The Reluctant Reformer (27 page)

This was another tricky part, of course: getting out of the attic and slipping to the servants' stairs without Jack noticing. Pausing, Maggie eased the door open a crack and peered out into the hall. Her guardian had retrieved a chair, set it outside her door, and now sat twiddling his thumbs in a rather bored fashion. It did not look promising. In fact, as the minutes ticked by
and Jack sat glancing alertly about, Maggie began to think she would be stuck on the stairwell forever.

At last, Jack stood, stretched, then walked toward the stairwell. Sucking in a breath, Maggie slid out of the attic stairwell, hurried the few steps to the servants' stairs, and eased through the door. As she carefully slid it closed, she saw Jack peer down the stairs, then turn back and start up the hall once more. Letting out her breath on a sigh, Maggie turned and started carefully down toward the first floor. Her ears straining for the sound of anyone approaching, she managed to make it all the way to the door leading into the kitchen undetected. Pausing there, she lifted the shawl hanging over her shoulders and rearranged it to cover her head and shadow her face; then she eased that door open to peek out.

She couldn't believe her luck when she saw how quiet the kitchen was. Lady Barlow's cook and another servant were standing in the cellar just off to the side, discussing something as they looked over the stock, but otherwise the room was momentarily empty. Deciding it was now or never, Maggie pulled her shawl closer around her face, pushed the basket up her arm, and moved quickly out of the stairwell. She was across the room and at the back door before she heard another door open behind her, but she didn't slow down or glance back. Counting on her servant's disguise to protect her, she slipped out of the house and straight through the gardens. She reached the back gate in a hurry, and a moment later she had passed through it to freedom.

“Lady Margaret!”

“Good afternoon, Agatha.” Maggie greeted the older woman with a smile of relief. It had taken a lot of talking to convince the brothel doorman to at least fetch his mistress out to her when he had refused her entrance at the door. She'd had to take on her snootiest attitude and order the man in her most cultured tones to ask Madame Dubarry to come outside.

At least, she thought happily, her disguise was working. This man had obviously been convinced that she was nothing more than a servant.

“Well, come in…. My goodness, come in,” Madame Dubarry urged, turning to frown at her amazed doorman. “You must never again leave this young woman on the stoop, Ralph. She is always welcome.”

“Yes, madame,” the flustered man said, his gaze moving over Maggie's face as if he were trying to memorize
her as she entered. She offered him an apologetic smile, aware that her disguise had been the problem. No one paid much mind to servants. The fact that she had arrived here unmolested proved that.

“Well, what a delightful surprise,” the brothel owner murmured, slipping her arm through Maggie's to steer her along the hall toward her private drawing room. “I haven't heard tell of you since you were here to interview the girls.”

“Oh, er, well—”

“Speaking of which,” Aggie interrupted Maggie's stammering, “I am sorry about that Frances business. The way you spoke about him led me to think that your emotions were not truly engaged, else I would never have let you find out that way. It wasn't until you disappeared without a word that I considered that you might have cared for him after all, that you'd been hurt by what you saw.”

Maggie started to protest, eager to assure her friend that such hadn't been the case, but the older woman continued, “I went around to your house the day after—disguised, of course—but your butler said that you were not in. When I had no word from you after that, I assumed you were angry at me.”

The woman fell silent, an uncertain expression on her face as she urged Maggie into one of two chairs by the fire. She took the other for herself.

Once seated, Maggie quickly assured her that she wasn't angry or hurt. She told Agatha the tale of Lord Ramsey mistaking her for Lady X, kidnapping her, and taking her to the country for reformation then her return to London and her adventures since.

Knowing that the brothel owner could hardly be
shocked by any thing, Maggie didn't hold back; she revealed all, sometimes blushing and stammering, but continuing determinedly nonetheless.

Aggie listened entralled, bursting out into gales of laughter at various points, and rolling her eyes or muttering at others.

When Maggie finally finished, both women fell silent, then Aggie sighed gustily. “So you are in love. I could not be happier for you. I really have to tell Lady X about Lord Ramsey thinking you were her—she will get a giggle out of it.”

“Are you sure?” Maggie asked with alarm.

Dubarry smiled and nodded. “Yes, of course. It
is
funny, you know. An innocent like you being mistaken for—”

“Nay, not that,” Maggie interrupted. “I meant about the love part. Are you sure I am in love?”

Eyes widening, Agatha sat back and contemplated the question with surprise. “Aren't you?”

