CHAPTER 27
Leaving Town
The delicate, rosy light of early morning illumined Maggie’s bedchamber as she finished folding up her favorite dressing gown, which she had taken off less than half an hour ago. Hectic with the knowledge that Connor’s traveling chariot was already waiting outside to whisk them away to some remote country house, she squashed the bulky garment down as small as it would go into her brown leather traveling trunk.
Meanwhile, Penelope, mid-task, lingered at the window in distraction near Maggie’s dressing table, gazing down onto the street where Sergeant McFeatheridge lounged atop the driver’s box.
“If you can drag yourself away from the view, my dear, I think I need you to sit on this thing if we’re ever going to close it,” Maggie said. “I’ll do the latches.”
Penelope turned with a startled glance, then hurried over to help. “You sit, my lady, I’ll latch. Just admiring the scenery, even though our journey hasn’t even started yet.”
Maggie chuckled and sat atop her traveling trunk. “You like him, do you?”
“He has a nice smile. And a very jolly laugh.”
Snap went the first latch.
“Although,” her maid added, “Major Carvel is certainly handsome, too. Not much of a smiler that one, of course.”
“No,” Maggie said. “Fortunately for us, he does seem very capable, though. It’s good of him to help us.”
Penelope snapped the second brass latch shut and nodded.
Last night, after the other guests had left the soirée, Connor had put Major Carvel in charge of the small group of handpicked men tasked with transferring Maggie from the dragon lady’s house back to Moonlight Square, while he had remained there to interrogate his aunt in private.
Instead of being taken back to Edward and Delia’s, however, Maggie had been escorted to Rivenwood House, one of the large ducal mansions on the four corners of Moonlight Square—in this case, the neo-gothic home of her friends Serena and Azrael.
Apparently, Connor deemed Azrael a fierce enough fellow to be entrusted with protecting Maggie, while he saw to the safety of his aunts, questioned the dowager duchess, and made his preparations for today’s journey.
It had been awkward, to say the least, arriving on her neighbors’ doorstep in the company of armed men, with no idea of how to begin to explain. She remembered what Trinny had told her about the couple leaving in a huff after Grandaunt Lucinda had been so rude to them.
Curiously enough, the Rivenwoods had taken Maggie’s unannounced arrival in their stride. It didn’t take long for Maggie to realize they’d had their own violent encounters with unpleasant people in the past.
Apparently, Connor had found out—most likely at the Grand Albion’s gentlemen’s club—that the pale-haired duke had a deadlier side than Maggie had ever suspected.
At least she’d be safer there than at Edward’s—and she certainly couldn’t stay all night at Amberley House. Not until they were married.
Which, it seemed, was going to happen whether she liked it or not.
In any case, along with Major Carvel, Azrael and Serena could not have been better about the whole debacle. And now that Connor had mentioned it, Maggie could see what he meant about the silver-eyed duke.
Cool and quiet, Azrael was a mysterious man with the deadly elegance of a fine sword forged by a master smith. While he and Carvel gave low-toned instructions to the men, the unflappable Serena had taken charge of Maggie, who was still bewildered by it all, gaily welcoming her into the house, and adopting a blithe attitude to cheer her up, as if it were all a lark.
“Come!” Serena had said. Carrying Azrael’s ridiculous little white dog under her arm, she had beckoned Maggie into the library on the first floor and shown her that, in fact, Rivenwood House was full of secret passageways.
“This way, if danger should come,” Serena had said in a reasonable tone, as though attacks on one’s life were de rigeur, “there are always escape routes.”
All of which made Azrael himself even more intriguing as a neighbor, Maggie thought, but one did not dare ask questions about all this, or the master of the house. She had heard the occult rumors about his ancestors, after all, the ones that had apparently bothered Aunt Lucinda. Who hadn’t?
While Serena had entertained Maggie, and various men discreetly guarded the house, Edward had been ordered to take Delia home from the soirée.
By Connor, of course.
Once the crisis had struck, he had not shown the slightest hesitation about giving orders to everyone in sight, just like he’d done to Maggie. Indeed, it was fortunate that the Duke of Wellington had not stayed, or Amberley probably would’ve been giving him orders, too.
