Page 41 of When We Touch

It didn’t matter that she hadn’t suddenly fallen in love with Charles. Lots of people were still married by arrangement. And most people didn’t just suddenly fall in love.

They might fall into lust, though. And discover that the object of their lust was decent and intelligent, worthy in thought and deed, and body.

Body . . .

She stuck her head out of the carriage, calling to Clayton, “Please, stop! I think I’d like to walk around a bit, Clayton, have a sip of tea at a coffeehouse.”

Tea, hell, a nice sip of sherry would be lovely. Maybe several sips.

From the driver’s seat, Clayton gave a nod. A moment later, he drew the carriage to a halt, out of the way of traffic. They were not far from Buckingham Palace, and there was a row of shops and coffeehouses along the very hectic and busy thoroughfare.

Still, Clayton looked at her worriedly as he helped her from the carriage. “M’lady . . . shall I wait? I can find a good place to draw up, read me papers, while some time.”

She shook her head. “I really need some time, Clayton.” She touched his dear old cheek. “I will so miss you every morning, Clayton.”

“You’ll be fine. You’ll have the good Mrs. Whitley.”

Maggie made a face. “She’s very stern. And proper.”

“As a good housekeeper should be.”

Maggie shook her head. “I prefer a dear family butler with whom one can enjoy chocolate and gossip in the kitchen. Even if the gossip is all about one’s self! Get on, now. I shall be quite fine by myself.”

“I can wait, Maggie.”

“We’ve done just fine with hired carriage for several years now, Clayton. I know my way home.”

Sighing, he left her.

* * *

“Maggie! My, my! Dear Lady Maggie Graham!”

Maggie had found a darling little place on the corner with an outside garden area, and there, she’d ordered tea and scones, had been sipping the first and playing with the latter, when she heard her name called. Looking up, she saw Cecilia, now Countess de Burgh, since her marriage to Count Eustace de Burgh of Cornwall.

They had come out together, attending their first season of balls and teas and the social whirl of the Ton together. Maggie had liked Cecilia, despite her friend’s absolute determination to marry Eustace, who hadn’t seemed very interested in marriage, other than that his family had determined that he would find a wife, and quickly. He was more than a bit of a fop, a total ne’er do well, but he also owned several castles, manor houses, a dozen racehorses, and all manner of property.

Cecilia looked as charming as ever, brown curls artfully arrayed, her lavender day dress only a shade too risqué, and the parasol she carried a pretty little piece that added nicely to her outfit. Her bonnet was small, emphasizing the richness of her curls.

“Cecilia, how are you?” Maggie rose with an honest pleasure at seeing Cecilia, who was ever cheerful, and, customarily, far too honest. She had always enjoyed a sense of adventure and fun, and hadn’t been appalled when Maggie had determined on marrying Nathan. She had thought Maggie entirely foolish, but hadn’t excluded her from any social events. However, in the last few years, they had grown apart.

“Delightful, absolutely delightful,” Cecilia said. “Preparing the town house for the autumn season, you know, and then we’ll stay through Christmas and head to the Continent. We’ve decided to winter in Spain.”

“Lovely.” Cecilia had found the spare chair across from Maggie. She beamed. “And you—about to become the wife of none other than Charles, Viscount Langdon! I’m quite thrilled for you.”

“Are you?”

“Well, of course. Aren’t you thrilled for yourself?”

“He’s a very dear man.”

Cecilia laughed delightedly. “Oh, Maggie! Leave it to you. ‘He’s a dear man!’ He’s one of the most important peers in the realm. Marriage is a contract, a convenience, something for the perpetuation of heirs, and society. Good heavens, do you think that people believe you’re required to be madly in love with the man? Ah, yes, well you did marry that poor fellow. Nathan. He was gorgeous, but . . . Maggie, Maggie, Maggie! Gorgeous men are one thing, and marriage is quite another. You should have had an affair with your glorious young Nathan, and married such a man as Charles from the very beginning.”

“Cecilia!” Maggie protested. “I loved Nathan.”

“Yes, yes, all well, good, and fine. And our dear Queen Victoria adored her Albert, and so now we’re all supposed to be so moral. Well, she is deceiving herself, of course. Her son is a tremendous rake, and his son, I assure you, no better. We all pretend that such things aren’t going on, but underneath, well . . .”

“Underneath,” Maggie said, “a lot is rumor.” Her smile deepened. “It is good to see you. You and Eustace are doing well?”