Chapter Four
T he following morning, Maggie blamed her headache on her lack of sleep. After Michael had left—no, vanished—she hadn’t been able to close her eyes. Her mind repeatedly spun, working through the events of the day, wondering where everything had gone wrong, wondering what she had done wrong. Because, in the end, she could only blame herself.
A cad would always be a cad. How could one blame them for acting in a disreputable way? Maggie had known better. She had known exactly who and what Michael was… what he always had been. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, a gentleman with rakish intentions, a boy who refused to grow up.
And still… being so completely aware of Michael’s limitations, his devastating ineptitude, Maggie had fallen into his trap. Just as she’d fallen time and time again in her childhood. She never understood how he could do it, but one genuine smile from Michael could always wipe the slate clean. One kind word, one authentic sentence, could erase a weekend full of slights and being overlooked.
But even as Maggie used her fist to pound the down in her pillow, wishing the morning light away, she couldn’t comprehend her reaction to Michael’s latest ambush. The boy she’d thought she knew would have taken advantage of the situation. He would have kissed her and avoided her the following day. Though she had very little experience—or absolutely no experience—in these sorts of matters, she’d heard that rakes took advantage of silly girls, trading sweet words for kisses, and then avoided them when the fun had ended. However, last night there had been no fun, or at least the kind rakes usually enjoyed. Michael hadn’t forced it. And even when Maggie was right in front of him, practically begging for him to claim her, he’d broken away.
He’d been… honorable? Was that the right word? For Michael?
But why did it not feel right? Why couldn’t Maggie just accept it and let it go? Why did she always have to think the worst when it came to him? Because if he weren’t being honorable, there could only be one other reason why he recoiled from touching her.
He simply didn’t want to kiss her.
And for some sad, insane, bewildering reason, that torched her heart and ego more. In what world was Maggie the type of girl who wanted this loathsome creature to kiss her more than she wanted him to reject her? Was her confidence truly that lacking? Or did she really not consider Lord Michael to be that loathsome of a creature?
She couldn’t answer those questions.
Or wouldn’t.
Which was why she hid in her room that morning, nursing a headache that made her teeth vibrate and her vision double. Unfortunately, her stomach wouldn’t be denied, and eventually, she had to face facts and all of her friends and leave her room. She just hoped that Michael had the grace to avoid her.
When Maggie entered the dining room for breakfast, she pleasantly noted that most of the party had already eaten. Only a few stragglers were left behind, nursing their coffees and teas, partaking in light conversations, or reading the various newspapers strewn about the long table. They nodded to Maggie as she perused the sideboard, loading her plate with a couple slices of bread and sausage, thinking that if her mouth were always busy chewing then she wouldn’t have to engage in any inane chitchat.
Unfortunately, she was not that lucky.
“We missed you last night,” Lady Every said over her teacup as Maggie took a seat across from her at the table. She should have known better. She should have steered clear of the widow, who never rested on politeness when she had something on her mind. It was one of the reasons Maggie liked Jo so much; they had it in common.
“Yes,” Maggie said, buttering her bread. Her hands had to move so they wouldn’t shake. “I decided to stay in after—”
Jo cut her off. “After Lord Michael carried you to your room.”
Why did she have to say “carried” in that way? It sounded so… clandestine.
Maggie attempted to control her breathing, but something hot and overwhelming was gaining steam inside of her, and it wasn’t embarrassment. It was anger. “He left right away,” she explained quickly.
Jo nodded. With her neatly styled hair and demure ensemble, she was the height of sophistication. She had married young and married well; unfortunately, she’d also become a widow early. But her worldliness was always apparent, and Maggie had always appreciated her on-the-mark quips involving other members of the cricket club. However, that was all before she was on the receiving end.
“Of course,” Jo said. Maggie thought she heard an entire conversation in those two words. Maybe she was being paranoid?
The scraping of fork tines ripped Maggie’s attention from the widow. She turned to the head of the table, where the cricket club captain, Mrs. Myfanwy Everett, sat, finishing her eggs with a single-minded abandon. Maggie had never seen another person eat so much and so fast before. It made her feel slightly better about her own healthy eating habits.
Unaware of her audience, Myfanwy scraped every last morsel off the plate and into her mouth and reclined in her chair. She patted her lips with her napkin, resting one hand on her lovely, round belly.
Her large brown eyes widened when she noticed Maggie’s rapt attention, and she smiled sheepishly. “I’m always so hungry,” she said, a hint of apology in her voice. “I woke up and all I could think about were eggs. I can’t explain it.”