At least the mighty major seemed to know what he was doing.
Still, Maggie’s head was spinning from all that had happened last night.
“Do you think all this fuss is really necessary?” she asked her maid out of the blue as Penelope finished packing Maggie’s smaller bag of toiletries and hair ornaments. “I don’t see the point.”
Penelope gave her a bolstering look and shrugged. “I’m just doing as I’m told.”
“Hmm,” Maggie said archly. “I think you’re looking forward to getting to know Sergeant McFeatheridge better on the way to Dorset. I’m on to you, miss.”
“Pshaw!” Penelope said coyly. “I’ve never been that far west, is all.”
“Neither have I.”
Connor had told Maggie last night that today’s journey of nearly a hundred miles would entail ten to fifteen hours of nonstop travel, depending on the weather. It sounded utterly grueling.
Frankly, she couldn’t believe he was making them do the trip in one day—especially the two old ladies—but apparently, he was unimpressed by the distance, being used to forced marches this way and that across the Continent.
For the rest of them, it was going to be a long, arduous day until their convoy rolled into the gates of Dartfield Manor around sunset, but he considered time of the essence, so they’d have to make the best of it.
And change carriage horses often along the way.
Maggie checked her wardrobe one last time to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything important. She felt ready, more or less, yet she couldn’t help but sigh.
After all her disappointments on the marriage mart, it irked her immensely that just when the world found out she had snared herself a duke—which would have been a moment of triumph for any young lady—now that it was safe to bask in the ton’s amazement at her brilliant match, here she was, being whisked away to the dull, dreary countryside.
So much for gloating, she thought with amusement.
To say nothing of the fact that, at the moment, she still wanted to wring her duke’s neck. The autocrat.
“I’m sure it’ll be very pretty in Dorset. The moors in that country are said to be very dramatic, and the sky,” Penelope said, breaking into Maggie’s thoughts. “It’s not far from the sea, I understand. I wonder if the house is on the coast?”
Maggie shrugged. For her part, she was absolutely dreading the long, dragging journey closed up in the coach with the dragon lady.
Especially after her outburst at the woman last night.
Ah well. She had no intention of apologizing, as much as it went against the grain with her to let the matter lie. As Connor had said, Grandaunt Lucinda would lose all respect for Maggie if she yielded ground now.
And besides, the truth was, she wasn’t really sorry. Nobody talked to her sister that way. The dragon lady ought to be the one apologizing.
No doubt, however, Her Grace would be unpleasant to her the whole way there.
Thank God that Aunt Florence would also be in the carriage. And Penelope. Both of them were pleasant-tempered enough to smooth away at least some of the tension that was sure to make the drive all the more nerve-racking—even without the threat of a murderer after them.
“Well, I believe that’s everything, my lady. Are you ready to go?” Penelope turned to her.
Maggie glanced around her bedchamber. “I think so… Did you bring my velvet bonnet?”
Penelope nodded and pointed at the hatbox. “It’s in there.”
“Good. And you have all your own things?”
She nodded. “My bag is packed. I just need to fetch it from my room.”
“You may go, then.”
Penelope bobbed a curtsy, then bustled to the door. “I’ll send a footman to carry these out for you on my way.”
Maggie smiled with gratitude. Penelope was more loyal to her than she had to be, and she truly appreciated that.
She had given her trusty maid the chance to decline making the trip, but Penelope had refused to send her off alone.
Admittedly, Maggie suspected that her maid’s enthusiasm for the journey might have a slight something to do with the brawny, roguish soldier sitting on the driver’s box of Connor’s traveling chariot. But Penelope was right. Rory McFeatheridge did have a warm, ready smile—and better still, he seemed equally admiring of her.
I guess it’s time to go. Maggie took one last glance at herself in the mirror. She had donned a dark blue traveling costume for their all-day trek. It was well-tailored, of sturdy, practical material, with a pelisse she could remove if the coach grew stuffy. Her comfy kid half-boots were warm and suitable for taking short walks to stretch her limbs when it was time to change horses along the road.
She’d heard Connor tell Delia and Edward to pass along the story to the ton that, out of respect, he was taking her to meet Grandaunt Caroline, the Second Duchess, in the country before the wedding.
