Damn it all, he was right. She was no longer Miss de Bryun. But if she was not, then who was she and what name belonged on the shop window? She could not be Mrs Standish. When Fanworth had used his surname, it had seemed little better than a joke. But to become, without warning, a ‘her ladyship’ was too much to grasp on an already perplexing day.
She sighed. ‘For now, perhaps it is better if you do not call me anything at all. Simply state your business and I will do my best to answer you.’
‘I asked about closing,’ he reminded her.
There was really no reason to stay open, when the shop was as desperately empty as it had been lately. This afternoon, the only potential customers had done nothing more than to peer in the window, whisper to each other and hurry away. ‘I suppose there is no reason to stay here doing nothing. You can all go home, at least. Since I was gone the better part of the morning, I should be the one to stay to close up.’
Jasper paused for a moment, then said, ‘If I may be so bold, miss, uh, ma’am. There is no reason that you should have to make up lost time in your own shop. Why do you employ us, if not to make your labours lighter?’ And then, to prove that matters were well in hand, he presented the ledger with the day’s only transaction neatly recorded, so she might total it with the cash in the drawer.
He was right, she supposed. While she had informed Fanworth that the place was in chaos without her, it had seemed to run quite well. ‘Very good,’ Margot said, not sure how she felt about the success. ‘And now,’ she called out, to the room in general, ‘you are all released for the day. I will see you tomorrow, of course.’
But for how long? At least, for a while, it was still hers. Once Fanworth asserted himself, there was no telling what would happen to it.
If she was lucky, he would forget all about it. Now that they no longer shared pleasant conversations in the back room and she had persuaded him to stop walking by the window, he might have no reason to visit the place. If she was smart, she would give him what he wanted in bed and try not to goad him as she had today at breakfast. If she did not call attention to them, he might not care about her activities during the day. For all she knew, he might be planning that they lead separate lives.
She could keep her business. And he could chat up women on the street, laughing and talking with them, just as he used to with her. She had no clue as to the identity of the stranger she had seen with him through the window of the dress shop. But it seemed, now that he’d trapped her, Fanworth was cultivating a new favourite. Her cheeks had burned with shame and jealousy, as she had come into the church today. Did that woman call him Mr Standish? Or was he simply ‘Stephen’ to her? Or perhaps an affectionate ‘Fanworth’ as she touched his arm and stared up at him?
Why couldn’t he simply have been a rake? If he had seduced her, and left her, she’d have been broken-hearted. It would have been awful, of course. But it would have been tidy. She could have put her finger on a day in the calendar when he stopped visiting. And perhaps some time later there would be a day where she stopped caring about it.
But, no. He had been a gentleman about it. He had pretended to love her. Then he had pretended that her honour mattered enough to marry her. And then he had gone looking for another woman, leaving Margot as a loose end, an unfinished job, a knot that would never be tied.
The bell on the door jingled and startled her from the unpleasantness. But it was not a customer, it was Justine. It was just as well. Margot did not feel like smiling or being polite or helpful. She felt like stomping her foot and throwing things.
Was it obvious from her expression? Without another word, Justine stepped behind the counter and enveloped her in a sisterly embrace.
‘Such a greeting,’ she said, trying not to sound as vexed as she felt. ‘We have only just seen each other, you know. The way you are hugging me, it might have been years.’
‘It seems that way,’ Justine admitted. ‘For I have only just left the company of your husband. After you were gone, he did not say another word. Only drank his wine and stared at us.’
Margot laughed. ‘However did you escape?’
‘Eventually, Will threw his napkin to the floor and made a very rude apology. Then Fanworth stood and we left.’ She reached out and offered another hug. ‘I am so sorry.’
‘Whatever for? You were the one who suffered his bad temper, I was the one who abandoned you to it.’
‘I knew he was bad,’ Justine admitted. ‘But when Will spoke to him, he came away thinking that perhaps a marriage between you would work out well. I had no idea he would drink so, on his own wedding day.’
‘A bottle of wine at the wedding breakfast is not so very much. And I did give him reason to be angry,’ Margot said, surprised to be defending him.
‘If only the wine were all,’ her sister said, with a disappointed sigh. ‘I had no idea that he would arrive at the church so foxed he could not manage the vows.’
At this, Margot laughed. ‘You thought he was drunk?’
‘How else to explain the fact that he could not say the few simple words he had promised to?’
‘He could not speak because he stammers,’ she said, amazed that her sister did not know it already. ‘Bs and Ds are especially bad. When he learned our last name...’ The poor man had been tongue-tied. ‘I gave him permission to call me Margot,’ she said, remembering his smile of relief.
Then he had offered to make her Mrs Standish, for convenience’s sake, if nothing else. They had laughed together over it. When he had left, she had blushed for the rest of the afternoon.
‘That cannot be,’ Justine said. ‘We have all seen him, here, and in London, and no one has mentioned it before.’
‘That is because he does not talk if he does not have to,’ Margot said, stating the obvious. ‘Have you never noticed how carefully he chooses his words? He avoids that which he cannot say. But when he has no choice, as in the church today...’
It must have been horrible for him. Then, over breakfast, she had taunted him with it. Suddenly, the anger inside her turned to shame. Whatever he had done to her, she had no right to attack him over something that pained him as deeply as this did, especially since he had no control over it.
Justine was still doubtful. ‘How do you know of this, if none of us have seen it? Will’s brother, Bellston, has known the man for years and has nothing to say about him other than to announce that he—’ She broke off, embarrassed.
Margot gave her an expectant look.
‘That he was almost as big a prig as his father, Larchmont,’ Justine finished.
At this, Margot laughed. ‘None of you know him as well as I do.’ She stopped, surprised. She had said that without thinking. But if she was the only person who had noticed his stutter, it was probably true. Until the problem with the necklace, she’d have sworn that the real Stephen Standish was a complicated man, by turns roguish, funny, gallant and passionate.
And then, suddenly, everything had changed. Why had he turned so cold to her, treating her like a stranger? It would have made sense, if he actually believed any of the things he had accused her of...
Justine was staring at her, probably confused by her silence. ‘Well, if you seriously think you know him, then perhaps there is hope. But my offer still stands. If you think you have reason to avoid his home or his bed, then come to me. You will be welcome.’
‘Thank you,’ Margot said. ‘But I think, for now at least, things will be fine as they are.’ No matter how bad it might be, she would not be running to her sister with her problems. If there was anything to be done that would make a marriage easier between her and her new husband, it would have to be decided between the two of them.
When