“You don’t have to,” Maggie replied easily. It was almost disconcerting witnessing Myfanwy behave so bashfully. The cricket captain was always so forthright and commanding, always so sure of herself on the pitch. Maggie had assumed that she would recognize Myfanwy as being more human now that she was a wife and almost mother, but that wasn’t the case. Even on the sidelines, barking orders, and watching her teammates play, Myfanwy was still as daunting as ever.
“I think I’m a little sad too,” Myfanwy went on. She picked up her fork again, but quickly put it down with a frown when she noticed nothing was left on her plate. “Our tour is open. We have nothing on the schedule until we play the Matrons at the end of the summer. What am I supposed to look forward to now?”
Maggie suppressed a smile and shared a look with Jo.
“Well… you do have a baby coming,” Jo said gently. “I have a feeling that might take up some of your time.”
Myfanwy chuckled, but Maggie could tell that she wasn’t completely sold on the idea. “I suppose you’re right,” she began. “I just feel like I need you all more than ever. I’ve loved spending this last month with all of you. It felt like we were a real, professional team. And now we’re all going back to normal… back to life.”
Maggie nodded, understanding exactly what her captain was trying to say. The London Ladies Cricket Club had spent the last four weeks touring cities around the country, playing exhibition matches with town teams, trying to drum up excitement for women in the sport. Crowds were always plentiful in London, and they’d been wary about how some of the towns would take to them, but they’d been met with resounding support. Maggie had even felt like a quasi celebrity for some of it. Going back home—with Aunt Alice, no less—was similar to climbing to the top of a mountain and seeing the path to the ocean only to be told to go back the way you came.
Nevertheless, at the end of the day, the women of the cricket club had to stay realists. They understood the lives that were waiting for them. Most of Maggie’s teammates would eventually marry, have children, and most likely give up cricket, looking back on these short years with pride and amusement. They would all move on.
Everyone but Maggie. She hadn’t been lying to Michael. Marriage was not in her future, and it never would be.
On second thought, maybe she should have thanked Michael for his abrupt departure from her bedroom. He’d only reminded her that her convictions were right. People did not make dependable companions—not in the long run. That was what dogs were for.
“What is it?” Jo asked.
Maggie froze, realizing the table was staring at her. “What?”
Jo placed her teacup down with a demonstrable click . “Your face,” she explained. “It’s become frightfully pale. Don’t you agree, Ella?”
Sitting next to the widow was Lady Ella, a young, plain-faced blonde woman who’d joined the team right before the tour. Maggie liked Ella because she didn’t talk much, but always scored plenty of runs. In Maggie’s estimation, one couldn’t ask for a better teammate.
Lady Ella scrutinized her with frank appraisal. “She’s not that pale, just rather gray. Is something the matter? Do you want us to fetch your aunt?”
“Or Lord Michael?” Jo quipped with a smile.
“What? No, I’m… I’m fine. I just didn’t get enough sleep,” Maggie blustered, shutting her eyes the second she realized her silly mistake.
“Oh, you didn’t?” Jo replied with a distinct lilt to her tone. She gave Myfanwy a look, but the captain missed it because she was already up from her seat, moving to the sideboard for a second helping.
Maggie glared across the table. “Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?” Jo replied innocently. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Yes, you did. And you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Lord Michael’s not here anyway,” Myfanwy called over her shoulder, piling bacon onto her plate.
“What do you mean?” Maggie asked. Her gaze fell when she noticed Jo’s interest in her question. Why was the blasted woman so insightful?
Myfanwy moved on to potatoes. “He left early this morning. At first light. The baby puts so much pressure on my back and I couldn’t sleep—which means that I wouldn’t let Samuel sleep.” She faced them with a devilish grin. “I made him search the kitchen for some biscuits. He said he spoke to Michael on his way out.”
Maggie played with her fork, trying to ignore the drop in her stomach. “Did Samuel say why he left so early?”
Myfanwy shrugged, stiffly walking her plate back to the table. “I don’t know. I have a hard time hearing things when I’m eating. Lately, it takes all my focus.”
Maggie didn’t have the heart to laugh with all the others. Instead, she stabbed her fork into her sausage. And then stabbed it again. And then one more time.
Sadly, it didn’t make the pain go away. The only thing that vanished was her appetite. And that only made Maggie more furious.
*
An hour later, Maggie and Jane were putting the finishing touches on the packing when a knock sounded.
“It’s Lady Everly and Lady Emma,” Jane announced, coming back from the door. She bent over to snatch a chemise out of George’s mouth before he hid it under the bed. “Do you want me to tell them you’re busy?”