Caroline was Duke Rupert’s widow, and the mother of dead Cousin Richard.
Now that the public knew about their heretofore secret betrothal, it was finally sinking into Maggie’s own mind as a reality that she, Maggie Winthrop, would become the Fourth Duchess of Amberley.
Such a grand title for such an unimposing person! She supposed she hadn’t quite let herself believe it till now. Gazing at her subdued reflection, she wondered if she looked the part of a future duchess. She didn’t feel any different.
Of course, now that their match was out in the open, Society had already begun to view her differently, to be sure. She shook her head, still embarrassed about how the other guests had discovered her outside alone with Connor last night, with only a crazed gunman for a chaperone.
That alone should have caused a scandal, but far worse was her outburst in the drawing room. She still cringed to think of how she’d called the First Duchess an ogress to her face.
Ah well, it was pointless to worry about strangers’ opinions of her, or other such tempests in teapots, when their lives were at stake.
Honestly, though, Maggie had no doubt that once they left London, they’d be quite safe at this country house.
She really wasn’t too worried about this dragoon, despite his escape. Not after what she’d seen last night, the way Connor had thrashed him so handily.
This sneaky jackal did not stand a chance against her lion of a fiancé. No, what preoccupied her most right now was Connor himself.
He was a problem.
And she really did not know what she was going to do about it.
She was glad he was safe—that was the main thing, of course.
But their argument and his complete lack of remorse for either the savagery he’d unleashed or the hard way he’d spoken to her afterward left her at a loss. She was still a bit in shock at what she’d witnessed.
To be sure, it was better that Connor should be the one doling out the violence rather than receiving it, but she struggled to make peace with the knowledge of what the man she loved was capable of. On top of that, he could be so blasted domineering!
She never would’ve dreamed he’d bark orders at her like she was some new recruit in his regiment who needed whipping into shape. An uncomfortable thought went through her mind: I honestly did not know what I was getting into here.
True, it had been an emergency situation. She’d give him that. If he had to go into blue war-paint Celtic-berserker mode when it came to matters of life and death, then fine. She could accept that.
As a temporary state of things.
But could he ever truly turn it off? He’d been one of the lucky ones who’d come home alive with all his arms and legs, but what in God’s name had that war done to him…on the inside?
Uncertainty entwined with worry for him sent a chill down her spine.
Maggie knew she had to try to address it with him somehow, but she had no idea what to say—or if she even dared, especially now. Who would want to make him angry? She knew he’d never hurt her, but still.
Standing up to Delia was one thing, defying the dragon was another, but trying to rein in that wild warrior? Success seemed extremely unlikely.
Yet if she failed, then she faced a lifetime ahead of being ordered around, having her wishes trampled underfoot by a will far stronger than her sister’s.
A flash of anger sparked through her at the thought, and Maggie knitted her brow. Blast it, she was not backing down!
Not to him. Maybe not to anyone ever again.
And if the major didn’t like it, then he only had himself to blame, for he was the one who had encouraged her—how many times?—to start standing up for herself.
Well, by Jove, that was exactly what she meant to do now. She was a lady of gentle birth, and no one was entitled to speak to her that way.
Not even a war-hero duke.
With that, unsure but still determined, she squared her shoulders and marched out of her chamber, ready as she’d ever be for their duel of wills, if it came to that.
She passed a footman on his way to fetch her bags when she stepped out into the upstairs hallway. Already she could hear Connor’s deep voice floating up to her from the drawing room, where he was speaking with Edward.
Her heart beat faster, but she kept her chin high, her face impassive as she started marching down the stairs, sliding a gloved hand along the banister.
To her surprise, though, before she reached the bottom, her sister stepped out of the music room below and held up a hand to halt her.
Startled, Maggie paused halfway down the steps, gazing down at her sibling. Her haughty sister wore an almost chastened look on her face. Nevertheless, out of mere habit, Maggie braced herself as Delia lifted the hem of her skirts and climbed a few of the stairs to meet her halfway.
“Mags, I wanted to talk to you before you go,” Delia said in a low tone.
“Yes?” Maggie held her breath, desperately hoping that her sister was finally ready to make peace. Their fight had been going on for days now, and she did not want to leave Town still at war with her sister, when the truth was, there was a slim chance she might never come back alive.
