She pulled her notebook from her pocket and set it primly on her lap. It burned a hole through her skirts. An evil little thing, but a necessary evil. It would save her family. She flipped through the sketches in the front to the notes in the middle pages. Two columns, one listing names and the other listing sins. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard.
She couldn’t do this.
She had to.
The very food that filled her belly and the bellies of all the guests from that morning’s breakfast had not been paid for. And the servants who had prepared and served it had been brought in from three towns away because no one nearer would work for the Marquess of Waneborough anymore. They’d worked too hard for too long and with no remuneration.
She opened her eyes and read the list. Who was the worst person there? Surely, if the individual she blackmailed were truly awful, it would be like she was doing something good. And if that person had a ridiculous amount of money, then she’d only have to do it once.
She ran her finger down the rows of names. No. No. No. Not that one. Wait. Her finger stopped. Sir Scott, known to those who gathered yearly for the house party as the Mathematical Baron. A rumored miser. And cruel to animals. And children. She’d seen it in the stables, how he’d hit the stable boy and kicked the boy’s dog into a pitchfork. Her eyes teared up at the memory. She’d investigated him further after that, dressed as a housemaid and listened to gossip in the servants’ quarters. The stories she’d heard … he had done much worse than kill a dog. He’d killed his infant daughter. Hatred for the baron curled hot inside her. Fear, too.
If she were going to blackmail anyone, it should be him. But what if he found out? Her heart raced. She’d have to be more than careful. She flipped to an empty page of the notebook and danced the pencil over the pages without looking or thinking. Her thoughts came best when her hands were occupied sketching.
But her mind could not concentrate. It insisted on focusing on less dubious matters. Mr. Blake’s visage laughed before her mind’s eye, raising new questions to add to her ones about safely blackmailing a baron.
Had she been ruined? Really ruined? Her father and mother did not seem to think so, or at least did not seem to care, but everyone else at the house party now viewed her with pity or avoided her altogether. Her run-in with Mr. Blake and the wardrobe was two full days behind her, and the gossip had yet to dissipate. Her suitors had disappeared, too. But what did that matter? They would disappear altogether, once they learned of her family’s situation. Unless, of course, she could fix the situation. She tapped her pencil on the notebook then traced it across the page in mindless, graceful curves away from the fear and dread that flooded her chest.
“Lady Magnificent!”
Oh no. Maggie slammed the notebook closed and squeezed it to her belly. No one could read its contents, but it felt like anyone could see straight through its dark cover and past its whimsical sketches to the nefarious plots hidden inside. She twisted around on the bench until she faced the direction of the greeting.
Marcus Pellham, novelist, bore down on her, his long strides purposeful.
“Hello, Marcus. How nice to see you this afternoon,” she called.
He dropped to a knee. “I’ll not waste your time or mine, Lady Magnificent. Though”—he looked at their surroundings, grimacing, she could only suppose, at the barren tree and twisting thorns—“this is not where I would have liked to lay my heart bare.”
“You … your heart?” Maggie leaned farther away from him.
Marcus scooted closer, nodding fervently. “I want you to know I will marry you. Others may think you ruined, but not I.”
“Marry me?”
He sat next to her on the bench. Too close to her. He smelled of cigars and sweat. She had to put all her concentration into not scrunching up her nose. He took her hand, and when she tried to pull it away, he held fast. “I have admired your beauty since we first met.”
“Two weeks ago.”
He nodded. “Then, I thought you out of my reach. I’m a butcher’s son, you know, and your father has kindly given me his patronage because of my talent. But you are a marquess’s daughter, and no matter how much talent I have, a vast ocean of difference existed between us.”
“‘Existed’? Past tense?”
“Precisely.Nowit would be perfectly allowable for me to sayIcondescend to ask for your hand in marriage. I will not, however, do so because you are not without merit, and your family is still a desirable connection, especially for an artist like myself.”
Maggie stood and yanked her hand from his. “Leave me be, sir!”
“You wish time to think it over, then.”
“No, I need no time. I will not marry you, and I want you to go away. Now.”
“You’re overwrought. Much has happened in the last day, and I should have waited to propose, but I heard Scott telling Penelope he has plans to propose this afternoon after tea, so—”
“Sir Scott? The Mathematical Baron?”
Marcus nodded. “With his clout in the scientific world and his noble standing as a baron, I knew I had to beat him to you.”
“You feared I would accepthim?” She certainly had plans for the man, but they did not include matrimony. In fact, she’dratherblackmail him than marry him. She retreated from the bench, from Marcus, from the very idea.
Marcus stood and walked toward her, arms outstretched as if to embrace her. “Of course!” He smiled. “But I’ve got the jump on him now!” He almost caught her, but she danced out of the way.
