Mr Pratchet continued to stare at her with an earnest, fatherly expression. ‘You mock me. You think me old and foolish. I know you do. But surely a hasty marriage to a man who will care for you would be better than facing the disgrace of mothering a bastard.’
And here they were, back to her losing control of her own life to a man who knew what was best for her. When it had happened with Fanworth, at least there had been some pleasure gained in her mistake. But to enter into an empty marriage with a man she barely respected, for the sake of her reputation, was a punishment she did not deserve.
She turned to him then, giving him her most firm, professional smile. ‘We have already discussed the matter of marriage and I have no intention of entering into that state with you or anyone else. As for the rest of it?’ She gave a vague wave of her hand meant to encompass her loss of innocence and any child that might have resulted from her carelessness on the previous evening. ‘I have no idea what you are hinting at, Mr Pratchet. And I do not wish to be enlightened. I fear you are suggesting something that would be a grave insult to my character. Now, as you say, there is a considerable pile of work that you must attend to. I suggest you apply yourself in the way you were hired to do.’
The man gave her one last disapproving look, before returning to his work station.
Margot closed her eyes for a moment, struggling to regain her calm. Even if it was already too late, she was not yet ready to brood upon the worst possible outcome of her current course of action. She needed food and rest before she could even consider what she would do if there was a child. And if there was not, she must find a way to take precautions in the future.
But it seemed she was to have no peace at all today. At the door were Justine and Daphne, doing up their parasols and smiling at her.
Margot smiled back, adjusting the position of the note in her bodice with a tug at the neckline of her gown.
Justine froze, staring back at her in shock. Her big sister knew her too well. With a single glance, she had uncovered every last secret. Then she relaxed, choosing to pretend that she had not. Her manner was all blissful ignorance as she said, ‘Tea, Sister? Or have you no time for us today?’
‘There is always time.’ Margot gestured to the private salon. ‘I am most unexpectedly hungry and could eat a plate of Sally Lunns all by myself.’
‘I see,’ Justine said. And now Daphne was looking at her with the same, overly curious expression.
‘Or not,’ Margot amended, trying to decide what was so shocking about wanting a bun with her tea. ‘They would not be good for me, after all.’
‘Indulging one’s sweet tooth never is,’ Daphne said. ‘It leads to a thickening waist.’
Justine glared at her with such vehemence that Daphne took a large bit of the first bun offered, giving her reason to remain silent.
Justine glanced around her again. ‘No visit from the marquess this morning?’
‘No,’ Margot said, relieved to be able to answer truthfully. ‘He has not been to the shop in almost a week.’ Not in daylight, at least. She tried not to think about what they had been doing, on this very spot, two nights ago.
Justine gave an audible sigh of relief. ‘That is good to know. You might have considered him a friend, love. But the true motives of such a man are often hard to predict. There is a rumour that he has taken up some new scandalous affair...’
‘Really?’ Margot said, taking a very deliberate sip of her tea. ‘What concern is that of ours?’
‘Simply that I would not want you to be hurt by his actions. Since you are fond of him—’
‘Not really,’ Margot inserted.
‘That is good,’ her sister said, doubtfully, setting aside her cup and reaching out to touch her sister’s hand. ‘Because there is no guarantee as to the permanence of his affections towards you or anyone else.’
Margot took another sip of tea. Any illusions she’d had about his motives had died with the discovery of the necklace. Strange how long ago that seemed and how little it seemed to matter. ‘Do not worry about me, dear. I shall be fine. And I most assuredly will not allow myself to be hurt by the Marquess of Fanworth.’
Justine allowed herself to be comforted by the words. And then the three of them chatted of ordinary things for nearly an hour, before the two guests rose to leave.
Margot escorted them as far as the front door, only to see them step into the path of a gentleman walking by the shop. He was near enough so Margot could hear the polite greeting, ‘Ladies’, which was accompanied by a bow and a gesture permitting them to pass.
And through the glass of the shop window, she saw the shocked look on her sister’s face as the Marquess of Fanworth looked into the shop directly at her and gave her a knowing smile.
With a week to prepare for it, Stephen took special care to set the scene for their next tryst. There was a dinner ready in the main dining room, should she wish to sup with him. If not, there was a selection of dainties arranged in the sitting room of his bedchamber. Oysters, prawns, strawberries and chilled champagne.
Perhaps it was too obvious that he had chosen foods that might inflame desire. Or perhaps not. She had known little enough about the act a week ago. Still, if there was a simple way to increase her ardour to the point where she might forget their ridiculous agreement and remain with him, he was not above resorting to it. He had no intention of letting her escape him after only three more nights. But such a strong-willed woman would wish to think the decision to stay had been hers.
He had sent her another note, earlier in the day, reminding her of their engagement and informing her that there would be a carriage waiting for her when the shop closed that would take her directly to his door with curtains drawn for her privacy. She might still refuse and find her own way here, but he would not be so stupid as to leave his bedchamber to search for her, only to be surprised on his return. This time, he would claim the battleground for his own.
For a moment, he considered greeting her as she had him, wearing nothing but his dressing gown. He rejected it, almost immediately. She would likely think it was vulgar. And he would feel more than a little ridiculous lounging about his rooms nearly naked. Instead, he took the time to change into his best tailored, dark coat and trimmed the lapel with a gold stickpin he had purchased in her shop.
Then he had nothing to do but to wait. When, at last, he heard the sound of the footman escorting her down the hall, he did his best to gain control of what could only be described as boyish enthusiasm.
That emotion was the parlance of Stephen Standish, the besotted fool who had fallen under the spell of the bewitching Margot de Bryun. The Marquess of Fanworth knew better. It was he who turned to face the door with a cool smile, as his lady entered.
Once again, he faltered.
He had not seen her in a week, other than brief glimpses through the shop window. No matter what he had promised, he could not manage to stay totally away from her. He savoured those walks along the street, pretending that he took them for his health. But if that was true, he must admit that a brief glimpse of her each day had become as necessary to his well-being as respiration.
The glass of the front window and blinding whiteness of the shop’s interior must have dulled his perception, for he had noticed nothing unusual as he had glanced in at her. Could one week really so alter a person?
To say she was pale was an understatement. Her normally luminous skin was as grey as moonstone and there were dark circles under her eyes. If he were to guess, he would say she had not slept since she’d dozed in his arms almost a week before. Her perfect brow was creased with worry. He had never seen her timid, but