Marry Christmas (Zebra Historical Romance) (5 page)

“Thank you for your loyalty,” Elizabeth said.

“Well, to be honest, I was a bit upset when your butler turned me away. And you didn’t return any of my letters.” Maggie stopped, looking at Elizabeth’s stricken face. “You didn’t get them, did you?”

“No,” Elizabeth said, shaking her head in disbelief. She’d assumed it was only Henry’s notes she’d been deprived of. But apparently her mother wanted her cut out of life entirely until she agreed to the match.

Suddenly, Maggie clutched Elizabeth’s bare arm and looked over her shoulder. “He’s coming,” she whispered harshly.

Elizabeth didn’t dare turn to look. “How close are they? Can we escape?”

“Escape to where?” came his voice, clipped and English and so deep something in her chest rumbled.

“I don’t think she meant escape to,” said another male British voice. “I think she meant escape from.”

Elizabeth nearly rolled her eyes but restrained from doing anything so ill-mannered. “Lord Hollings, Your Grace, please meet my dearest friend, Margaret Pierce.”

“Mademoiselle,” Lord Hollings murmured, lifting Maggie’s gloved hand for a kiss.

“Pleased to meet you,” Maggie said, dipping a quick curtsy and darting a look to Elizabeth to see if she’d done the proper thing.

“I think when meeting peers you are supposed to dip to the floor and remain there until they crook their finger at you,” Elizabeth said. And then she demonstrated but rose before anyone crooked their finger.

Apparently, Lord Hollings found her delightful, while the duke did not. He frowned, his eyes so intense on her she wondered what he could possibly be thinking. Certainly that little bit of fun with her deep curtsy could not have made him angry.

Then he leaned toward her and said discreetly, “If I were you, my dear, I wouldn’t lean quite so far when wearing that dress.”

Elizabeth gasped and immediately felt her face heat almost painfully. She quickly recovered, “If you were
me,
Your Grace, you wouldn’t need to marry.”

His answer was to raise one haughty brow. His non-reaction was completely disappointing. “I’ve come over to make certain I obtain at least one dance with you before the evening is out. A waltz, preferably.”

“I’ll check my dance card,” Elizabeth said, knowing full well it was completely empty. Usually by now at least a dozen young men would have come to her and asked for a dance, but no one had yet approached her. She wondered wildly whether her mother had made some edict forbidding men to dance with her. “Yes, I think I do have a dance open. A waltz, too.”

Before she could stop him, he’d gently taken her lace-covered card, which was attached to her wrist by a thin silk cord, forcing her to lift her hand.

“I see you have another dance available. The
Blue Danube
by Strauss, a particular favorite of mine. If you would be so kind to save that dance for me as well, Miss Cummings.”

“Of course,” she said, pulling her wrist ungently away from him. Two of the four waltzes were promised to the duke. But it didn’t matter; it wasn’t as if Henry would make an appearance and ask her to dance. It no longer was important who she danced with.

“Pencil my brother in for the Virginia Reel,” Maggie said quickly. “He always dances with me for that and I can never keep up with him. I end up flailing about the dance floor. I do think he does it on purpose.”

“Miss Pierce, I would be honored to dance with you. I fear I’m unfamiliar with the reel, but would enjoy a waltz or polka.”

Maggie beamed. “A polka. I just adore dancing the polka, don’t you? They are always such happy songs, while I find waltzes rather maudlin and sad. I suppose it depends on the author. Strauss, for example, can be uplifting, but the
Emperor Waltz
nearly brings me to tears every time. Do you think that was his intention?”

Lord Hollings seemed taken aback for a moment, as many people were when they first met Maggie. It was difficult to believe anyone would be as vivacious as she was without pretense. Maggie truly was the happiest person Elizabeth knew. Elizabeth held her breath waiting for Lord Hollings to say or do something; Maggie was, if nothing else, unique.

“You are delightful,” he said finally.

“I am, aren’t I?” Maggie said, smiling brightly. Then she leaned forward a bit as if imparting a grave secret. “I fear not everyone finds me so. Some people find me a bit tiresome.”

Elizabeth let out a laugh, surprised by Maggie’s candor and self-awareness. Nearly everyone said that Maggie Pierce was only tolerable in small doses. Elizabeth had never agreed, for she had needed a large dose of Maggie throughout her rather serious life. Frivolity was something other girls could aspire to, but Elizabeth was always expected to act and look proper. From the earliest age Elizabeth could recall unending lessons in deportment, hours spent holding a book properly, not for the content of the book but to practice proper posture when reading. Maggie had been a bit of sunshine in her otherwise dreary childhood. She often wondered had her mother known how much delight Maggie had given her that she would have forbidden their friendship.

“Let us see if I can grow weary of your charm tonight,” Lord Hollings said, much to Maggie’s delight. “Would you care to dance now?”

Although very few people were dancing, the orchestra was playing a lively
schottische,
a dance very much like a polka.

Maggie smiled, not even trying to hide her pleasure that the earl had asked her to dance. She was unused to attracting the attention of such handsome, well-heeled men, and was a bit taken aback. He probably was simply being a good friend to the duke, entertaining Elizabeth’s friend so that the duke could be with her. Lord Hollings was an excellent dancer who, unlike so many men, seemed to truly enjoy dancing. After the rousing dance, he asked her to accompany him to the refreshment table, another unexpected surprise.

“Well, Lord Hollings, I must warn you that if you are here looking for a great American heiress, you will not find it in me,” she said, laughing. Perhaps English nobility were under the impression that all American girls were wealthy.

He looked a bit startled, then laughed. “Are all American girls as candid as you are?” he asked.

“Not all. I think I should warn you, there are quite a few mamas who will be more than delighted to find that you have accompanied the duke on this trip.” Looking about the room, Maggie noted that many were looking at them at the moment and few were smiling.

