CHAPTER 15
Battle Royale
Moments after Connor had ridden away on his silver stallion, Maggie was still gathering her thoughts, trying to figure out how to begin. Unfortunately, her sister beat her to the punch.
“Why, look at that, Mags,” Delia drawled, gazing off in the direction Amberley had gone. “You managed to scare away another one. That didn’t take long.”
Maggie scowled, drawing herself up. “Delia,” she said, “I have had it with you.”
“Beg pardon?” Her sister’s green eyes glittered as she turned.
“I am sick and tired of your attitude. What on earth is wrong with you?”
“Me?” The marchioness let out an indignant huff of laughter. “There’s nothing wrong with me, I assure you.”
“Then why would you say such awful things to Amberley about me? And to Serena and Portia earlier? Why are you always trying to make a fool of me wherever I go?”
Delia rolled her eyes. “Oh, can’t you take a joke?” Then she waggled her fingers politely at a carriage full of people she knew going by in the opposite direction. “Halloo! Good afternoon.”
“This goes far beyond humor, Delia,” Maggie said, ignoring them. “I’m not stupid.”
“Hmm,” Delia teased, then waved again to someone else—Trinny’s mother and a horde of red-haired younger sisters went trundling by, enjoying the sunshine. “Lady Beresford, so nice to see you. Hullo, girls!”
The youngsters all waved back cheerfully.
Maggie managed a nod to their neighbors, noting with a pang that the Beresford girls all seemed to get along well together.
Delia’s coach rolled along inevitably as Fate, wheels crackling over the gravel. The empress seemed to bask in the view of the flat, pleasant green and all the liveliness of a busy Hyde Park afternoon, but Maggie knew Delia was watching her from the corner of her eye.
Perfect. Now she’s ignoring me. Maggie fumed at her sister’s obtuseness.
Very well, perhaps this wasn’t the best place for the confrontation she finally felt ready to have.
Maggie glanced at the coachman, who was sitting up on the box, ramrod straight, and, no doubt, trying desperately not to overhear anything he shouldn’t.
“Hubert!” Maggie called. “Would you kindly take us home now?”
“What? Never mind that, Hubert! Don’t tell my driver what to do,” Delia snapped. “He’s my coachman, not yours. Hubert, continue ’round the Ring!”
“Er, yes, milady.”
“I’d head home if I were you,” Maggie warned her sister.
“Why?” Delia demanded, the jaunty feather on her hat whipping in the wind, which had begun blowing harder. “If it rains, we’ll simply put the top up.”
“This has nothing to do with the weather.” Maggie braced herself. “I have something to say to you.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes. And I don’t think you want me to say it here.”
“Speak your mind, by all means, sister!” Delia folded her arms across her chest and sat back as though she welcomed the challenge.
Maggie swallowed hard, going a bit dry-mouthed. She could not deny she had always found Delia intimidating when she went all cool and superior like that.
For a moment, she was tempted to back down, simply out of habit. But no. Not this time. “You really want to have this out right here, in the middle of Hyde Park, with half the ton present?”
“Have what out, Mags?”
“Oh, I think you know.” Maggie started trembling, but not from fear, exactly. Nervousness, perhaps. It seemed to be some sort of automatic response to the prospect of a row. But still, she didn’t falter, holding her sister’s gaze. “We are going to end this now. For once and for all.”
Delia studied her for a moment, then shook her head. “You don’t have the nerve. Look at you, already shaking like a leaf. Drive on, Hubert!” she ordered, sending Maggie a smirk of defiance.
Of casual domination.
Maggie’s nostrils flared as she inhaled sharply, glaring at her sister.
The coachman sent an apprehensive glance over his shoulder, looking torn between the two conflicting orders he’d received.
Maggie knew full well that all of Delia’s servants preferred her to their mistress. But she didn’t want to get the poor man sacked.
Noticing Hubert’s distress, Maggie waved it off. “Do as she says,” she muttered, shaking her head and looking away as a trio of male riders went galloping by in a cloud of dust.
Pleased with her petty victory, Delia folded her arms across her chest and eyed Maggie. “That’s what I thought.” Delia shook her head after a moment. “You have some cheek, complaining to me about anything, after all I’ve done for you.”
