long as you’re here.”
“This room,” Rebecca announced dramatically, “was made for readers.”
“I spend a good bit of time here each day myself,” Lord Agar said, “but I’ve little time for reading, what with my correspon
dence and ledgers and all, but I’ll be most happy for the company.”
“Oh, I’m not good company,” Rebecca said.
“Which is just as well,” Maggie added, bestowing a smile on Lord Agar. “I assure you my sister will in no way disturb your important work.”
He must have appreciated her reference to his important work for Lord Agar smiled down at Maggie and offered his crooked arm. “Shall we repair to the saloon for whist? You do play, don’t you?”
“Her ladyship is an uncommonly good whist player,” Edward said.
Lord Agar covered her hand with his own. “In that case I claim her for my partner.” Then, lowering his brows, he turned back to Rebecca. “Unless Miss Peabody should wish to play. Five’s a deuced awkward number.”
Rebecca, her nose in a book, was not even aware she was being spoken to.
“I believe my sister would prefer to spend the evening in your library, my lord,” Maggie said, “if that is agreeable with you.”
“Yes, quite.”
* * *
Edward was angry with himself for boasting about Maggie’s play at whist. He had never bragged about Fiona’s play, and though she was too much a lady to express jealousy, the fleeting hurt he saw on Fiona’s face wrenched at him.
They took their seats at the game table, Fiona opposite him and Maggie to his right. It was during the first hand his gaze fell on Maggie’s graceful shoulders and the creamy skin that dipped beneath the full bodice of her rose-colored gown, and he realized it was the same gown she had worn the first time he ever saw her. He would never forget how magnificent she had looked that night standing below him at the base of the stairs, ordering about his servants, and he would never forget his instant, unwavering assessment that she was the loveliest creature he had ever seen.
He forced his gaze across the table to Fiona, who smiled at him, then returned her attention to her cards. Fiona wasn’t any less pretty than she’d been the last time he saw her. She still exuded the elegance and fragile beauty that had won his heart so many years before.
It was he who had changed.
And that realization left him feeling as if he’d lost his oldest friend.
When Agar got up to replenish his brandy, Fiona spoke to Maggie. “I’m so very happy you’ve come, my lady. Your visit has been the source of much amusement to my poor father. This is the most animated I’ve seen him in the four months since we lost my mother.”