Maggie bit her lip, and Agatha's expression turned sympathetic. “Is that what is upsetting you? I could tell from your strained expression when I first saw you that something is…. I thought perhaps it was that Frances business, but—”

“I have never been in love before,” Maggie broke in. “I am not sure if what I am feeling
is
love. And if it is, what should I do?”

“Let us deal with one question at a time,” Aggie suggested soothingly. “And that first question would be, Is it love? What were your feelings upon first meeting Lord Ramsey?”

“Fear,” Maggie answered honestly. “He was kidnapping me, after all.”

Madame Dubarry grinned. “From what you said, you got over that fear in a hurry.”

Maggie shrugged. “I learned he was a friend of my brother's. He explained—”

“And you believed him?” she asked with amusement.

Maggie blinked.

“My dear, I have known you since your brother's death and been fortunate enough to have your confidence. In all your adventures as G. W. Clark, you were sharp and showed good instincts. You rarely accepted anyone's word for anything. You had sources willing to tell you all sorts of things going on here or there, but you didn't just write about any of those rumors and whispers; you investigated and researched each tale to find the truth for yourself.”

“Well, of course I did. That is merely good sense; people lie all the time.”

“And so…? Did you investigate Ramsey's claim to be a friend of your brother's? Did you try to verify that he had only your good intentions in mind?”

“No. I tried to escape,” Maggie countered.

“Yes, you did,” Aggie agreed patiently, “but have you yet investigated whether Ramsey was telling the truth?”

Maggie found herself annoyed by the question. She knew what James was all about. “I didn't have to. Gerald had written about him often. He wrote about both James and Lord Mullin.”

“Ah. So you knew of him before the two of you met?”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“So what did you know? What did Gerald say?”

Maggie smiled. “Oh, various things. He mentioned that James liked to read and was teased by the others for always having his nose in a book. He said James was
clever and honorable, and he told how, when they marched through decimated villages, James was always giving away his food to starving peasants.

“So you liked and respected Lord Ramsey from those tales even before you met the man?”

“Yes, I suppose I did,” Maggie admitted.

“And then he kidnapped you and you were irritated with him”—the brothel owner grinned—“but you said you quite enjoyed the conversations and verbal battles the two of you shared.”

“Yes.”

“And when he kissed you? That first time?”

Maggie squirmed in her seat, her face flushing with embarrassment. “I…He made me feel…Honestly, Aggie, I do not know if I could tell you my name if you asked right after one of his kisses,” she admitted in a rush. “I am quite overwhelmed by passion just from his touch…or a light brush of his lips on mine.”

“I see. And, liking and respecting him as you do, and as glorious as you find his physical attentions to be, why are you unhappy about marrying him?”

Maggie was silent for a moment, then admitted reluctantly, “I do not want him to marry me simply for honor's sake and later regret it. I do not want him to be unhappy.”

“That
is
love, dear,” Aggie said gently. “You are more concerned with his happiness than your own.”

Maggie digested her friend's words briefly, then made a face. “I am not so altruistic, Agatha. I mean, I do care about his happiness, but it would also be a misery loving and being married to a man who did not love you back.”

“What makes you think that he doesn't? It would ap
pear to me he does.” Madame Dubarry seemed slightly exasperated.

Maggie's eyes widened. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, my dear, unless the man is a complete idiot, he does seem to have taken an awful risk making love to you in his aunt's library. With a half a dozen guests in the next room, he was rather asking to be caught, wasn't he? And once caught, it was assured that there would be a wedding….”

Rather than feeling pleased, Maggie felt disappointment drop over her. “Yes, but that was my fault. I
seduced
him.”

Agatha burst into raucous laughter; then, seeing Maggie's injured expression, reached out to pat her hand. “I am sorry, my dear. I shouldn't laugh, but kissing the man hardly equates to seducing him.”

“But—”

“Nay. Listen to me. I have a great deal of experience in these matters,” the woman insisted. “The second time, in Lady Barlow's library…Well, perhaps
that
was seducing him. But a mere kiss isn't a seduction. Lord Ramsey knew exactly what he was doing that first time, I think. And it is very possible he was partially hoping to get caught.”

“Hoping to get caught?” Maggie cried in disbelief. “But, why?”

“Perhaps he hoped for exactly what happened, that the two of you would be forced to marry.” When Maggie looked doubtful, she asked, “What would you have said had he proposed?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Well, because I wouldn't want him to marry me simply to fulfill a promise to my brother.”

“Of course not, and no intelligent man would expect you to. You see?”