Not if the murderer managed to follow them.
“I…” Delia began, instantly faltering.
Maggie waited, on her guard.
“I heard you stood up for me last night,” Delia said, toying with the banister, “and I…I just wanted to say thank you. I sort of know I didn’t really deserve it.”
No, you didn’t.
“Look—I realize we haven’t been getting along for the past couple of weeks. But I don’t want to part on bad terms.”
“Neither do I,” Maggie said cautiously.
Delia studied her with a strange look in her emerald eyes, as though she were seeing her for the very first time. “I can’t believe you defended me against that dreadful old hag.”
“Don’t be silly. You are my sister. Papa told us to look out for each other, did he not? You’ve done your part, letting me live here.” Maggie shrugged. “I had to do mine.”
Moisture sprang into Delia’s eyes as she held Maggie’s gaze. “You’re very good.”
Usually, she said that sort of thing as an insult, but this time, she sounded sincere. Delia looked away with a quick sniffle. “I fear I haven’t been easy to live with of late.”
Maggie’s lips quirked. “Never were, as I recall.”
Delia shrugged haphazardly, still avoiding her gaze. “I don’t know why I get so moody. I…I haven’t been myself, quite, lately. But I acknowledge, selfishness is, um, a fault.”
Intrigued by this rare offer of the olive branch, Maggie opted to be gracious. “We all have our faults.” She paused. “At least I’ll be out from underfoot here, once I marry Amberley.”
Delia bit her lip. “I think I’ll actually miss you.” She quickly looked away, trying to wipe off a tear that had gathered on the outer edge of her eye. “The truth is, I’d be lost if anything happened to you, Mags, so you’d better stay safe.”
“Oh, don’t worry—with Amberley, I’m in no danger, I assure you.” She pursed her lips in an attempt at a smile. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Well, when you return, I’ll help plan your wedding.” Delia swallowed, taking a businesslike tone. “We’ll make it even finer than whatever that tedious Portia Tennesley is concocting.”
Maggie gave her a dubious half-smile, recalling how Portia had stood up to Delia in Hyde Park. “Only if you promise you won’t try to take over the whole thing.”
“I will try,” Delia said solemnly, and they both started laughing in spite of themselves.
To Maggie’s astonishment, Delia suddenly reached out and hugged her.
Balanced on the stairs, Maggie hugged her back, closing her eyes. A lump rose in her throat.
“Take good care of yourself, sis,” Delia whispered.
“I will. Try not to worry. You and Edward do the same—and take care of each other.” Maggie pulled back slightly, still holding on to Delia’s arms. “Go easy on him, would you? He’s such a good man and he truly loves you.”
“God knows why,” Delia said softly, lowering her gaze. “I can’t imagine what he sees in me. What’s wrong with him? Can’t he see I’m just some ‘haughty little marchioness that everybody hates’?”
“Now, now,” Maggie chided gently, taking her sister’s hand as she recognized the dragon lady’s words from last night. “That is not true. Your friends are very loyal to you, as am I. But our affection for you pales in comparison to Edward’s. He doesn’t just love you, he is in love with you, you know.”
Delia bit her lip and stared at Maggie.
“What?” Maggie murmured, hating to ask. “Is there someone else?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. It’s just—I hate all those drippy, tedious emotions! It’s embarrassing. It’s not the done thing!”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Maggie said with a laugh. “All sorts of passions seem to be entirely in fashion around here. Haven’t you noticed our neighbors?”
“Easy for you to say,” Delia retorted. “You don’t seem to care in the slightest what anyone thinks. You called the Duchess of Amberley an ogress in front of a packed drawing room.”
“Yes, I did,” Maggie declared. Then she stepped down with a grin and slung an arm around Delia’s shoulders. “And, oh, sister,” she added, “you should’ve seen the look on her face.”
They were still laughing—and trying to stifle the sound of it—when Edward appeared in the doorway of the drawing room below.
“Ah, Maggie, my dear, there you are.”
“Good morning,” she replied with a smile.
Edward’s curious glance darted from her to Delia and back again as the two of them walked the rest of the way down the steps. “The duke is here,” he informed her. “Amberley would like to speak to you. Alone.”
