by Cheryl Bolen
“Apparently so,” Lord Carrington said.
“Thank God!" Lyle exclaimed. Then as if he were thinking aloud, he said, "And, fearing for her safety, Warwick would quite naturally go into hiding with her!”
Harry Lyle may not have known Maggie for long, but it was obvious to Randolph she had added Lyle to the string of men who had fallen in love with her.
* * *
“Just where do you think you’re going?” Edward asked Maggie, who was tying on a bonnet as she stood inside the front door of Broadmeadows.
“For a walk. It’s far too lovely a day to be indoors.”
How could she so carelessly disregard her own safety? "I must insist on accompanying you.”
“Surely you’re not worried I’ll be abducted at Broadmeadows!”
“If I’ve learned a single thing throughout this ordeal it’s to be prepared for the worst.”
She waited while he sheathed his saber and strapped it on, then they left the house, her arm tucked into his. Warmed by the sun, they began to stroll along the rolling meadows behind the stone farmhouse.
“How do you find Broadmeadows?” he asked.
She sighed. “I love it here. If only Rebecca and I had a nice little place like this, then I’d not be in such haste to marry. The pity of it is, had I not married The Scoundrel my father would have left enough for us to purchase a similarly situated farm.”
“He was that well off?”
“Not vastly wealthy but comfortably well off.”
“Then I don’t see why your brother couldn’t be more generous with what his father left.”
“That’s because you're generous by nature. James is not. It’s really quite disappointing that he did not inherit our father’s benevolence. It’s my belief James must have taken after his mother, and she must have been quite wicked.” A moment later Maggie amended her statement. “Not to say that James is wicked precisely. I’m being most uncharitable by speaking so unflatteringly about my own flesh and blood.”
“You don’t have to apologize for telling the truth.”
They came to a tidy peach orchard and were able to walk in the shade. Off in the distance beyond the orchard the land dipped down to a deep blue lake that glistened like sapphires beneath the sun's bright glow. They had not spoken for several minutes now. He wasn't even sure he wanted to talk with her. He did not wish to hear her praise Hollingsworth. In the silence that closed around them like a shell he could allow himself to forget he was pledged to Fiona, forget that Maggie wasn't his.
Maggie sighed. “It’s so beautiful today. I vow I don’t see how anyone could possibly prefer being indoors. There’s not even a wind--nor a cloud in the sky--” Her smiling face lifted to his. “Much to your consternation, I daresay.”
He could not repress a grin. “You’re wrong if you think I have some kind of attachment to clouds. I assure you a day like today is exactly what I most wish for. Clouds or no clouds.”
“Maggie,” he said solemnly a minute later, his voice husky.
She tilted up her head, her delicate brows raised.
“Lord Agar’s selling Broadmeadows. Let me buy it for you and your sister. I wish for you to marry because you want to, not because you have to.”
There was a softness in her eyes and the unmistakable flicker of remorse in her voice when she responded. “See what I mean about your generosity? I do thank you for the offer, but you know I cannot accept. Besides you’ve got to consider Lady Fiona’s feelings. As kindhearted and charitable as she is, you cannot expect her to stand by silently while you spend large amounts of money on an unmarried woman.”
Of course she was right. Besides, even if he had taken great risks to claim the Warwick title and the lands and money that went with it, he was not assured of possessing these things for the rest of his life.
He frowned. “I don’t like to think of you being in a hurry to marry Hollingsworth. This time your marriage will be forever, and I shouldn’t like you to form an alliance you’ll regret.”
“I’ll own I’ve only known Mr. Hollingsworth for a week, but you must admit one gets to know another quite well after being confined with them in a carriage for many days.”
Edward's pulse leaped. “And you find Hollingsworth’s presence not objectionable?” he asked, his gut wrenching.
“I find Mr. Hollingsworth a most worthy gentleman.”
“Do you . . . are you falling in love with him?” His hand fisted. His heart pounded in his chest, thundered in his ears.