“No.”

“This way, you could not say no,” Agatha pointed out. “And he was not forced to delve into anything as messy as his own emotions…or declarations of feeling that might not be reciprocated.”

“You are saying”—Maggie tried to understand—“that you think he loves me but is unready to confess.”

“I am saying that
he is a man
. He probably doesn't even know he is in love. By forcing a marriage this way, he delays having to discover it. Men often think that love will weaken them, that somehow the woman they care for has some power over them.”

“But I don't,” Maggie said.

Agatha smiled mysteriously. “No? And yet just last night, your touch made him entirely forget that his sister had arrived, that he had come to fetch you back to meet her!” The woman seemed amused by Maggie's blush. “You have a good deal of power with Lord Ramsey. But then, so does he with you.”

“But if he loves me…I mean, my love makes me wary of marrying James. It makes me worry that this is all a mistake. I hesitate only because I wish him happiness. Why is it not affecting him in the same way? He seems quite content to marry me.”

Agatha waved the question away. “Oh, well, don't worry about that, my dear. No woman on earth will ever truly understand the way a man thinks. They simply react differently than we do.” When Maggie didn't appear satisfied with that last answer, the woman sighed.
“All right. If you wish my explanation on the matter, it is all a matter of confidence.”

“Confidence?” Maggie echoed uncertainly.

“Aye. A woman may love, but if she fears the one she loves does not reciprocate her feelings—that perhaps she does not even deserve the gift of his love—she will let him go to another. Men, on the other hand, have more confidence. Should a man fall in love and fear the feeling is not reciprocated, he will tend to believe that he can
make
the woman love him…in time. So men hold on tighter. It all has to do with confidence. Have you never noticed that a man will think himself a catch no matter how little he has in the way of looks or wealth? And yet the loveliest woman often believes herself unattractive?”

When Maggie did not appear impressed by her argument, Agatha shook her head. “Never mind. Just trust me on the fact that Lord Ramsey has not reached his advanced age and remained single by giving in to impulse every time he was attracted to some young innocent. He has a reputation for being terribly proper…honorable and disciplined. And yet he gave in to you. And he sounds more than happy to marry you, Maggie. I believe he loves you. In time he will tell you so.”

Maggie relaxed in her seat with a sigh. She wasn't sure she understood or even agreed with Agatha's opinions on love in general, or Ramsey in particular, but she did feel some of her misgivings replaced by hope. She let the conversation move on to other topics.

The two women enjoyed a companionable visit, but soon Maggie decided she had best return to Lady Barlow's. They were walking toward the front door when she suddenly thought of Maisey and what had happened
the other night at the men's club. Pausing, she asked Madame Dubarry if the girl was around.

Agatha looked surprised by the question, but answered readily enough, “Aye. She is probably up in her room.”

Maggie nodded, considering asking if the girl could be called down, then changed her mind. “Do you imagine it would be all right if I went up for a moment to speak with her?”

The madam's gaze narrowed on her considering; then she shrugged. “If you like. Though I could call her down here to talk if you wish.”

Maggie shook her head; she didn't wish to speak to the younger girl in front of Agatha. “Nay. Thank you, but I will just go up to her room.”

Nodding, Agatha turned them back toward the stairs. “I shall walk you up.”

Much to her relief, Agatha did not stay when Maisey answered her knock, but left them alone to talk and moved up the hall.

“Could I come inside?” Maggie asked, smiling at the girl.

Shrugging, Maisey stepped aside to allow her entrance. “Ye can if'n ye like, miss, but I don't know what for. I thought we settled about the gowns.”

“This isn't regarding the gowns,” Maggie explained as she entered the room. The other woman closed the door behind her. “I wanted to explain about the other night.”

Maisey looked at her blankly. “The other night?”

“At the club,” Maggie prompted, frowning when the girl continued to look confused. “I just wanted to explain why I left without leaving word for you.”

“Why ye left?”

Maggie hesitated. The girl truly didn't seem to know what she was talking about! “Why I left the club after you locked me in that room,” she added.

Maisey shook her head. “I don't know what ye're talking about. I haven't seen ye since the night ye left through the window.”

“What?” Maggie gasped, feeling the air knocked out of her. It was her turn to be left feeling bewildered. “But, you sent me a letter. About the gowns and calling it even.”

“Yeah.” Maisey nodded slowly, and Maggie felt some relief stretching through her. “Then you mentioned the men's club, offered to meet me…” Maggie trailed off. The girl was shaking her head.