Delia sent Maggie a sidelong look and raised her eyebrows.
Edward stepped aside, gesturing Maggie into the drawing room with a taut smile. The puffiness around his eyes hinted that the marquess had not slept well last night after seeing danger strike so close to home.
As Maggie went toward him, she was a little surprised that her brother-in-law did not mind her going unchaperoned into the drawing room with Connor, but she supposed he must have his reasons. Then Edward withdrew and pulled the door shut quietly behind him.
Suddenly feeling uncertain, Maggie looked across the elegant, pale blue room at her fiancé. Connor gave her a tense bow.
My, that’s a formal greeting. If that was the tone he wished to set this morning, very well. She sketched a stilted curtsy in return.
He cleared his throat.
Once more, he had donned his uniform, though it was a less formal one. The ivory breeches and black boots were identical, but the scarlet coat looked more worn, less ornamented, for every day. Probably the clothes he usually wore when people were trying to kill him…
The thought sent a tingle of fear down her nerve endings, but she lifted her chin and waited, schooling her face into an expectant expression to hear what he had to say.
He started simply. “Good morning.”
“Good morning to you.”
“Are you ready to leave?”
“Yes. I just need to fetch my reticule and a book for the journey. Why? Was there something you wanted, Your Grace?”
A moment to grovel, perhaps?
“Er, ahem, yes.” He stepped closer. “I brought you this.”
He was clutching something in his fist, and as he approached, he seemed to hesitate ever so slightly. She wasn’t sure why, but when he stood before her, she could sense an extraordinary nervousness coursing through his broad-shouldered frame.
“Are you well?” she asked, puzzled.
“Yes. Yes, of course,” he said, nodding awkwardly and avoiding her gaze. He cleared his throat.
“Well, what’s the matter, then?”
He sighed, as though casting off whatever thought had been in his mind, and held out his hand, opening his fist. “Here.”
She looked down at his white-gloved palm and saw a ring with a diamond of astonishing size, surrounded by glistening emeralds.
“This is for you. It may not fit you perfectly yet, but it can be fixed, and I-I think it best if you put it on now for propriety’s sake.” Though his head was down, his black hair still damp from his morning ablutions, his glance flicked up to meet hers.
His cobalt eyes were sincere, and by the morning’s light, Maggie could just make out a faint bruise on his cheekbone. His left eye was slightly blackened.
She blinked in astonishment, then stared again at the ring, and pointed at it. “That’s for me?”
“Aye.” He lifted the jewel up between his fingers, presenting it to her when she made no move to take it herself. “It certainly isn’t for anyone else.”
“Oh…” she said faintly.
“You did agree to marry me,” he reminded her.
“Of course. Yes, yes.” She gulped. “It’s not as though I have forgotten.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” he muttered.
Maggie’s heart, admittedly, had begun pounding from the moment she had laid eyes on him this morning. All the restless energy in him seemed to be seething with pointed intensity.
But his touch was gentle as he took hold of her left hand and slid the ring onto her third finger over her glove. “There.”
She looked at it on her hand, amazed. “It seems to fit rather well over my glove.” She tilted her head back to meet his gaze as he loomed over her. “I don’t think I’ll lose it.”
“Please don’t.” The worried look in his blue eyes seemed to say, That thing cost me a bloody fortune.
She pressed her lips together to hide her smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep it safe.”
She paused as he frowned, looking a bit confused.
“It’s nice,” she added just a bit begrudgingly, because if this stubborn man thought that he could bribe his way back into her good graces with a large and expensive engagement ring, he was mistaken.
Of course, the jewelry didn’t hurt. But it could not take the place of him admitting that he had been beastly to her.
“You’re sure you like it?” he asked.
“I do.”
“Well, er, good.” He gave a crisp nod and prowled off away from her. “You keep the ring safe, and I’ll keep you safe. Which is why I wanted to speak to you alone before we set out. I just wanted to go over the details of our plan today.”
“Oh, yes, right.” She nodded, bemused at his all-business attitude, but could not resist letting her gaze travel rather hungrily over his muscular physique as he paced across the drawing room in commander mode.