She did not answer for a moment. His breath stilled. “You’re being impertinent to ask so personal a question,” she finally said.
So he was. “Forgive me. I had no right.”
By now they had cleared the orchard and were heading toward the lake. “Oh look, Edward! Baby ducks!”
He could not repress a smile when he looked up to see a mother duck waddling along the bank of the lake, some five ducklings waddling behind her. “No doubt you miss Tubby all the more,” he said kindly.
“Indeed I do.”
Would that he could bring the fat, furry creature to her. There was nothing Edward would not do to keep the blush on her cheeks, a smile on her lovely mouth.
They walked until they came to a yew hedge which separated Lord Agar’s property from his neighbor’s, then they turned around to return to the farmhouse.
“Were you aware that Lord Agar has apparently suffered some financial setbacks?” she asked.
“Not until this last visit. He’s had to sell some of his books, and now Broadmeadows.”
“Apparently he lost a great deal of money in an African gold mine.”
“Not only that,” Edward said, “he’d previously lost heavily on the exchange.” Was Maggie concerned that if she married Hollingsworth, his father’s fortune would be gone before he inherited? Such greed was not consistent with what Edward knew of Maggie’s character. Besides, hadn’t she just refused his offer of Broadmeadows?
“I feel wretchedly sorry for Lord Agar,” she said. “He’s still suffering from the loss of his wife, and now this. Such a pity. If we win the war do you think the exchange will prosper?”
“Undoubtedly.” We win the war. No one but a patriot to England would say that.
As they continued back Edward was aware of a deep melancholy hanging over him. Despite that the day was as glorious as any he’d ever known. Despite that the woman he loved was at his side. He was possessed of the oddest feeling the Almighty was bestowing these wondrous things upon him only to reinforce that he would be denied them for the rest of his life. Today might be the last time he was ever alone with Maggie, the last time he would ever feel her arm on his. He felt as if he were bleeding inside.
When they reentered the house, the matronly housekeeper informed him that a post for Lord Warwick had been delivered. Edward strode to the hall sideboard and saw a letter addressed to him in Fiona’s hand.
Chapter 27
His heart thumped as his glance swung from the letter in his hand to Maggie. She stood on the third step of the stairway, her hand on the wooden banister and the blue shawl draped over her shoulders as she smiled down at him. Sun streaming in through the sidelights dappled her dark hair, bringing out a reddish glimmer. Her cheeks were tinged with pink and she was so utterly beautiful, his breath caught. “I’ll run along now and wash and change for dinner,” she said.
He waited a moment before seeking his own room, which was next to hers. Once the chamber door was closed behind him, he strode to the window and opened the green damask draperies, flooding the chamber with the waning afternoon sunlight. Then he sank into an armless wooden chair and opened the letter.
My Dear Lord Warwick,
Since it is unlikely you’ll be taking the arduous journey north in the near future, I have taken a coward’s path in terminating our betrothal by means of this letter. I should have cried off before you left Windmere Abbey, but under the circumstances I was too rattled to think clearly.
It is f
ortuitous that our engagement was never publicly announced. Neither of us need claim any blame for the lapse in judgment that resulted in the secret betrothal.
As you must know, I have no wish to marry a man whose heart does not belong to me, though I confess that I gave the matter consideration.
If you really love the beautiful countess you must let her know before she accepts my brother’s offer for I believe with all my heart that you two belong together.
F.
His hand shook as he refolded the letter. After all these weeks of shouldering inexpiable guilt, he should feel some relief. But, oddly, he did not. That Fiona had released him did not absolve him from the onerous hurt he had inflicted upon her. She would never again be the happy, confident girl he had fallen in love with so long ago. No one more than she deserved a man who would love her above all else, but would that fragile heart of hers ever again trust a man?
Though Edward loved Maggie more with every beat of his heart, he had no reason to believe she returned his affection. Hadn’t she already refused his offer of marriage? Was she not on the verge of accepting Hollingsworth’s offer?
