‘I did not ask him to be involved in this,’ Margot snapped back.
‘And I did. Because I had no idea you would be such a ninny about it. It was quite clear, a few weeks ago, that you doted on the man. You would not leave him alone when I warned you what would happen. And now, because of your stubbornness, my Will could be injured, or even killed.’
‘There, there,’ Will said, gathering her close.
‘It will not come to that,’ Margot repeated. ‘Do not allow yourself to become overwrought over nothing.’
‘I will if I wish to,’ Justine said, with another shower of tears. ‘If you have no care for yourself, think of the child that will be born fatherless...’
This was too much. ‘I am not increasing,’ Margot insisted. She had been more than a little relieved to discover that herself.
‘I was not talking about you. What about my child?’ This was followed by more tears from Justine and a glare from Will.
‘You?’ Of course. It had to be true. Justine had been making sly admissions of morning illness, of tiredness, of a desire to start a family and of the readying of the nursery at the old Bellston manor. But had her shy sister ever said in so many words that a birth was imminent? Or had Margot been too busy with the shop, and with Fanworth, to notice?
‘And now Will might have to risk himself because you are unwilling to listen to reason,’ Justine said, sniffling into the handkerchief that her husband offered her.
He leaned close to her, whispering into her ear and kissing the side of her face. Whatever he had said seemed to calm her, for she turned back and pressed her face into his hair, smothering his lips with her own.
If possible, an awkward situation was becoming even worse. She had missed the obvious clues to her sister’s pregnancy. Though she refused to believe that she had put him at risk of his life, she had managed to involve Will in her problems. And now they had all but forgotten she was here.
When Will managed to disengage his wife from himself, he looked over her head, glaring again at Margot. ‘As you can see, Justine is distressed by recent events.’
‘But I cannot simply marry him,’ she said. Even when things had been going well, she had known that was impossible.
Now he was looking at her with disgust as though she were the most selfish creature on Earth. ‘Either I will put the announcement of your betrothal in tomorrow’s paper, or we will fight on Tuesday morning. One of us will be injured, or perhaps killed. I hope you are satisfied with that prospect, for there is no third alternative.’
At this, Justine let out a wail. ‘There will be no fighting. I will go to him, myself, if that is needed. I will throw myself on my knees and beg him to do what is right for our family.’ She raised a hand to her temple in a gesture that Margot would have called melodramatic, if her sister had ever been guilty of such a thing. ‘Do not worry, Margot, I will take care of everything. Just as I always have.’
‘No!’ Margot’s shout of frustration was every bit as loud and dramatic as the behaviour of the other two people in the room. But it brought an instantaneous halt to their emoting. ‘I will go myself, immediately. And I will go alone. I will be back in time for supper, to tell you what we have decided.’
Whatever happened, it would not involve a pregnant Justine, on her knees, begging Fanworth for anything. She might think that it was her job to sacrifice for all and for ever. But, by the Blessed Virgin, Margot had caused this problem and she would solve it herself with no help from her older sister.
For the third time in as many weeks, Margot was arriving unescorted at the house of the Marquess of Fanworth. This time, she gave up even pretending that it was possible to move unnoticed and greeted any acquaintances she passed with the cheery wave of an unrepentant harlot. Let them think what they would. She was fairly sure that, no matter what happened today, it would end in a story that would give the whole town something to gossip about. For all she cared, they could choke on their tongues.
Mrs Sims admitted her without a raised eyebrow. Then she glanced at the steps towards the bedrooms, as though expecting Margot intended to show herself up. The insult was subtle, but it was there, all the same.
For all she knew, this woman was the one who had set the town buzzing about her disgraceful behaviour and brought Justine and Will down upon her like hounds on a hare. If so, she had best hope that Margot was not about to become Lady Fanworth, for there would be hell to pay.
‘I wish to speak to Lord Fanworth. In the drawing room, please. Or wherever it is he receives guests,’ Margot said, offering an equally aloof expression.
The housekeeper let out a dismissive sniff to remind her that they both knew why she was not familiar with the proper, public rooms of my lord’s apartments. Then she took Margot down a short hall to the salon, not bothering with an offer of refreshments before she shut the door.
A short time later it opened again, and Fanworth appeared. He did not bother to bow. ‘Margot?’ He greeted her with that strange, soft pronunciation that went right under her skin and made her shiver, even on a warm summer day. But it was not dread she felt. It was anticipation.
Damn him. Even as she knew the truth about him, she could not help wanting him more than a little. She did not bother answering. Suppose there was an unexpected softness in her own voice as she spoke his name in return? ‘I have just been speaking with my sister and brother-in-law.’
‘Lord William,’ he responded with a nod.
‘And I have been informed that I must either wring a proposal out of you, or it is pistols at dawn.’
He thought for a moment. ‘Easy enough.’ He went down on one knee. ‘Would you do me the honour of accepting my offer of marriage?’ He delivered the proposal with such unemotional precision that, for a moment, she did not even understand the words. Then, just for a moment, she thought she saw a twitch at the corner of his lip. Behind that frosty façade, he was laughing at her. So she laughed in response, aloud and without kindness.
He looked up at her in surprise. ‘I amuse you?’
‘Because you can’t be serious,’ she said, sure that it was so.
‘I am,’ he said, just as sombre. ‘Unless you wish to see me fight Felkirk.’
‘Of course I do not,’ she said. ‘We will explain to William that there is no reason for that. What I did, I...I did of my own free will. It is over now. The less said about it, the better.’
‘Technically, it is not,’ he said, still sombre. ‘We agreed on four. Once is not four.’
‘Twice,’ she said.
‘Nothing happened that night,’ he said. ‘It is not fair of you to count it.’
‘I have no idea what happened,’ she replied. ‘Because I was inebriated. You should know that. You were the one plying me with spirits.’
‘Champagne is hardly a spirit.’
‘Even worse. It is an aphrodisiac,’ she argued.
‘Not an effective one,’ he countered. ‘Nothing happened.’
‘Then I am glad of it. I would rather go to gaol than to lay with you again,’ she said in frustration. ‘Look at the trouble a single time has caused me.’
‘A marriage will stop the tattle. The rest...’ He paused, as though he had suddenly lost his train of thought. Then he gave a helpless shrug. ‘...can be settled after the wedding.’
‘But