“I’d have fared much better by now if you’d done far less, believe me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“If you’re so keen to be rid of me, you should’ve tried to help me find a husband instead of driving them all away just to humiliate me. But no. You do the exact opposite! When I meet a man I like, you start meddling, planting your little seeds of destruction, and end up ruining it for me every time. I only wish I understood why.”
“What rubbish! You ungrateful little monster, I do nothing of the kind.”
“Yes, you do!” Maggie said. “If you had not been hellbent on ruining my life at every turn, I’d have already finished imposing on you for the dreadful burden I’ve placed on you, having to share your roof! Never mind that I’m your own flesh and blood.”
“I promised Papa that I would look after you, and I’ve kept my word,” Delia said. “It’s not my fault if you can’t conduct your own affairs. Do you know how many times I have kept you out of trouble?”
“All you ever do is tear me down!” Maggie cried.
“It’s for your own good,” Delia said oh so reasonably.
“How’s that?”
“I am keeping you from becoming any more conceited than you already are, Margaret Hyacinth.”
“I beg your pardon?” Maggie stared at her in disbelief.
Delia preened and looked forward as the coach rolled on. “I suppose there’ll be no living with you now that you think you’ve got a duke sniffing around your skirts. You know he only wants one thing from you, anyway.”
Delia’s crudeness revolted Maggie almost as much as the outlandish accusation. “No, he doesn’t, and I am not conceited! You’re the one who’s completely incapable of honesty.”
Delia arched a brow.
“Why do you hate me so much?” Maggie asked softly. “What did I ever do to you?”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. I don’t hate you.”
“You act like it. You clearly have some sort of grudge against me and always have. So, why don’t you just come out and tell me what it is?”
Delia looked forward down the road and said nothing.
“Well? Tell me! If you make me understand, perhaps there’s something I can do to try and change it.”
“You can’t change it,” Delia said.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s in the past!”
“Apparently, it’s not, if it still comes between us every day. So?” Maggie waited.
“Fine. You really want to know?” Delia said tightly after a moment.
“I’m asking!”
“It’s not fair,” Delia said crisply.
“What’s not fair?” Maggie said, mystified.
“Mother always thought you hung the moon, while I might as well have not even existed. It’s not fair; it’s not right!” Delia burst out. “They both spoiled you, taught you how to be all puffed up about yourself and put on airs. You think you’re better than everyone else—”
“That is utterly ridiculous! Delia!” Maggie said. “You cannot honestly believe that.”
“You can’t even see it in yourself!” Delia cried, turning fully to Maggie. “Take him, for example.” She flung a gesture in the direction Amberley had gone. “How arrogant do you have to be to think that you, the mere daughter of an earl—and a younger daughter at that—have any business setting your cap at a duke? Especially one like him, rich and handsome. He’d be better off with Portia. At least her father is a marquess.”
Maggie stared at Delia, floundering. “I-I am not setting my cap at Amberley.”
“Oh, spare me the sickening protestations of innocence, Miss Perfect. I see you drooling over him. Big stud with a coronet and a huge fortune? How fine you must think yourself to have snared his attention!”
Maggie felt herself color, certainly not about to tell her sister anything. “He is a nice man! That is all.”
“As if that has anything to do with marriage among our class. No. You just want to outshine me, as ever.” Delia stared at her as though waiting for a response, but Maggie just sat there. “Well? Have you nothing to say for yourself?”
“I-I… Y-you’ve flabbergasted me,” Maggie finally said. “I have never outshined you in anything, Delia! How could I? People don’t even notice that I exist when you are there. You’re the eldest. I’ve lived in your shadow all my life.
“As for my friendship with His Grace… Well, I feel sorry for you if all you can see of other people is their fortune and rank. But that’s how it is with you, isn’t it? As long as I’ve known you, you’ve always been jockeying for position, trying to put yourself above everyone else in the pecking order. Especially me. And you know what that means?”
Delia sneered at her. “Enlighten me.”
“It means I’m not the arrogant one—you are. And if you don’t realize that, then you are beyond anyone’s help. Mine. Even Edward. How the man puts up with you, I have no idea.”
“Don’t you dare talk about my husband!”
“Why? Because I’m the only one besides the servants who knows how badly you treat him? That man is far too good for you, you know.”
“How dare you?” Delia gasped, but Maggie warmed further to the fight.