Maggie opened her mouth to say yes , but something stopped her. The ladies had never come to her room once during the entire tour. They must have a good reason for stopping by, especially since everyone had already said their goodbyes after breakfast. “No, that’s all right,” she said, folding a pair of gloves and stacking it on top of a pile. “Do you mind taking George out for a walk? I’m sure Aunt Alice will finally be ready to leave by the time you return.”
Jane nodded and, after a little chasing, shoveled George into her arms and left the room.
Maggie waited for the dog’s unruly barking to subside down the hallway—as well as for her nervousness to abate—before addressing her arriving guests. She did not like the way the ladies were looking at her.
Jo fired first. “What happened with Lord Michael?” she asked, almost knocking Maggie off her feet with the bluntness.
“Nothing, why… why… why do you ask?”
Jo cocked her head. “Because each time I brought him up this morning you looked like you were going to jump out of your skin.”
“Then you shouldn’t have brought him up!”
“I was just teasing,” Jo replied tetchily. “But now I think something happened and I want to know. I’m not leaving this room until you tell me.”
She nodded at Ella, who seemed to snap into action. The younger woman crossed her arms in solidarity. “Neither am I.”
Maggie’s gaze darted around the room. She was fairly certain she could escape. If push came to shove, she could snap Ella like a twig; however, getting past Jo would be no easy feat. That stark realization blew the obstinance out of her. She flopped down on the bed, the disappointment and abandonment from the night blanketing her like a shroud. “I already told you, nothing happened!”
Jo eyed her. “And I take it… that’s bad?”
“No… Yes…” Maggie held her head in her hands. “I don’t know.”
The widow trod closer, pulling Maggie’s hands down. “It was good that he left,” she said firmly. “Trust me. You wouldn’t have wanted it any different.”
“No, I understand,” Maggie said, “but…” The words clogged her throat. Tears pooled in her eyes as an avalanche of emotions began to build, threatening to tumble down and ruin everything. “ You don’t understand.”
“I think I do.”
“No,” Maggie repeated. Why couldn’t she get past that word? “I didn’t want more…” she continued, searching for the right words to convey the onslaught of feelings battling for supremacy in her head. It was too damned difficult. There were too many. “I wanted him to want more and then… I thought he did… and then he didn’t… and now I’m mad.” She shot up from the bed, forcing Jo to step back. She balled her hands into fists. “I’m so incredibly mad. Because I know him. I know who he is and what he’s like. I know his reputation and I know he would never want someone like me, and for one brief moment, I thought that he would… I thought he did want someone like me. And I was so stupid. I let myself believe it. I let myself actually think that he wanted me, and instead of being repulsed, instead of laughing at that ridiculous notion and throwing his interest back in his face, I fell. I fell for it. All of it! I fell for his smile and his curly hair that desperately needs a cut, and his stories that are always a little sadder than expected, and his body that doesn’t fit his suit right but I wouldn’t change for anything. I fell for him. Like I was ten years old once more, and he was teasing me, and I was too infatuated to want him to stop. Because even when he was teasing me, at least he was giving me attention. It’s pathetic. I’m pathetic!”
Maggie’s lungs seized. She swiped her hair off her face and her hand came away wet. She was crying. A lot. Over that fool! Why? Why couldn’t she let this go?
Jo’s calm voice came over her unexpectedly like a hug. “You’re not pathetic.”
Maggie shuddered and her shoulders immediately fell to their rightful place. “Don’t lie.”
“I’m not lying,” Jo said. “It’s only natural to feel how you’re feeling. The man is a menace, like most men are, and he abused your good nature, as most men do.”
Maggie accepted a handkerchief from Ella and wiped her nose. “I suppose. I just don’t know why I’m so upset. And nothing I do or say to myself will release this anger. He made me feel like such a… a… girl .”
“Powerless,” Ella remarked.
“Yes, exactly.” Maggie nodded. “Powerless. And I hate that. I hate the fact that he’ll never know what that feels like. And he deserves to!”
Jo lowered her forehead and began to walk around the room. It was an easy pace, one made for contemplation. Maggie’s heart swung inside her chest like the pendulum of a grandfather clock as she waited for the woman to speak.
Finally, Jo spun to her. “What if there’s a way to make him feel that way?”
Something crawled up Maggie’s spine. It felt dangerous and wicked and so very right. “What are you saying? Do you think I could make him fall in love with me?”
Jo’s smile was thin, but full of promise. “Why not? You’re pretty enough; you come from a good family. You run in the same circles.”
Now Maggie’s head was the pendulum as she shook it back and forth. “He would never—”
“But he almost did,” Ella cut in. “Which means he would again. You just have to make it easier for him.”
“Easier?”
