Chapter Twenty-Two
M aggie considered spending the rest of the day crying in her bedroom. She tried it for a few minutes, but George refused to leave her be. The animal was restless, barking continuously at her window at the comings and goings on the street.
So much for his lessons with Michael, she thought with irritation.
Maggie smashed a pillow over her ear as she lay on the bed. Everything needed to be kept at bay. Everything offended her, from the bright sunshine streaking through the glass to the ordinary conversations that could be heard outside from people who thought this was an ordinary day and not one of the worst of her life. It was no consolation that her beloved pet didn’t enjoy all the casual chitchat either.
“George, enough!” Maggie cried. But the dog wouldn’t listen. When he wasn’t yipping at the lively scene outdoors, he bounced around the room, squeezing himself through every nook and cranny, searching for something she couldn’t comprehend.
Maggie watched him, a smile forming on her face. “I don’t care what Michael says, George,” she grumbled. “You are a hunting dog. You bark so much because you shouldn’t be cooped up in this house. You need adventure, and the open field—you need space. You misbehave here because it’s in your nature, pure and simple…”
Her words trailed off. Maggie was acting equally as incorrigible while she lolled around and felt sorry for herself, she realized.
Because it wasn’t her nature. Maggie needed to act. She needed to try. She wasn’t the type of girl who sat around waiting for someone to fix everything for her. Besides, no one was coming—that was evident enough.
George continued to bounce off the walls.
Space. They both needed space.
And Maggie had a good idea of where to find it.
*
The Earl of Waverly’s pen scratched to a halt on his page when the butler announced Maggie into his study. She hadn’t seen Lord Arthur since she was a child; nevertheless, she could never forget his pleasing, handsome features because they were almost exactly like Michael’s. With his dark brown hair and the wide smile he turned on her as he stood to bow, the earl was an older, more weathered version of her fiancé.
Maggie desperately wished he would be wiser as well. She contained her apprehension as she walked into the decadent room, eyeing the man who she hoped would be the missing answer to the riddle of her life.
“Lady Maggie. How lovely to see you. It’s been too long.” The earl greeted her warmly with arms outstretched. He clasped her shoulders and kissed both of her cheeks as if she were a long-lost daughter. “I cannot tell you how delighted I am by the engagement. Did Michael inform you that I wrote to him?” He glanced over her shoulder. “Is he here with you?”
One couldn’t miss the anxiousness—the longing—in his tone when he mentioned his son.
“No, my lord,” Maggie replied, her nervousness beginning to grate. “I came with my aunt. I hope you don’t mind, but I needed to speak with you.”
A shadow of disappointment passed over his face, though he did a decent job of recovering. “Of course, my dear. Of course.” He nodded toward the door. “I was just ready to go on a walk. It’s such a fine day. Would you care to accompany me?”
Maggie nodded, allowing the earl to lead her through the back of the house, out to the expansive and lively lawns. When she was a child, Maggie had thought the earl’s estate to be one of the grandest she’d ever visited, probably only second to the late king’s. Age had not diminished its shine in her eyes. Stepping out into Lord Arthur’s oasis was like entering another world, one of abundance and unlimited color. The earl wasn’t a fan of the typical manufactured garden with rows of perfectly cut hedges and order. Paths meandered. Flowers stretched out their fat leaves and curly stems for attention and appreciation. It was a hodgepodge of decadence that was still incredibly pleasing to the eye.
“Now, tell me, my dear,” Lord Arthur started, pausing to pluck a purple bellflower and tuck it in his jacket pocket, “what was on your mind that you had to come all the way to Leicester? I’m sure your aunt told you that you could write.”
“She did, my lord, but I don’t have the time for letters. And, I suppose, I’m not good at waiting. I wanted to speak about this in person.”
The earl nodded, locking his hands behind his back, breaking into a smooth, lackadaisical stroll. “It’s not my wife, is it?” He chuckled in a halfhearted manner. “She is protective of Michael. If she’s hard on you at first, don’t take it too personally. She’ll come around. She’s a good woman.”
“No, no, you misunderstand,” Maggie replied, although she had to admit that the man was right about his wife. She was rather hard. “The countess has been incredibly… polite.”
“Ha! Very good. She is polite, that is true.”
Maggie went on. If she didn’t get it out now, she wondered if she ever would. “It’s your son, my lord. It’s Michael.”
The earl’s easy pace faltered. “Michael?”
“Yes…” Maggie closed her eyes, finding it difficult to look while she said what needed to be said. “He’s been training for a fight against the champion. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. It’s a dream come true for him.”
“Yes, I’m well aware of my son’s dreams.”
“But something happened and someone—a cretin—is blackmailing him, saying if he doesn’t lose the fight then the cretin will release a certain letter to the newspapers.”
She tried not to squirm while the earl studied her. “A letter, you say?”
She nodded.
“Let me guess. This letter has to do with me?”
“Lord Rutherford claimed that someone had left it at his home. Michael said it… Well, it contained…”
The earl’s voice hardened. “I’m sure I know what it contained.”
“Yes, well. I understand that the correspondence is old, but Michael still believes it has the power to harm you and the family. He believes it so strongly that he’s willing to do what Rutherford says—to lose.”
“How old?”
“What?”
The forcefulness of the earl’s tone struck her. “The letter. How old is it?”
Maggie shrugged. “I’m not sure. I’m sorry, I don’t know the particulars. I just know that Michael won’t listen to me.” She frowned, wringing her hands as if trying to squeeze an answer out of them. “He won’t… try.”
