Wentworth Hall (19 page)

“Maggie, I feel forced to press you now that you’ve turned away both Teddy and the Duke. I must know who James’s father is,” Lady Darlington spoke in a whisper.

“It’s as you assumed,” Maggie lied, unable to meet her mother’s gaze. “It was… someone I met during my come-out in London.”

“Are you sure he doesn’t know?”

“He has no idea.”

“Is he a person you might consider marrying? Or… is he already married?”

“No! Absolutely not! But things are better as they are,” Maggie replied. “Besides, I don’t love him and he knows it.”

Lady Darlington shook her head woefully. “If you don’t love him, how did you let this happen?”

Maggie’s mind raced. She needed a quick story and her
mother had taken her off guard with this line of questioning. “It was the champagne,” she blurted out. “It made me feel giddy and romantic. It was my coming-out ball and I was eager for adult life to begin.”

“Foolish girl,” Lady Darlington lamented.

The wetness returned to Maggie’s eyes. If her mother only knew how truly foolish she had been. She’d always loved Michael and their acting on that love had had an air of inevitability about it; all their lives had led to that one blissful encounter in the stable’s hayloft. But then—on the very night she was about to tell him she was pregnant—Michael had broken it off, saying that the inequity in their stations made their romance impossible. He was always doing that—running hot and cold with her. He would tell her he was trying to protect her from a life of service, which would be inevitable if they were together. But a few kisses and he would warm right up again. That last night, she’d already learned of her pregnancy. So his coldness was more than she could bear. How could he claim he didn’t love her? And then avoid her for weeks? That set her on a path leading to where they were today.

Why hadn’t he taken her in his arms and said they
should run away together? She would have gone—in a heartbeat! Why did people have to be divided by something as arbitrary and heartless as their station in life? Now she couldn’t leave. Not when James was at Wentworth Hall. She couldn’t be a mother to him, but she would not abandon him.

What a right mess they had created!

Now Michael said he loved her and that he’d been wrong. Would he love her if he knew the truth? Maybe not. Even if they could never be together, the knowledge that she had his heart was a comfort. She would never do anything to jeopardize that. He could never know about James. Not ever.

No one could know.

If it came out that James was her baby, everything would be ruined: The Darlington name would tarnished forever; her chances of making a favorable match—one that the family desperately needed her to make—would be hopelessly dashed.

The consequence most distressing to Maggie would affect Lila. Before she even had her coming-out ball, her hopes of attracting a desirable beau would most certainly
be destroyed. Her guilt was so immense it made being around Lila almost unbearably painful. She remembered how close they had been as girls and how much Lila had worshipped her. She had once basked in her younger sister’s adoration, but since she’d returned home it only made her feel hypocritical, knowing she was unworthy of that worship. Maggie could never make herself forget that Lila’s future might be utterly destroyed at any moment and it would be all her fault.

Maggie knew her aloof behavior hurt Lila to the core, but ultimately it was for Lila’s own good. If she knew how Maggie had put Lila’s whole life at risk, she would feel completely betrayed. It was better that there be some distance between them now. If the crack-up of their relationship came, the hurt wouldn’t cut as deeply if there was already some distance between them.

The main problem, though, was that she missed Lila’s companionship. It killed her that Lila thought Maggie was pushing her away and Maggie longed to explain what had happened. It could never be. For everyone’s sake, Maggie had to keep the truth a secret, no matter what the cost.

“Maggie,” Lady Darlington’s voice cut through Maggie’s thoughts. “You must tell me who this baby’s father is. I thought we could let it go, but these newspaper pieces have changed all that. People will quickly figure out that they are skewering our family. Even if this paper is mostly read by the servant class, we all know servants gossip! We will be a laughingstock and our name forever ruined if this issue isn’t quickly resolved. Tell me who it is, I beg of you. We can force this young man to marry you.”

Maggie held James more tightly as she fought back another onslaught of tears. “I don’t want him to marry me,” she insisted in a choked voice, not meeting her mother’s gaze, when all the while marrying this baby’s father would have been her dearest wish come true.

Chapter Eighteen

T
HE KITCHEN WAS QUIET. DINNER HAD BEEN
served and cleaned up after. Most of the servants, guests, and residents had returned to their quarters. Nora and Michael were still up, finishing their suppers. Nora rather enjoyed these moments—when the most you could hear was the occasional cricket that had sneaked in and one needn’t worry about having to appear busy. During this time at night, the servants, with no one to wait upon and nothing to clean, could be themselves. If they weren’t too exhausted.

“Blast these sewing needles,” Nora muttered as she picked at the calluses that had formed on her fingertips.

“How’s the side job going?” asked Michael, peering over his dinner at her fingertips.

Nora sighed, “Could be better if I wasn’t so busy tending to all the goings-on around this bloody drafty place.”

She poked her dinner with her fork, moving the potatoes and beef around the plate. Despite the insult that the servants were only permitted to eat meat left over from the meals prepared for the Darlingtons, the food was always prepared well and there was lots of it. Another plus was that, once dinner was over, no one really went into the kitchen, so it was a place to talk freely. Picking up a pea, she flicked it carelessly over Michael’s shoulder. He ducked to avoid being hit with the green projectile.

In a swift motion, she watched Michael scoop up a handful of carrots. Nora quickly snatched up a napkin to shield herself from Michael’s retaliatory fire. She continued talking from behind the white piece of cloth, “I can’t even work back in my room because I can’t have anyone seeing I have another job. It’s ridiculous!”

