The Madcap Masquerade by Nadine Miller Page A

squire and Lady Hermione, Meg is in Scotland visiting her aunt,” she explained.
    “Run away from the marriage the squire forced her into, did she? Good for her. Didn’t think she had it in her.”
    Maeve nodded. “That’s what it looked like to me. Though Lady Hermione tried to gloss it over by claiming Meg was so shy she couldn’t face the betrothal ball.”
    “Well she is that all right. But I’m guessing it’s mostly the Earl himself she’s scared of.”
    “I can’t say I blame her there.” Maeve said between bites of toast. “He is utterly despicable.”
    “If that means he’s as handsome a rogue as walks the face of God’s green earth—and that he’s too much man for a timid soul like Miss Meg, I say amen to that. Still, the lad has a good heart and he’s a fair landlord, as any as works his land will tell you.”
    Mrs. Pinkert raised her cup and took a noisy slurp of tea. “So, Missy, are you planning to stand in for Miss Meg at the altar? From what I’ve seen of you so far, you look to suit the bridegroom a mite better than she does.”
    For some reason she couldn’t begin to explain, Maeve felt a flush of heat stain her cheeks. “Good heavens, no!” she exclaimed, staring at the rotund housekeeper in horror. “I have no intention of marrying any man, and if I had, it most certainly would not be the Earl of Lynley.”
    “That taken with him, are you? Well no wonder. He’s a charmer all right.” Mrs. Pinkert poured herself another cup of tea. “But beware that she-devil mother of his. You’ll clash with her for sure if you show the least bit of spirit.”
    “I have already clashed with her,” Maeve said, ignoring the housekeeper’s ridiculous comment about her being ‘taken’ with the earl. “But I doubt I’ll have an occasion to see the Dowager again. I promised the squire I’d impersonate my twin at her engagement ball and possibly a fortnight after, at which time he assures me she will return from Scotland.”
    “He does, does he?” And how is he going to arrange that? He can’t go after her. Lady Tansy MacDougal, his mother’s sister, won’t let him get within a mile of that great pile of stone of hers in the Highlands. She hates the sight of him.”
    Maeve felt the first twinges of a headache creep into her left temple. “What are you saying?” she demanded.
    “I’m saying Miss Meg just might decide to stay away now that she’s finally made the break—which leaves you, as his other daughter, to pull the squire’s fat out of the fire. Or didn’t he tell you why he’s so anxious for this wedding to come off?”
    “Only that it would unite the two estates and give his grandson a title.”
    Mrs. Pinkert nodded, sending wisps of stringy gray hair swirling Medusa-like around her plump white face. “There’s that too, but mostly he’s desperate for a grandchild—male or female—and he figures a lusty young fellow like the Earl is certain to give him one.”
    “I suppose every man wants a grandchild,” Maeve said absentmindedly, still grappling with the idea that her twin might not be planning to return to Barrington Hall.
    “But not every man has all he owns tied up in a land grant what his great grandfather snabbled from the king in exchange for letting his wife warm the monarch’s bed—a grant what says if any generation of Barringtons don’t produce legitimate offspring by the age of twenty-five, the land and all that’s on it goes back to the crown.”
    “Good heavens! Does Meg know this?”
    “Aye, she knows.” Mrs. Pinkert looked grim. “For haven’t I heard the squire tell her a hundred times and more it’s her duty to save Barrington Hall for all those what comes after her.” Mrs. Pinkert wrinkled her nose. “I’m that fond of the randy old goat, as you may have noticed, but there’s things he does where Miss Meg’s concerned that don’t sit well with me.”
    Rising from the table, Mrs. Pinkert proceeded to cut herself a thick slab of