He started, looking down at her, as though he had forgotten her presence. Then, ever so slightly, his brow seemed to relax and his smile became less threatening. Perhaps she was more to him than a warm body in his bed. He had chosen her to be his life’s companion.
When he had visited her in the shop, he had willingly shared his soul. If he could not manage a few simple hellos at a time like this, there was no way he’d have been so open to her, just to bed her. He had loved her, just as she thought. For this union to succeed, they must find their way back to that place of communion.
The first step would have to be hers. She let her hand remain in the crook of his arm. Let him think that she needed his support, if it was easier for him. Perhaps it was true. But it was equally true that they needed each other.
In response, he moved an inch closer to her. And at the approach of the next gentleman in line, his other hand covered hers. The man in front of them bowed and, though he was a stranger to her, greeted her with an overly familiar smile.
She felt her husband stiffen again, as he made the introduction. ‘Lady Fanworth? Lord Arthur Standish.’
She should have recognised him without Stephen’s help. Now that she had reason to look for it, the similarity between the men was marked. But the younger brother’s good looks were spoiled by the fading blue circles under his eyes and a nose which was still a little swollen.
‘How do you do?’ she said, offering a hesitant smile.
‘Not as well as you, I think,’ Lord Arthur said. Unlike her husband’s superior smile and distant manners, there was something wolfish about Arthur. She suspected, if he should grin, he would show far too many teeth. Then, as suddenly as he had come, he disappeared into the crowd and they were greeting the next couple.
Once the majority of guests had arrived and the line dissolved, Stephen parted from her with little more than a light touch on her hand and a sympathetic smile. Apparently, she was to be left to her own devices while he did whatever it was a marquess did at such gatherings. If his current behaviour was any indication, they stood disapprovingly against a wall, avoiding other people.
She looked back at him and frowned. Something would have to be done about that. But now was not the time to find a solution. At least he had his brother to talk to. Lord Arthur was beside him, speaking to him as though there was nothing unusual in his behaviour.
It was wrong of her to take such an instant dislike to a person. But there was something about her husband’s brother that unnerved her. When he was not at her husband’s side, she found herself searching the rest of the room for him, as if she feared the mischief he might create if he was not always in sight. When she could not find him, the raised hairs on the back of her neck told her that he was somewhere nearby, watching her.
Perhaps she was right. After she had not seen him for some time and was almost convinced that he had left the room, he appeared before her wearing the same predatory smile he’d shown at their introduction. ‘Lady Fanworth.’
No matter what her feelings, this man was her husband’s brother. She had little choice but to respond politely. ‘Lord Arthur.’
‘It is a shame that it has taken so long for us to meet. We are family, after all.’
‘You are Stephen’s brother.’ It was hardly necessary to state that fact. But somehow, she could not muster a warmer acknowledgement of their connection.
‘That I am,’ he agreed. But the way he was looking at her was not in the least bit brotherly. ‘I must admit, Stephen has excellent eyesight, if dubious taste. You are the most handsome woman here.’
An insult wrapped in a compliment did not warrant a response, so she remained silent.
‘It is a shame we have not met before now,’ he said. It was an innocent statement, but the ironic glint in his eye said something far different.
‘I suspect there is a reason for it,’ she said, glancing out over the room and taking a sip of her wine. If he had truly wished to meet her he could have searched her out, just as Louisa had.
Arthur laughed in surprise at her sarcastic response, but he did not leave. ‘Perhaps it is because I do not frequent any but the best merchants.’
It was one thing to insult her and quite another to insult the shop. ‘Then it is fortunate that I do not need your patronage,’ she said.
‘Of course you do not,’ he agreed. ‘You have married well enough that you need no one’s help.’
‘It was not my plan to do so,’ she said.
‘Of course not. We have my besotted brother to thank for this union. I told him it was unwise.’
And it appeared he had got a punch in the nose for his trouble. She glanced across the room at her husband who stood as impassive as a statue against the opposite wall. ‘Fanworth has a mind of his own.’
‘Would that he was less stubborn. He has overstepped himself, this time. Larchmont will never accept you.’ He looked her up and down again as though the flaw in her character were somehow worn on the outside, for all to see.
‘What’s done is done,’ she said in response. ‘He cannot exactly un-marry me.’
‘I suppose not.’ Now he was quite obviously admiring her body. ‘If I were married to you, an annulment would be impossible. And I have heard that the lower classes do have a greater appetite for certain things than the milk-and-water misses you find at Almack’s.’
When one had customers, one grew used to accepting insults with a smile and not responding to them as they deserved. But Louisa had been right. Lord Arthur Standish deserved to be struck, hard and often. Before she could stop herself, Margot had given him a hard slap to his broken nose.
With a curse that was heard by half the people in the room, Arthur doubled over, cupping his offended proboscis in both hands. All conversation stopped as heads snapped to look in their direction. And then it began again. The crowd swirling like stirred tea as those who had seen informed those who hadn’t that the new Marchioness of Fanworth had raised a hand to her husband’s brother.
Arthur straightened, glaring at her and mopping at the trickle of blood that dripped from his re-injured nose. ‘Pratchet was right. When I sold him the rubies he said you were every bit as stubborn as Stephen. Since neither of you would choose the sensible course, I hope you are both satisfied with the results.’
‘Infinitely.’ Margot felt the reassuring touch of her husband’s hand on her arm. ‘So nice to see the family represented, Arthur.’ There was a long ironic silence. ‘If you will excuse us?’ Then, with a gentle tug on her elbow, Stephen led her away.
* * *
Catastrophe. Fiasco. Calamity.
When one had the time to think, there were many words to describe the evening other than disaster. Judging by the way Margot was slumped in the carriage seat opposite him, she had thought of all those and more.
In Stephen’s opinion, it could have been far worse. It was fortunate that they’d not met his parents, as he’d expected. If Arthur was any indication, he had been naïve to assume Larchmont capable of good behaviour. More likely, he’d have thought it good sport to humiliate Margot as Arthur had tried to do. While she’d proven capable of handling difficult servants and annoying younger brothers, the duke would not be so easily dispatched.
Her victory tonight had not come without cost. After Arthur had gone home to tend his injury, Stephen had remained by her side, to make it clear to the crowd that his sympathies lay with his wife. But as the evening wore on, she smiled less and spoke hardly at all. It was as if, by marrying her, he’d infected her with his own form of misery.
She had not said a word to him since they’d departed the