“So what if they see? As long as you’re getting your main duties done around here, who cares if you do a little extra sewing on the side?” Michael queried, tossing a piece of a carrot over Nora’s napkin line of defense.

She let out a squeak of surprise as the carrot bounced
off her head and onto the floor. Lowering her cloth shield so just her eyes peered over, Nora replied, “I just don’t want to chance it. I haven’t saved up enough money to get to London yet and it’d be terrible if I got fired before that. I’ve only been taking jobs that I can finish on my one afternoon off and I give them back that day. Been working these fingers to the bone!” she said, letting the napkin fall, raising her hands and wiggling her rough fingertips to illustrate.

Michael nodded in sympathy, raising his own hands to show Nora the calluses on his palms from mucking stalls at the barn. “You’re telling me!” He lowered his hands and scooped another helping of potatoes from the silver bowl onto his plate. “So, did you patch things up with Therese?”

Nora gave a half shrug, half nod, “I suppose. She said she was just nervous and didn’t know what to say.” She skeptically pouted her lips and continued on, “I mean, I
guess
I understand how she feels. She
is
the newest member of the staff and an outsider, after all.”

Michael nodded, chewing thoughtfully. “She was probably just scared they would try and pin it on her,” he mumbled through a mouthful of potatoes.

“Right,” Nora agreed. “And, ignoring that one hang-up, Therese has been nothing but pleasant to me. I suppose I forgive her. Plus, that girl has a nose for gossip, so she could be a good ally.”

Michael grinned. “Should you really trust a gossipy girl?”

Waving her hand dismissively, Nora said, “No! Of course n—” She stopped mid-sentence and glowered at Michael. “Very funny.”

Laughing, Michael said, “I sure thought so.”

Nora scowled, turning her head away in mock disgust. “At least I don’t have spinach stuck in my teeth.”

Michael’s grin faded as he began to pick at his front teeth.

Nora clasped her hands together in front of her and leaned forward, happy to have the upper hand. “So. Now about you. You know the baby is yours. What’re you going to do?”

Michael took a deep breath, clasped his hands behind his head, and rocked on the back two legs of his chair. Sighing, he said, “I… don’t know.” Staring at the ceiling, he continued on: “On the one hand, the baby is clearly better off being a Darlington. Even in their reduced
circumstances, they could provide so much for him. I don’t think I’d be able to give him the same opportunities in life. But, on the other hand, I absolutely cannot stand to see
my
son being raised falsely by another person.” He looked down from the ceiling, catching Nora’s eyes. “I want to talk to Maggie about it, but she has been avoiding me like the plague.”

Nora nodded, contemplatively tapping her fork against her lips. Slowly, she said, “Do you want me to send a message to her?”

Letting the front two legs of his chair regain contact with the floor with a loud clack, Michael looked at Nora. “Would you do that for me?”

“Of course!” she replied naturally, and then thinking better of it, feigned disinterest. “Well, then again, word on the
street
,” she said pointedly, staring into Michael’s eyes to drive home her point, “is that gossipy girls aren’t to be trusted, even though they have all of the ins and could easily deliver important information.…” She gazed off somewhere in the distance, trying to suppress a grin.

“Do it for me,” Michael said in a gentle command, half-teasing and half-serious.

“And what if I refuse?” replied Nora, rubbing at her face with the napkin, “I’m not so keen on doing favors for food-flinging ruffians such as yourself.”

“Well,” Michael started, leaning forward, “what if I was to tell you
and
the entire staff
and
the Darlingtons that I knew a bit of insider information.”

Nora narrowed her eyes at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?” Michael grinned back at her. As much as Nora viewed him as a brother, Michael viewed her as a sister. Specifically, a little sister whom he loved to ruffle up as she did to him, although deep down they knew their intentions were nothing but kind for one another. “Oh, yes. From what I hear there is a young maid who has been doing some extra sewing work on the side and not telling her Lordship about the money she has been saving to go to… where was it? Oh, yes, London…”

Jumping up from her seat, Nora raced around the table, shoving her napkin over Michael’s mouth. Even though all of the staff were in their rooms, she couldn’t help but feel a stab of panic. “Ssh! Stop it!” she hissed. “I’ll do it, I’ll do it!” She could hear Michael’s muffled chuckles coming from beneath the fabric. He reached up and gently
removed her clamped hand from over his mouth, letting the napkin fall into his lap.

She plopped down in the seat next to him and stuck out her bottom lip, trying to muster up false indignation. “I was going to do it anyway. You know I care about you and Maggie.”

Michael shifted in his seat to face her and patted her hand, still chuckling. He focused his intense eyes upon her. “And I thank you for it. This means so much to me, thank you.”

Nora looked deeply into his eyes, as if studying his level of sincerity. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, patting his hand back. “You know you are a supreme git, don’t you?” Her face broke into a grin.

“Oh, just write the sodding letter for me, would you?” He retorted, snatching up the napkin and tossing it at her.

“All right, all right, down to business,” she replied, laughing. Striding across the kitchen to where the cookbooks were kept, she ripped a blank page out of a notebook and grabbed a pen. Returning, she pounded the piece of paper down upon the table for dramatic effect and stared pointedly at Michael. “Spill your heart out and I’ll deliver
this letter to your fair maiden, words transcribed ’pon this parchment, tucked safely inside a book, and delivered for only your miss to see.”