Why did his sister not think Maggie belonged with Hollingsworth? Could Fiona have seen something in Maggie’s intercourse with Edward that warranted her belief they belonged together? Something Edward himself had not observed?
His shoulders slumped. He had no hope. All his observations of Maggie with Hollingsworth convinced him she would accept the man’s offer.
A numbing grief darker than any he had ever experienced slashed through him. How did one live when one’s heart had been ripped away?
* * *
They were almost finished with the second course when Mr. Hollingsworth, dressed in dusty riding clothes, strode into the dining room that night. Maggie was very happy for the interruption. Edward was in one of his brooding moods and had barely spoken a word through dinner.
“Won’t you have a seat?” she said.
Randolph shook his head. “I couldn’t possibly in these clothes.”
“Then I’ll prepare you a plate and bring it to the drawing room so you can nibble while you tell us everything you learned today,” she said.
An hour later Randolph had changed into dinner dress, and the three of them sat on well worn, slipcovered sofas in the drawing room. Edward and Maggie sipped on brandy while Randolph ate from the plate in his lap.
“Since you’ve returned so quickly, I’m assuming you learned something today,” Edward said, his voice grave.
Randolph, finishing off a bite of sturgeon, nodded. “I believe it’s safe for you to return to Warwick House.”
Maggie’s glance flicked to Edward. His brow crinkled. “I’m not exposing Maggie to harm based on your belief. You’d better have something stronger to go on.”
“Lord Carrington has promised to have Horse Guards watch Warwick House around the clock in order to ensure the lady’s safety,” Randolph said. “He laments that he did not do so earlier.”
“As do I,” Edward said.
Edward's gravity nearly broke her heart. A stray tuft of his dark hair spilled onto his forehead, and she fought the desire to gently sweep it away, to flow into his arms and alleviate his woes, woes she had heaped upon his too-generous shoulders.
“There’s one thing more,” Randolph added, setting down his fork. “Carrington’s finally been able to apprehend the cut-throats who tried to abduct the countess. They’re in Newgate.”
A sigh swooshed from her lungs. “I am so relieved.”
“Has he found out who hired them?” Edward asked.
Randolph shook his head. “Not by name, but they claim the man who negotiated with them spoke with a French accent.”
A smile lifted her face. “Then we can exonerate Lord Carrington and Mr. Lyle from culpability!”
“So it would seem,” Randolph said.
Edward drew in his breath. “As much as I would like to believe them guiltless, we need to proceed with caution.”
Randolph regarded Maggie with a tender gaze. “I couldn’t agree with you more, but the lady cannot like the idea of spending her life in hiding and seclusion.”
“Not just my life,” Maggie said, “there’s also my sister's life to consider.”
Mr. Hollingsworth cleaned his plate and set it on the tea table in front of him, then he went to the decanter and filled a glass with brandy. “Here’s what I propose,” he said as he returned to his seat. “You and the countess quietly return to Warwick House, where you will have seen to it that your footmen are armed. Then, once she’s safely ensconced in the hopefully impenetrable house, you apprise Lord Carrington of the countess’s return and demand protection by the Horse Guards.”
“There’s some merit to what you propose,” Edward said. “A daytime arrival at Curzon Street--in your father’s coach--should be unexpected and, therefore, safe.” His eyes locked with Maggie’s. “Would such a plan be agreeable to you?”
The very thought of returning to London terrified her. That’s where men with knives had tried to grab her. Men who had likely killed Andrew Bibble, and the vision of his bloody dead body still clung to her like oil leeching into pores. She would have been perfectly happy to spend the rest of her life here at Broadmeadows. But that wasn’t an option. She sucked in a deep breath. “If returning to London will hasten a return to normalcy, I will have to approve it.”
Edward’s eyes softened. “Are you afraid, Maggie?”
“I’ve never stopped being afraid,” she said in a thin, nervous voice, “ever since that awful night we fled London.”
