A Lady in Love

Chapter Two

Mama, Papa and myself accepted an invitation to Lord and Lady Birches' soirée. They've invited over four hundred guests -- is it not enough? They wouldn't notice me skipping the blasted party, surely? And what am I to do there, anyway? Smile and act angelic, is what! I am sighing as I write this. My parents want me to meet a "very special" young fellow. If this young man is anything -- I repeat: anything! -- like Henry Carmichael and recites a poem to me in public, I will bonk the man's head with a kipper!

- From the diary of Margaret Swinton, 12 November 1950

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"Oh, you look lovely, darling!" Mama breathed, her gloved hand flying toward her chest in great awe of me as I descended the marble steps of the grand staircase.

She made me look especially lovely in a beautiful Chanel dress wrapped in gold taffeta with matching white gloves. My billowy blond hair had been piled in an elegant chignon, along with a delicate white rose tucked on the side. I was also wearing these darling champagne-colored high-heels, making me look taller than my average five feet three inches.

I beamed at Mama, then caught Archer's sparkling hazel eyes from below where I stood on the mezzanine. His elbow was propped up on the marble mantle of the fireplace. "Gorgeous," he whispered, smiling crookedly, as I walked toward him and leaned in to give him a little hug that we always did -- but tonight, this was more special than all the hugs we had given each other, combined.

"You're looking rather dashing!" I stepped back and looked at him from his iridescent blond hair to his black tuxedo with a rose on the lapel and, finally, to his shiny leather shoes. He gave a grin, lighting up his pretty-boy face which added up to making him look so irresistible, it was a miracle the maids -- who were trying so hard to keep their heads away from poking out the door in the drawing room, where they were cleaning -- didn't fall over their faces at the sight of this beautiful nineteen-year-old rogue.

I was even surprised at my own heart skipping a beat when he placed his warm hand on my elbow, patting my perfectly arranged hair affectionately. I held my breath, blinking. Well, I thought strangely, this is new.

Mama saw all of what had transpired -- including the scene with the maids, who squeaked when they saw her trying to shoo them off discreetly with a little flutter of her gloved fingers and twitches from her eyes, which were alight with amusement and...there was definitely something behind those intelligent orbs of hers.

Archer did not seem to notice her staring at us with new interest, though. He was fixated on my face, which was lightly applied with makeup. I rather thought I was as gorgeous as they said, and I knew he was going to compliment me some more, but then he went, "You look ghostly."

My hand flew to my cheek, my eyes rounding. "Really?" I gasped. "Oh, I told Mary to lightly pat some powder on my face! I didn't mean for her to make me look like Charlie Chaplin."

He peered at me closely. His head tilted to the side to have greater access to whatever he was looking at on my face, then barked a laugh. "I meant you look as if you've been holding your breath, Maggie."

"Then why'd you --"

"I didn't say you have too much powder on," he pointed out, finding fun in teasing me. "I merely thought you were quite pale when you scrutinized me a while ago."

"Oh." I blinked and cleared my throat. I am not going to admit to him that I just had this odd flutter in my stomach at the very sight of him -- especially not in front of my own mum! Archer was like my brother. Brother. My nose scrunched up involuntarily at the thought of me having horribly good thoughts about him in such a way.