“To review: our destination is Dartfield Manor in Dorset. It is a journey of about a hundred miles, but if we press on all day, we’ll get there by nightfall. I chose it because it is easily defensible out there on the moors, with broad, empty approaches, and it is my primary duty to keep all of you…womenfolk safe.”
Let’s hope your aunts’ old bones survive it, she thought.
“I, ah, hope I can count on you to be civil to Aunt Lucinda during the journey.”
“Always,” she said crisply, matching his no-nonsense tone.
“Thank you,” he said. “I cannot promise the same from her, but I did speak to her about behaving herself.”
Hmm, Maggie thought.
“Continuing: Dartfield Manor is also the home of Aunt Caroline, Second Duchess of Amberley, and her two young daughters. They’ve stayed away from Town due to their mourning.”
“Understandably so,” Maggie murmured. “The poor woman. Both her husband and her son murdered…”
“Which she does not yet realize,” he pointed out. “Aunt Caroline is still under the impression that both their deaths were accidents.”
Maggie studied him. “Are you going to tell her?”
“Not immediately, but once we’re settled, yes. I’m afraid I have to. I am not looking forward to it, to be sure.” He pivoted and marched slowly past the empty fireplace, but as he passed the window, the sunlight gleamed on his gold epaulets. “Dartfield Manor is also the place where Uncle Rupert fell from the cliff. While we’re there, I mean to hunt around for any clues I might find. Things I might’ve overlooked on my one—brief—prior visit there, since I did not yet know the truth then. That it was foul play.”
Maggie furrowed her brow. “But if that’s where Rupert was killed, doesn’t that mean that the dragoon may be familiar with the property?”
Connor nodded. “Yes, that likely is true. He most likely was stalking my uncle for a while before he made his move. Just as I’m sure he’s been stalking me ever since I stepped off the bloody boat.”
He shrugged. “That is the one part of this plan that I do not much care for, but I have no choice. Without knowing the full scope of the threat, I dare not leave Aunt Caroline and the girls out there unprotected. Our friend has now failed three times to kill me. He cannot be happy about that.”
“Maybe he’ll give up.”
“Have you ever met a dragoon?” he asked wryly.
One corner of her mouth lifted, then she leaned against the cushioned arm of the sofa and folded her arms across her chest, listening attentively.
“No, he’ll redouble his efforts now. Which is why I want all you ladies out of the way before I go to war with him properly. My men will protect you once I’ve seen you settled in at Dartfield Manor. I’ve summoned ten of the best fighters from my regiment. It may take them a couple of days to get there, but they’ll come. When they arrive, I’ll return to Town and put an end to this for good.”
Maggie lowered her head, disturbed. Again, all he spoke of was killing…
But it seemed that Connor mistook her silence for fear about the situation.
“I wish I’d never dragged you into this,” he said in a heartfelt tone, taking a step toward her.
She looked up in surprise. “I don’t regret it.”
He stared at her. “Even after last night?”
She nearly answered the question with a ready “Of course not,” but she suddenly caught herself being too quick to smooth away the trouble, as usual.
Just in the nick of time, she remembered her newfound resolve. He had not apologized for barking at her yet. So she merely lifted her chin and, instead of giving him the soothing answer he expected, waited for him to continue.
He narrowed his eyes, scanning her face. Then he quirked an ebony brow, surprised at her cool manner, turned away, and, rather stiffly, continued his report. “Ahem. Well, then. Moving on.”
She clenched her jaw in frustration at his recalcitrance. Surely he knows how rude he was to me.
“About our ‘footpad’ of last evening,” he said. “Saffie’s dragoon.”
Irked as she was at him, Maggie remembered something important. “Connor, in all the excitement last night after we returned to the party, I never got the chance to tell you that was the same man who offered me a ride home in the rain.”
His square jaw tightened. “I assumed so.”
“Do you know who he is?”
He looked relieved to have another topic to discuss other than the tension between them. “Yes, now I do. He goes by the name of Seth Darrow—Captain Seth Darrow—though he is the son of a man called Elias Flynn.”
“And who’s that?”
Connor hesitated. “I probably should’ve told you this earlier, but I was afraid it might change your view of my family sufficiently to make you refuse our alliance.”
“Good God, what is it?”