It was so much easier defending her dear brother-in-law than standing up for herself. “It’s true! Edward is a saint. You may only care about his rank and fortune, but that man adores you. Mark my words, Delia. If you hurt him one day badly enough to lose him, no one will ever love you like that again.”
Delia’s face had paled into a frozen mask of rage.
“Get out,” she suddenly spat. “Get out of my coach right now! Hubert, stop the carriage!” Glaring at Maggie, she pointed to the carriage door as the coach slowed.
“Delia—”
“You heard me. Get. Out! You can walk the rest of the way home, or don’t come back at all, for all I care!”
“Delia!” Maggie felt a surge of panic at this unexpected turn of events. “Don’t do this—”
“Remove yourself, please. I can’t stand the sight of you a moment longer, you ungrateful little witch.” Delia turned away, blocking Maggie from view behind the brim of her hat, muttering furiously to herself. “Telling me about my own husband. Go!” she barked.
Maggie’s first impulse was to apologize, as ever, and plead with Delia not to throw her out of the carriage in the middle of Hyde Park, to be humiliated in front of all Society.
Granted, it wasn’t very far to Moonlight Square. But there were so many people present.
Even Hubert looked appalled. “A-are you sure, Lady Birdwell?”
“Of course I’m sure!” Delia said, red-faced. “I’m always sure!”
Maggie waved off her sister’s order, excusing Hubert from culpability. She mumbled to him not to bother when he set the brake and hastily started to descend from the driver’s box to come and hand her down.
As if such courtesies made the slightest difference right now.
“Just keep your distance, Hubert,” Maggie said stiffly.
He looked relieved, though uncertain. The man had a family to feed, after all.
“Look forward! Do you mind?” Delia said.
Hubert turned around, facing the horses.
“Well? Go!” Delia ordered.
“I’m going.” Maggie stifled a growl and rose to her feet.
A glance around revealed that their very public argument had already drawn more than a few stares from all around the green.
Thank God, Amberley was nowhere in sight to witness her total defeat.
She could just imagine how the mighty warrior would cringe at her failure to win a simple argument—even one where she was in the right!
But as the image of the fearsome major blossomed in her mind, in all his Irish fight and rebellion, Maggie suddenly decided, So be it. And all in an instant, she mentally washed her hands of her sister.
This was pointless.
“You know what?” she finally said, opening the carriage door. “You win, Delia. I’ll get out, gladly. And I’ll enjoy the walk home. But in the meanwhile, you had better figure out what you’re going to say to Edward when I tell him about this.”
“He’s my husband, not yours. Whose side do you think he’s going to take? You’re just miffed that you haven’t been able to land one of your own, poor, ugly spinster!”
Stung by this lowest of blows, Maggie narrowed her eyes to angry slashes, but pressed her lips shut. She did not trust herself not to scream.
“You think I care if you run and tattle on me to Edward? I’m used to it, Maggie,” Delia added bitterly. “You did the same thing to me throughout our childhood, running to Mother and Father to tell them everything I ever did wrong. You’re the reason they never loved me.”
“Yes, they did—despite the fact that you were a horrible child! Oh, yes, you were!” Maggie shouted before Delia could deny it. “You wreaked havoc whenever you got the chance! Half the time you were a danger to yourself—and others. Was I to keep them in the dark about your antics?”
“I was never bad, merely high-spirited—except compared to you, Mama’s perfect little angel!”
“High-spirited?” Astonished, Maggie paused. “Maybe you’ve forgotten, Delia, but I certainly haven’t—how you browbeat our nursery maids until they burst into tears and quit. How you picked on all the other children, kicked the pets, tore the limbs off my favorite dolly! And when you were twelve—remember how you stole Papa’s cheroots and a flask of his brandy? You were a spoiled little horror, Delia! Half the villagers walked on eggshells for fear of your little tantrums, and frankly, you haven’t changed a bit. I just hope that one of these days, you will finally grow up!”
“Will you please get away from me?” Delia yelled, rising to her feet, as if she had half a mind to throw Maggie bodily out of the carriage.
“I’m going!” Maggie bellowed, jumping out of the coach. “Good day!”
“Good riddance!” Delia roared back, red-faced.
Maggie slammed the carriage door, shaking with rage.
