Free A Christmas Scandal by Jane Goodger Page A

Edward. He’s actually only twenty-eight. Older than His Grace, of course, but still not old. Not ancient, anyway.”
    “It must have been the gray hairs,” Maggie said, gazing at his temples.
    And even though he knew she was joking, he found himself touching the side of his head as if he would be able to feel gray hairs sprouting there.
    “Only one or two,” Mary said, happily joining in on the teasing. “And I don’t think he’ll be truly bald until he’s a bit older.”
    Maggie laughed aloud, and he realized it was the first time he’d heard her laugh so since he’d seen her, a sound full of joy, holding no reserve. “Shh,” she said, putting a finger to her lips. “Gentlemen do not like to be reminded they are losing their hair. It makes them decidedly grumpy.”
    “I am not losing my hair,” Edward said, even though he knew arguing would only fuel their teasing.
    “Bald men can be quite handsome,” Amelia said, as if defending her poor hairless brother.
    “Mary didn’t say he was bald,” Maggie said, studying his thick, wavy blond hair. “Bald ing , perhaps.”
    “I am not balding,” he said forcefully, but he was starting to think that perhaps he was.
    “No, you are not,” Maggie said, coming to his rescue. “And it’s a good thing, too. Someone with such an oddly shaped head would not bald well.”
    Amelia had to sit she was laughing so hard. “Please stop torturing him,” she said, waving a hand in front of her face as if cooling it.
    “A good idea,” Edward said dryly.
    “I think it is good to sometimes make overly handsome men think that perhaps they are not,” Maggie said pertly.
    “Are you calling me an overly handsome man?” Edward said, ridiculously pleased though trying hard not to show it.
    “Uncle Edward, you may not be as handsome as His Grace, but you’re not as ugly as Jonathon Peters,” Mary said, mentioning a poor unfortunate boy who lived nearby their estate whose head was strangely overlarge for his body.
    “Thank goodness for that. How did this discussion start?”
    “I asked if you could play statues with us, and you declined,” Amelia supplied.
    “And you,” he said, tapping his sister on her nose, “said I was ancient.”
    “Well, will you play?”
    “Do you really want me to?” he asked, and couldn’t help looking to Miss Pierce to gauge her reaction.
    “I cannot,” Maggie said. “I have about a dozen letters to write.”
    “That I believe,” Edward said. “Miss Pierce is a very prolific letter writer.” He was gratified to see her flush, that at least she perhaps recalled the pages and pages she’d written to him when he was on his tour in America with Rand. “As it is, I cannot take time to play, either. I have His Grace’s library to rebuild. Perhaps, Miss Pierce, you can write your letters in the library and keep me company.”
    He could see her struggling to come up with some sort of excuse why she could not. “Of course. Let me get my things.”
     
    Maggie went to her rooms in search of her address book, cursing herself for being unable to come up with a quick and believable excuse why she could not write her letters in the library. Lord Hollings would be far too great a distraction—and a temptation, if she were honest. It was rather awful to be in love with him and realize she could not have him.
    When she reached her room, she peeked into the sitting room she shared with her mother. She was sitting in a chair facing the empty fireplace, a book held limply in her hands.
    “Mama, there you are. Why are you sitting here all alone?”
    Harriet lifted her head as if startled. “Oh, my, I dozed off,” she said, sounding slightly muddled. “I’m so tired lately.”
    Maggie gave her mother a worried look, then kissed the top of her head. “I’m going to be writing letters in the library,” she said. “There’s a lovely old desk in there. Very majestic. I shall pretend I am a duchess.” Her mother smiled, then furrowed her