Ella stepped forward stoically, squeezing her hands in front of her like she was about to divulge to them the whereabouts of the Holy Grail. Maggie supposed that giving an unmarried woman the secrets to gaining a man’s undying affection was equally important to some.
“My mother has… opinions ,” the girl began.
Jo arched her brow. “Opinions?”
“I have four older sisters,” Ella explained patiently. “They’re married to two marquises, one earl, and one viscount.” She bobbed her shoulders. “My mother considers herself something of an expert on the topic of marriage and attraction.”
“I think I would too,” Jo said, laughing.
“She says there are certain things a woman must do to grab a man’s heart.”
One part of Maggie wanted her to shove cotton in her ears and never broach the subject again; the other part of her wouldn’t have abandoned her seat for all the money in the world. “Go on,” she urged.
Ella swallowed a lump in her throat, or maybe it was her inhibitions. “She says women should appear soft and gentle. We should talk as little as possible, and when we do, it should be about the man and his interests.”
Maggie was already bored. And yet she persisted. “Really? And that works?”
Jo tsked . “I hate to admit it, but this is crucial, sound information.”
Buoyed by Jo’s confidence, Ella went on. “Mother says women should dress as femininely as possible, with lots of bows and feathers. We should act helpless so that we play to the man’s desire to be a knight in shining armor. And we should never, ever, ever, ever, ever argue.”
Maggie’s mouth almost dropped to the floor. “That’s it?”
Ella shrugged. “Mother says that men are simple creatures.”
“Your mother is a wise woman,” Jo added.
“And you agree with this?” Maggie asked the widow. “You’ve been married. Is this how you settled on your husband?”
Jo hesitated, and Maggie couldn’t read her expression. “My situation was different. My husband was different,” she said stiffly. “However, Ella’s mother is sadly correct about the average man of the ton .”
“But what if Michael isn’t average?”
Jo rolled her eyes. “I’ve met him, darling. I’m afraid he is very average.”
That notion rankled Maggie. Michael had always been many things to her, but average wasn’t one of them. If he were, what did that say about her?
Ella snapped her fingers. “Oh, we mustn’t forget competition. Mother always made sure another man was sniffing around my sisters when she wanted to pressure their suitors to propose. She’d pay them sometimes with gifts and trinkets. It worked marvelously well.”
“That woman should really start a service. Mothers would flock to gain her knowledge.” There was no hiding the admiration in Jo’s voice.
Ella’s face turned crimson. “Do you think? I’ve always considered it a little devious and calculating.”
“Well, of course it is! But it’s also remarkably effective.” Jo pursed her lips for a few seconds before clapping her hands. “I know just the man. He’ll be perfect. His attention will be enough to pique Michael’s curiosity.”
Maggie cringed. “Please don’t pay anyone. It makes this whole situation seem tawdry.”
“Oh, now you’re worried about this whole enterprise being tawdry?” Jo didn’t wait for an answer. “Besides, I wouldn’t dream of handing this man a pound. But don’t worry, he’ll do it. He owes me a favor.”
“So that’s it?” Maggie bristled. “All I have to do is put more effort and frills in my wardrobe, speak softly, and be as malleable as possible?”
Jo returned a pitiful look and patted her hand. “I know, this will be difficult for you. Try not to get discouraged.”
“I’m not discouraged,” Maggie snapped, softening it with a little chuckle, “just… disappointed. It all seems too easy and so passionless.”
“There’s not much room for passion in the ton ,” Jo replied blithely. “A little romance, a bit of wooing, but not much passion. However, you don’t need to worry about that. You just need simple, basic adoration.”
Maggie frowned. There was nothing simple or basic about her feelings. Nevertheless, they weren’t talking about her feelings; they were talking about Michael’s. Could she truly make him feel this way? Could she make him besotted with her—if she pretended to be an entirely different person, of course? A woman worth being besotted over?
Maggie’s gaze fell helplessly on the two women as she slowly but surely came to terms with the plan they were drawing out before her, becoming more comfortable with the act she was about to put on. “So, what then?” she asked. “I mean, how do I know when I have him?”
Jo lifted her nose, her expression turning dangerously serious. “You’ll know you have him when he freely gives you his heart to hold. Even though it will hurt for him to breathe, he will willingly place it into your hands for safekeeping. You will feel the weight of it in your palm and hear the beats deep inside your soul. It is a monumental and all-encompassing thing but can happen in an instant. If you aren’t careful, you can miss it.”
Maggie was hanging on the woman’s every word. “And then what do I do?”
Jo huffed, blinking out of her stupor. “Darling, then you do whatever you want,” she replied quickly before hardening her voice. “But I suggest you crush it.”