“Hubert, put the damned top up!” Delia ordered. “All these bloody people gawking at me. Why don’t you mind your own business?” the marchioness hollered at some wide-eyed passersby.
Maggie shook her head in disgust. “What elegance, my lady.”
“Step aside or I’ll bloody run you over, Margaret!”
Glaring at Delia and gripping her reticule tight, Maggie stepped off the graveled roadway and somehow managed not to bite her thumb at her sister.
It was the only rude gesture she knew, from a Shakespeare play. She was too angry right now to remember which, but at least she knew that famous line: “I bite my thumb at you, sir!”
Hubert had scrambled to comply with Delia’s order, raising the folded-down leather top over the open coach. He sent Maggie a frantic look as she pivoted and began marching off alone across the grass.
“I’ll send Miss Penelope to find you, ma’am,” he ventured.
Maggie waved off his offer, already stalking away. “Don’t bother.”
It was Penelope’s day off. She was probably wandering through various mantua-makers’ shops right now with her two friends who also worked as ladies’ maids, styling aristocratic women. They went out now and then to peruse the shops and get ideas, for a good lady’s maid made it her business to keep her mistress abreast of all the latest fashions.
Sometimes Maggie thought Penelope was more like a sister to her than Delia was.
Humiliated by her ejection from the carriage, she felt sick to her stomach as she headed for the nearest copse of trees, desperate to take cover from all the prying eyes.
She could feel countless stares upon her, while her pulse pounded and her legs trembled. What a disaster.
With her wrath starting to recede once she’d escaped Delia’s infuriating presence, she regretted ever having tried to stand up to her in the first place. Why didn’t I keep my mouth shut? All I’ve done is make everything worse.
When, at last, the shadows of the grove she had entered screened her from view, Maggie blew out a shaky breath, fighting back tears.
She glanced toward the road and saw Delia’s coach rumbling off around the bend. Her chin trembled, eyes prickling with moisture. Her sister’s words were hurtful, to be sure. Hurtful and false. But that was not what made Maggie give way to a sob. It was the sheer, intolerable powerlessness of her situation.
That and the specter of a deep, aching loneliness.
Spinster, Delia had called her. What if she really did end up alone…forever?
It was too terrifying to contemplate.
God, it was intolerable sometimes, being a lady, forbidden from making a living of one’s own, forced into being a dependent. If she were a commoner like Penelope, she would’ve at least had more options.
Ah, and if she were a man, she could’ve forged her own way in the world and lived exactly as she pleased.
But, of course, that would never be. She was who she was. The daughter of an earl, trained to be a wife and mother and run an upper-class household. Which meant she had to marry someone.
Quickly.
For she really couldn’t take this anymore. No doubt Delia would treat her even worse after that debacle. Fear gripped her as she wondered if her sister would even let her back into the house. If not…then what?
Blast it all, Delia had no right to do this to her! Surely Edward would not stand for it. Frankly, Maggie did not even want to go back to their house, but where else could she go?
For a while longer, Maggie remained hidden among the trees, leaning against the smooth, whitish trunk of a slender elm until she had managed to calm down and gather her composure.
When someone drove slowly past the place where she’d gone into hiding, she decided to get out of here before this ordeal became any more embarrassing.
For now, she had no choice but to return to Birdwell House.
Blotting away her last couple of tears with the fingertips of her ivory kid gloves, she took a deep breath, pushed away from the tree, and lifted her chin.
If anyone stopped her, she would simply tell them that she had decided to walk the rest of the way on her own. Yes, she and her sister had bickered. But what sisters in the world didn’t now and then? If anyone knew the true depths of Delia’s cutting comments, it would only bring dishonor on their entire family.
Delia must be shocked that Maggie had stood up to her for once, though.
That at least gave Maggie some satisfaction as she squared her shoulders and finally strode out of the other end of the pretty grove of trees.
Time to start walking. One could always do with a brisk constitutional.
Unfortunately, she had not gone far when the wind picked up and a few rumbles of thunder rolled across the firmament, coming ever closer.
Then, before she had even reached Hyde Park Corner, lightning streaked through the air, piercing the dark, heavy clouds.
Which promptly disgorged a miserable torrent of rain on her head.
Maggie let out a huge sigh and dropped her chin nearly to her chest.
Worst…day…ever.