Page 32 of The Theory of Earls
Aunt Agnes gave her a gleeful stare, the small, beady eyes snapping in triumph. A fresh pot of tea sat before her on the table, along with a selection of sandwiches.
Horrid woman.She can hardly contain herself.
A sharp rap sounded at the door of the drawing room. “Lord Winthrop.” Henderson, her aunt’s butler intoned, a hint of satisfaction coloring his announcement.
Aunt Agnes brought up her chin. The peacock feather waved at Margaret, tendrils fluttering with mockery.
The dreadful clomp of too large feet clad in ridiculous shoes sounded in the hall seconds before the twin odors of sweat and talc permeated the drawing room. Winthrop was dressed in burgundy velvet, far too rich and heavy for the warmth of the day. Moisture had gathered between his brows and atop his upper lip, glistening in the sunlight streaming through the windows.
A giant, moist pear.Margaret kept herself perfectly still, determined not to shirk from him in disgust. Such a thing would delight her aunt and would not halt the proceedings.
Winthrop waddled forward, greeting her aunt politely. “Lady Dobson.”
“Lord Winthrop, what a surprise to have you call,” Aunt Agnes said. “Margaret and I were just about to have tea. Please join us.”
“Miss Lainscott.” He took Margaret’s hand. “You are looking especially lovely today.”
Margaret could do little more than stare at Winthrop and try to rein in her mounting horror at what was about to occur. She thought briefly about suddenly developing a headache, but Aunt Agnes would see through such a ploy. Could she faint? Perhaps collapse over the tea tray?
Winthrop settled his heaving form next to Margaret, making his appearance here even more glaringly apparent.
No. No. No.
She told herself to remain perfectly still and to keep her eyes trained on her lap. She managed not to cringe as he leaned in her direction.
“Would you like tea, Lord Winthrop?” Aunt Agnes was practically dancing a jig she was so pleased.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Margaret, please pour.” Her aunt was still smiling, almost daring Margaret to defy her or attempt to escape her fate.
Margaret nodded, her manner docile, and poured tea, pausing only when Winthrop instructed her on the amount of milk he liked in his. Taking a deep breath, Margaret composed herself while her mind ran through a series of excuses she could use to leave the room and never return.
Perhaps she was wrong, and Winthrop was only here to pay one of his annoying and awkward calls upon her. She took in his elaborate coat and carefully styled hair. He wasn’t paying a casual call. Winthrop was about to pounce.
Winthrop and Aunt Agnes exchanged pleasantries while Margaret poured her aunt’s tea and tried to make herself as invisible as possible. Maybe they would forget she was there. Her aunt claimed Margaret to be so unmemorable, barely anyone recalled her presence. Wishful thinking in this case.
Panic roiled her stomach. Winthrop’s smell only contributed to her mounting nausea.
After demolishing two plates of tiny sandwiches, Winthrop put down the delicate porcelain plate he had clasped in one sweating paw. His eyes ran over Margaret with resignation.
“Miss Lainscott, would you care for a walk about the gardens? There is something I wish to discuss with you.” He inclined his head in the direction of her aunt. “With your permission, of course, Lady Dobson.”
No. No. No.
Margaret glanced at him from beneath her lashes, not trusting herself to raise her head. There was a crumb dangling at the corner of his mouth, stuck to the dampness that was Lord Winthrop. Margaret felt very light-headed. Perhaps she really would faint and land atop Winthrop’s hideous shoes. The pair he wore today were burgundy, to match his coat, with ornate silver buckles sporting tiny burgundy bows.
Oh, dear God.
“My gardens are lovely especially this time of year. And it is a perfect day for a walk. Margaret would be happy to take a turn with you. My roses are in bloom.” Aunt Agnes motioned for her to rise, eyes gleaming in anticipation.
Standing, Margaret forced herself to keep still as Winthrop took her hand, tucking her fingers into the fleshy meat of his forearm. The velvet he wore was already damp. What would it be like to be trapped beneath this…monstrosity?She could barely stand to be near him. The horror of the future her aunt planned for Margaret nearly made her faint.
Blinking at the sunshine as they moved outside, Margaret took in the garden. Birds were singing. The smell of roses filled the air. A perfect day and place for a marriage proposal.
Her stomach, already unsettled by the smell of Winthrop, lurched and pitched. She’d had nothing to eat since breakfast and the moment the sweating pear had appeared, Margaret had lost all interest in the tea tray. She placed a hand against her mouth. A hysterical scream was threatening to bubble up her throat as well as her breakfast.
“Miss Lainscott, I have come to know you quite well in the short time we’ve been acquainted. I feel we would get on well enough.” A beaded drop of sweat ran down the side of his nose.
