Free A Christmas Scandal by Jane Goodger

normal, to go to balls, to…pretend,” she ended on a whisper.
    Lord, Maggie wanted that, too. But she was obviously far more practical than her mother.
    “I’ll tell Amelia I cannot. It wouldn’t do for me to go to balls and dinners and concerts and leave you home. How will you find a husband if you do not come with us?”
    Maggie felt a tingling of fear that her mother was losing her mind. “Mama, you know that is impossible now,” she said softly.
    Something fierce and rather terrifying crossed her mother’s features. “It is not only not impossible, it is imperative that you find a husband. I have given it much thought and it is the only answer.”
    “After what I told you…”
    “You told me nothing that will prevent you from finding a husband.” She said the words as if she truly believed them, as if she had no recollection whatsoever of their conversation.
    Maggie shook her head in disbelief. She did not know this woman, for she did not resemble her mother at all.
    “I don’t see how I can pretend to look for a husband when I am supposed to already be engaged,” Maggie pointed out reasonably.
    Her mother stared at her blankly for a moment. “We can say he’s broken it off,” she said calmly, as if they had not argued this point not a day before and agreed it was vital that Maggie maintain the lie she was still engaged. “You will receive a heartbreaking letter from Mr. Wright. You will cry. Not too long, of course. That would grow tiresome and we really do not want anyone to think you were too attached to Arthur. We want them to believe you are ready to move on. Then we could—”
    “Mama…”
    “Do not argue with me!” she shouted, throwing her hands to each side of her head, almost as if she were holding it together.
    And Maggie stopped, because she had a terrible feeling that had she said even a single syllable more, her mother would have shattered right in front of her.
    “A season sounds like a wonderful idea, Mama,” Maggie said, smiling. “We’ll figure it all out.”
    Her mother lowered her hands and after a few long moments, gave her daughter a tenuous smile that nearly broke Maggie’s heart.
    “Yes. A season in London will be lovely,” she said. “Quite lovely.”
     
    Edward watched his younger sister playing like a child with her cousins, even though many women her age were already married and with children of their own. They were playing “statue,” the goal of which was to remain completely still for as long as possible when someone shouted “statue.” Matilda had suggested the game, knowing that for long minutes the children would be quiet and still. That was the goal, at any rate. But children being children, they found it much more fun to giggle and collapse on the floor in mirth when one of them got themselves into an impossible-to-hold position.
    Amelia was in high spirits, for not minutes ago, Mrs. Pierce had announced that she and her daughter would be happy to participate in the season. Edward suspected Miss Pierce was not pleased, though for the life of him he didn’t know why. Maggie had seemed to him to be one of those women who adored balls and dinners and concerts and all that participating in a seasoned entailed. Perhaps now that she was safely engaged, such amusements had dulled.
    “Miss Pierce,” Amelia called, having spied her walking furtively by the room. “Oh, do come play statues with us. And you, too, Edward. You must.” With a mischievous smile, Amelia came over to her brother and dragged him into the fray of children.
    “I really should be helping out His Grace. I’ve not done anything about his library since I’ve been here and have wasted far too much time entertaining you.”
    Amelia pouted. “You are absolutely ancient,” she said dramatically. “Is he not, Miss Pierce?”
    “Why, I’d guess no more than thirty-five,” she said, a wicked gleam in her eye.
    Amelia let out an unladylike laugh. “She thinks you are ancient,