Edward spoke gently. “Will you feel safer here at Broadmeadows?”
“I suppose I’ll never feel entirely safe until The Scoundrel’s document--or whatever it is they seek--is found.”
“That might never be found,” he said.
“One day it will surface,” she said. “Of course we have no assurances that day will come during our lifetime.” She gave a nervous little laugh.
“I thought you would wish to return to London,” Randolph said, giving her a puzzled look.
A pity Randolph Hollingsworth did not understand her like Edward did, since in all likelihood she would be spending the rest of her life with Mr. Hollingsworth.
A pity he wasn’t Edward.
“I don’t like having to watch my back,” she said, “to always have to wonder if I’m being followed, wonder if I’ll live to see the next day.” She looked into her glass and swished it up to the rim. “Returning to London will hopefully bring closure to so tenuous an existence.”
Edward’s lips thinned. “We’re staying at Broadmeadows.”
“Think what you’re saying, Warwick!” Randolph said. “Are you prepared to put your life on hold in order to protect the countess? Will she ever feel safe walking along the meadows or through the orchard or rowing on the lake?”
“He’s right,” she said. “We must return to London.”
“May I remind you, madam, of the consequences of making another rash decision?” Edward said.
He was, of course, referring to her disastrous marriage. “If it will alleviate your fears," she said, "I promise to sleep on the matter tonight. If I’m of the same mind in the morning, we should return to Curzon Street tomorrow.”
Edward’s brown eyes flared with anger. “As you wish.”
“Can I interest you in cards?” Randolph asked with a shrug and a smile.
Maggie shook her head. “It’s been an exhausting day. I’m going to bed, but might I suggest you play chess with Lord Warwick? He’s exceedingly fond of the game.”
* * *
Edward declined. Though Randolph Hollingsworth was his oldest friend, Edward had no wish to be in his presence longer than necessary. He neither wished to be reminded that it was Hollingsworth and his muscled body and BLUE EYES that Maggie was prepared to spend her life with, nor did he like to think he was so selfish a creature that he had come to despise so old a friend for no reason other than sheer jea
lousy.
So he grabbed a cigar, threw on his greatcoat, and stormed from the house. The parterre garden he strolled the width and breadth of had been neglected for some time. Not only were the weeds thigh high, but the once-neat grids now spilled over onto the paths. The orange-red glow of his cigar stood out from the night like a star in the inky sky, the nightingale's sweet lullaby penetrating the night's eerie silence.
He kept thinking about the last paragraph in Fiona’s letter. He must act with haste if he wished to secure Maggie’s hand. The very idea of taking her for his own gave him a heady rush, like downing an entire snifter of brandy in one long guzzle.
Then just as swiftly as he had buoyed with hope, he sank into despair. If she had ever given him a single sign, if she’d ever laughingly flirted with him as she did with Hollingsworth, he would risk the humiliation of her rejection. But save for that day in Greenwich when she had been terrified out of her wits, she had never in any way expressed even a sliver of desire for him.
Then the memory of that one kiss during their walk around the lake on the journey north gave him a ray of hope. She had not been outraged when he had yanked her into his arms and kissed her with such passion. In fact she had kissed him back with an intensity that equaled his own. His breath grew short as he remembered the feel of her arms closing around him. He was sick inside to think he had been the one who terminated the kiss but knew he would do the same thing again under the same set of circumstances: his betrothal to Fiona.
God, but they were good together, he and Maggie. A man could live a lifetime and never experience lovemaking as sublime as what consumed them that day. She could never respond to another man with the passion she lavished upon him.
It was only now dawning on him her storming into Warwick House that night had been their destiny. He had not known it then, nor did he think she knew it now, but he was certain their lives had been predestined to meld together for all of eternity.
And he could not risk letting her get away.
He crushed out his cigar on the flagstone path and returned to the now-darkened house, disappointed that he would not be able to see her tonight, not be able to tell her what was in his heart.