The earl huffed. “And you think he’ll listen to me?” He resumed his walk, but the pace was faster now, marching rather than strolling. “That’s what you came here for? To ask him to disregard it. He won’t do that, my dear, not if the letter has the potential to embarrass his mother—and you.”
Maggie paused, allowing Michael’s father to walk ahead of her. “That’s not why I came here.”
The earl glanced over his shoulder, frowning when he noticed Maggie had fallen behind. “So why did you?”
She stretched and clenched her fist as she had seen Michael do many times before, digging deep for courage. “I want to know… did you send the letter? Your wife has made it no secret that she wishes Michael to stop boxing. He told me that you feel the same. So, I apologize for offending you. I apologize for speaking out of turn. But it’s who I am, I’m afraid. And I love your son. And I’m strong, but the thought of his giving up on something when he’s so close breaks me in ways I never knew I could break.”
The earl didn’t blink. Not once. He let the seconds drag on, remaining inscrutable. “Yes,” he finally replied. “I believe you are strong.” He raised his hands defensively. “But I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong man.”
Maggie’s stomach lurched. “What?”
“You’re right, little Maggie,” he said, retracing his steps back to her. “I hate my son boxing. I don’t know why he does it, but he does. However, I have always held the belief that it’s never a good thing to get in the way of people and their passions.”
Maggie shook her head. Desperation pounded against her temples as she feebly attempted to make sense of what he was telling her. She caught sight of a lone figure near the back of the house—a man who seemed very interested in the conversation. She stared at the figure for a beat too long. “Then who could it be?”
“It’s not him,” the earl replied instantly. “Maxwell would never betray me like that.” His words were gentle, but they were laced with something Maggie had heard in Michael’s voice, a possessiveness that went beyond the ordinary.
She lowered her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come here and…” Her words trailed off as hopelessness gripped her in its iron vise. She’d been so sure that the earl had been behind the letter and that he could get it back. Maggie had no more plays. That was it.
Until the earl laughed.
“You didn’t mean to come to my house and insult me? Yes, that’s quite all right. You were wrong, my dear, but you weren’t wrong about everything.”
“About everything?” she asked.
Lord Arthur’s smile showed no teeth. “Do you know why I moved here?”
“I think I do.”
“People in Town like to believe they do also. But they don’t. You see, I got in a bit of trouble one night. I went to a club with friends”—he lowered his voice—“people like me who are different than others. Police became involved and I managed to stay out of the papers—and handcuffs.” He smiled wryly. “One of the perks of being a lord, and I didn’t hesitate to take advantage of it.”
“And that’s when you moved here?”
“No. That came later. A whole year later.” He thrust his hands into his pockets. “My wife belongs to a very old family, practically came over with the conqueror. She’d never be so gauche as to ask me to leave over a bit of fun.” His lips curved down with the memory. “But love, on the other hand, proved to be something she couldn’t overlook. You know… I prided myself on trying to be a good husband. I never flaunted my liaisons like so many others did. However, inevitably, I became sloppy and arrogant, and she found a letter that I’d written and hadn’t sent yet. It… it caused her great pain. You see, she could almost understand lust between…” His face colored. “But love was a step too far. She could never forgive that. So she asked me to leave. And I did. I didn’t want to live so far away from my son. But I wanted to do what was right for my wife. I couldn’t give her love—not the kind she desired—so I gave her the next best thing. Absence—and space.”
Rough, jagged pain pummeled Maggie as she listened to the earl’s story. Some of it she knew, but it was vastly different hearing it from his mournful lips.
But he wasn’t just telling her a tale. He was giving her an answer.
“I’m sorry to dig up this past, my lord,” she began, “but I don’t understand—”
“I’m saying,” he cut in impatiently, “that there is one letter out in the world, and I know the person who had it last.”
Oh!
“The countess?” she shrieked. “Would she do that?” A million thoughts clamored inside Maggie’s brain, fighting for purchase. “But why would she give it to Rutherford… risk it getting out?”
The earl rolled his eyes. “Because she knows it won’t. Michael would do anything to save her heartache. I don’t blame him. Hell, I don’t blame her. Sons may grow up, but they are always their mother’s children. A mother would risk almost anything to keep them safe.”
Maggie’s mind went directly to George and Whitechapel. Yes, she knew it wasn’t a perfect comparison, one that most mothers would scoff at, but George was the closest thing she had to a child, and she’d acted without thinking that fearful night. She couldn’t imagine what she would feel compelled to do when she had her own baby. Furtively, she slid her hands over her stomach. Could Michael be right? Could she be with child right now?
“Do you think we can talk to her?” she asked. “Do you think she might listen to us?”
Lord Arthur huffed. “You? No. Me? Definitely not.” He started back toward the house. Maggie had to run to keep up with him. “We have to steal the letter back.”
“Steal it?” she panted. “How can we do that? Rutherford said he keeps it in his home. How would we know where to look?”
“We’ll worry about that when we get there. Let’s get to Town first.”
“Wait.” She lurched for Lord Arthur’s arm, pulling him to a stop. He stared at her hand and then regarded her with admiration—and annoyance. “You’re coming with me? To London? You’ll help me find the letter?”
“Of course. You can’t do this on your own.”
That stung her pride. “Yes, I can.”
“All right, you probably can,” the earl allowed. “But you’re going to let me come along and help anyway.”
“Why?”
Lord Arthur smirked, pride sparkling from his eyes. “Because I’ve missed too many things in my son’s life. Now, you tell me he’s going to be the next bare-knuckle boxing champion. I’m going to be there to see it.”