A taut expression crept across his hard, sun-bronzed face. “It seems that Grandaunt Lucinda originated as the First Duke’s mistress. She was, er”—he winced—“a notorious woman of the demimonde, I’m afraid.”
“What?” Maggie’s jaw fell open. “Are you jesting?”
“No. And Elias Flynn was the man in charge of, shall we say, hiring out her services to his titled, wealthy clients.”
Maggie stared at him in astonishment, then lowered her voice to ask, “The dragon lady was a harlot?”
“Hard to believe, I know, but yes.” He grimaced. “I spoke to her last night about all of it. Indeed, I grilled her after the guests left. She finally admitted that her former, er, pimp—forgive the word—has been blackmailing her ever since she married Granduncle Charles.”
“Good Lord,” Maggie murmured, wide-eyed.
“There was a monthly allotment that had to be paid as Flynn’s recompense for setting her up as a top courtesan and helping her to land a wealthy husband.”
Maggie shook her head in disbelief.
“For fifty years, Aunt Lucinda dropped off the money every month, as ordered. But after Uncle Charles died, she no longer wished to pay. And it is there that our current difficulty started.”
Shocked, Maggie slumped her shoulders where she leaned on the scrolled arm of the sofa.
“I had no idea about all this,” Connor informed her. “My grandfather in Ireland never discussed all the old family secrets he had left behind, and Aunt Lucinda was certainly not inclined to tell me when I arrived here. She was exceedingly unhappy that I had learned of her past, the mule-headed woman. Must’ve taken her decades to live it down, and then finally Society let it go or forgot about it. The last thing she wanted was having it brought to light again.”
“How did you find out?”
“Lord Sefton told me. Gable’s father.”
“You’ve known that long, and you didn’t tell me?” she asked indignantly, irked anew. “I was supposed to be helping you!”
“And I had determined to keep you away from the danger, remember? I wish I’d kept you out of it entirely, because look what it’s led to.” He gestured angrily toward the waiting carriage outside. “Now the bastard knows where you live.”
“Oh, I’m not afraid of him,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.
Her words made him smile curiously, but she was not about to compliment him outright on his fighting prowess when that very skill was part of what had come between them. She didn’t dare give him the impression that she was in favor of him going around thrashing whomever he pleased.
“Well,” he continued, “according to Lord Sefton, fifty years ago, our dear dragon lady was quite the scarlet woman, stealing hearts all over town. Believe it or not.”
Maggie pressed her lips together, holding back a smile. “It is…difficult to imagine.”
Connor’s blue eyes danced with mirth, but he attempted a stern look. “Do not laugh in her face—that is all I ask of you.”
“You know I never would. She has long since changed her ways, obviously.”
“Just so. And let he who is without sin cast the first stone. Which certainly isn’t me,” he mumbled.
Maggie’s ears perked up. Was this the beginning of an apology?
But no. Apparently, mulishness ran in the family, for he stuck to the topic at hand. “I am not making excuses for the way the woman treats people, mind you,” he said. “But I thought if you knew a little about her past life, it might help to explain her behavior last night, and perhaps make your time in the carriage with her today more bearable. We can hire a hack horse for you at one of the livery stables along the way if you wish to escape the coach for a leg of the journey. Or,” he added, eyeing her, “you could share a horse with me.”
Riding double with him across the moors sounded terribly romantic, she had to admit. But the rogue was not getting off the hook that easily. “We’ll see.”
He furrowed his brow and looked away with a silent oath on his lips. He probably hoped she had not seen it. Had he forgotten how stubborn she could be? He need only ask Delia.
“Thank you for explaining about your aunt,” Maggie told him in a lofty tone. “It does add context. Which will help me in finding patience with her. In fact, she sounds much like my sister. Relying on her rank to put others in their place before they can do the same to her.”
A brooding look had come over Connor’s face as he studied the carpet. “I suppose it’s just her manner of establishing her dominance in a situation. Maintaining control.”
Maggie arched a brow, unsure if they were still talking about his aunt, or if, perhaps, they’d drifted on to the major’s talent for establishing his dominance, but she let the question go.
If he wanted her forgiveness, he was going to have to do better than dropping subtle hints. By God, I will civilize him yet.