“I’m well aware of that fact, Miss Pierce. And what about your mama?”

Maggie wrinkled her nose. “She has her sights set on one of the Wright brothers. There are four of them, and I suppose they are nice enough.”

“But?”

“But I truly have no desire to marry at all. I know that many girls dream of the day they will marry. It’s all they can talk about. But ever since I was very young, I simply could not picture myself shackled to the same man for the rest of my life. Am I shocking you? I have never told another soul this, and I don’t know why I am telling you, but there you have it.”

Maggie looked at him, fearing he would be staring at her as if she were slightly crazy. Instead, he was smiling. “It seems we are on the same page, Miss Pierce. I have no intention of marrying for at least another ten years, and certainly not an American.”

“Whyever not? Do we have horns? Cloven feet?” She looked down at her own small feet, now nicely encased in a pair of yellow slippers that exactly matched her dress.

He threw back his head and laughed. “I’m fairly certain you don’t have horns, but I have yet had the plea sure of seeing any American girl’s bare feet. I can accept your word, however. My not wanting to marry an American girl is complete snobbishness on my part, I confess.

Given the choice, I’d rather marry a girl from my own country.”

“Very well,” Maggie said. “I can understand that.

However, how can you predict that you will not marry for another ten years? What if you were to fall in love?

Madly so. It could happen, you know.”

“I have known some of the most beautiful women on this planet and have not succumbed to that irrational state. I feel sorry for the men that do. And what of you?

How can you predict the future?”

Maggie tilted her head. “But I’ve already met every one there is to meet and I have not fallen in love, so I can safely say that I will remain unmarried. And happily so.”

He laughed again, and Maggie realized she was having the most fun she’d ever had with a man. Likely it was because she knew he was so far beyond her, she could be herself.

“I have a proposition,” Lord Hollings said, looking around the room with mock horror. “I will save you from the attentions of the Wright brothers, if only for the time we are here in Newport, if you save me from the talons of all those mamas.”

Maggie smiled brightly, loving the idea of such an intrigue. “That sounds perfect,” she said. They shook hands, beaming smiles at each other, then joined in on another dance, just to shock anyone who had noted them. To share two dances with one girl was serious business, indeed. Spying her mother’s beaming face, Maggie hoped she didn’t realize this was her second dance with the earl. All she needed was her mother setting her sights on an English earl. Goodness, it was as farfetched as Elizabeth marrying a convict and getting Alva’s approval.

Elizabeth watched her friend dance off with a bit of trepidation. Whereas she had been brought ’round Europe and attended many balls there, Maggie had led a far more sheltered life and she feared for her friend. She was so very naive of men, especially peers.

“Lord Hollings seems taken with Maggie,” she said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, but obviously failing.

“You needn’t worry. He is a gentleman and knows how to deport himself with debutantes,” the duke said rather testily.

“Have I angered you?”

Rand let out a puff of air. “No. I’m sorry if I am not better company this evening. I find these sorts of entertainments akin to subtle torture. And now it appears the only other person I know here will be duly occupied for most of the evening.”

Elizabeth smiled wryly. “Then we are in agreement on that point, at least.”

Elizabeth fiddled with the cord of her dance card nervously, until she realized what she was doing and dragged her hands to her sides.

“Do you ride?” the duke asked.

“I adore riding my bicycle,” Elizabeth answered with out thinking. “Oh, you meant a horse. I have been on two horses in my life and was completely terrified both times.” The duke looked slightly disappointed, as she thought he might. “Do many women ride in England?” she asked, feigning ignorance. In her short time in England the year before she had been amazed at the horsemanship nearly all the women displayed.

“Every woman rides in England,” he said dryly.

Elizabeth suddenly felt overwhelmed by everything she did not know about living in England and being a duchess. She hadn’t gotten past the idea of not marrying Henry, never mind what her day-to-day life would be as a duchess. Would she sit on a throne and look down upon her subjects with a frown, commanding them to do her bidding? Would she sit about planning balls and soirees? Would this be her life? It seemed gloomy and interminably boring to her.

“You’ve never been on a fox hunt, then.”

He might have asked if she’d gone to the moon. “No.

Not a one.”

“Good,” he surprised her by saying. “Not much for the hunt, to be honest, though you’ll find many are in England. But you must learn to ride. Absolutely.” He said it with a smile, but he sounded so imperious she felt her anger piqued.

“I don’t care to learn. I truly don’t see the need with motorcars becoming more in vogue. And, of course, bicycles. It’s marvelous exercise and when you’re done with it, you simply put it away. Without feeding it or fueling it. Have you ever been on a bicycle, Your Grace?”

Rand looked down at the stubborn turn of her face and suppressed a chuckle. She really was trying to thwart him at every turn, and instead of being annoyed with her, he found her charming. It was difficult to believe this was the same girl he’d had an agonizing dinner with, one who sat stiffly and whose addition to the conversation was a sedate nod. “A bicycle? No. I have not had the chance to try.”

“Well, riding a bicycle is absolutely imperative,” she said, sounding as lofty as he had insisting she learn to ride a horse.

He grinned down at her and she smiled back. “Touché,” he said, doffing an imaginary hat. Her eyes sparkled, even though she was trying valiantly not to smile. It was almost as if she’d made a pact with herself not to like him no matter what he did. No woman, at least none he’d ever heard of, had disliked him. Edward would certainly have told him if one had.

“Ah. Our waltz is next,” he said as the last strains of the country dance sounded.

Elizabeth gave him a startled look, which she quickly masked. Her face completely expressionless, she put a hand lightly on his arm as he led her out to the floor where they awaited the first strains of the
Blue Danube.