With that, she left her perch on the sofa’s arm and glanced again at the giant ring he’d given her: proof of her full right to his respect.
“Well,” she said in a cool tone, “whatever Lucinda’s excuses, I am not sorry that I stood up to the bully. Those who shove others should expect to be shoved back at some point. Don’t you agree, Your Grace?”
His gaze flicked up to meet hers, and he frowned warily. His Grace deigned not to answer, however, battened down in his male pride.
Let him suffer, then, Maggie concluded. He’d get the message eventually.
He would get nowhere with her until he said he was sorry.
“Shall we get underway?” she inquired, already drifting toward the drawing room door. “Or was there something else you wished to say?”
She glanced over her shoulder, and when she saw him grit his teeth again, was slightly amused at his obstinacy. The intensity was back in his blazing blue eyes, but it mingled now with real puzzlement at Maggie’s continued refusal to play her former role of appeaser.
Indeed, he did not seem to know what to make of the new Maggie, whom he himself had helped to shape.
“That is all,” he answered uncertainly.
She forced a bland smile past her irritation with him. “Very well.”
Without waiting for him to dismiss her—she was no servant, no soldier under his command—she let herself out of the drawing room and went nonchalantly down the stairs to the entrance hall, glad about her small victory.
He hadn’t apologized yet, but she was quite sure now that he got the message.
They made their last-minute preparations, and Connor walked out as well, still eyeing her curiously as he crossed the entrance hall and went back outside.
This day-long journey in the coach had just become a good deal more interesting, Maggie thought. What he had told her about his aunt had been most enlightening, and of course Maggie would never use the information against the old woman.
She could only imagine what torments the haughty ladies of the ton must have put the First Duchess through in her day. Maggie wouldn’t dream of repeating that behavior. No doubt they’d been judgmental and cruel.
Still, as she looked around at their three-vehicle convoy of traveling chariot, servant coach, and baggage wagon, surrounded by several outriders, including Major Carvel, Maggie’s heart sank.
It was going to be a long ride to Dorset.
Soon, she said her goodbyes to Edward and Delia.
“Stay safe, my dear,” Edward said, hugging her. “We love you.”
“I love you too.” She gave his portly waist a squeeze, then accepted Delia’s embrace.
“Try not to go mad,” her sister murmured, glancing toward the carriage. “You want my advice? Tie the old harpy to the carriage roof with all the luggage if she gets nasty again.”
Maggie laughed. “At least I’ll have proper chaperonage, eh?”
Delia chuckled, then the two sisters parted.
As Maggie turned toward the carriage, where Connor waited by the open door to hand her up, she noticed Penelope’s look of wonder at Delia’s change of attitude.
Indeed, Maggie was feeling a bit like a miracle worker today. But as Penelope handed Maggie her reticule and novel for the journey, she just hoped that her newfound powers would work on the fire-breathing duchess and her iron-willed nephew as well as they’d worked on her domineering sister.
As she headed toward the luxurious traveling chariot, the birdlike Aunt Florence poked her head out the door with an eager smile and waved.
“Yoo-hoo! Good morning, everyone! Good day, Lord and Lady Birdwell! Don’t worry, we shall take good care of her!”
“Thank you, Lady Walstead!” Edward replied, waving back as he put his arm around Delia.
Maggie was quite pleased to see her sister slip her arm around Edward’s waist. She noticed Sergeant McFeatheridge tip his hat to Penelope, then Connor handed Maggie up into the coach.
There was no help for it; his brief touch still made her blood zing.
Then she had to slide across the seat to make room for Penelope—which put Maggie directly across from the duchess.
“I suppose you think you’re very clever,” Aunt Lucinda said with a glare when she saw the ring on Maggie’s finger.
She just smiled. “Shiny, isn’t it?”
Penelope whipped her face to the side, pretending to look out the window as she stifled laughter, while Aunt Florence ducked behind her lady’s magazine, doing the same.
“Humph,” said Aunt Lucinda, but Maggie thought that she detected a slight undertone of begrudging respect in that one gruff syllable.
Then Connor, astride his silver stallion, gave the order, and their well-armed convoy rolled into motion…
Leaving Moonlight Square.