Page 56 of The Theory of Earls
Winthrop’s solicitors.Her heart sank.
She wouldnotaccept the idea of marriage to Winthrop. Margaret had spent the better part of the morning calculating how much pin money she’d squirreled away in her armoire. The book on fly fishing could be sold, though it wouldn’t fetch much. How ironic to be a wealthy heiress and have not so much as a farthing on her person.
“Margaret.”
She looked toward the drawing room to see her aunt, hands clasped and turban straight, looking at her with heightened anticipation. Aunt Agnes looked…happy.Possibly even elated. The last time she’d looked so thrilled had been when Winthrop had proposed. Margaret was immediately on guard.
“Please come in. I’ve some things we must discuss.” Her aunt’s chin pointed to the hated drawing room.
Margaret nearly declined her aunt’s request, but told herselfnothingher aunt did to her could be worse than marriage to Winthrop. Cautiously, she made her way to the couch. The remains of the men’s visit sat on the table: A cold pot of tea and a pile of papers stacked neatly next to her aunt.
“Henderson,” her aunt said to the butler hovering about, “please bring a fresh pot of tea. And those delicious scones my niece enjoys.”
Margaret sat down on the couch with a plop, the dread spiraling out of control, making her insides ache. Aunt Agnes looked far too pleased; she’d never cared what Margaret preferred before as evidenced by her forcing Margaret to marry Winthrop.
“It would seem,” Aunt Agnes bent her boney form to perch on the end of her favorite chair like a turban-wearing vulture, “thatyouare to be a duchess one day.”
27
Margaret glanced back at her reflection in the mirror, admiring the simple, if hardly modest cut of the gown she would be married in. Tightly fitted around her breasts, the bodice pushed the small mounds up against the froth of lace edging the square-cut neckline. A large expanse of her chest and neck was exposed.
“The color suits you, miss,” Eliza said.
Margaret had to agree. The deep rose blush of the gown complemented her dark hair and pale complexion. She looked like one of the roses decorating her aunt’s bone china.
“I’d like a few moments before I come down,” she instructed her traitorous maid. The girl would not be coming when Margaret left this house, despite Margaret not having hired another lady’s maid. Eliza hadn’t been told the news yet.
The maid bobbed and left her alone.
Another delivery from the same modiste who’d designed her gold gown had arrived this morning, the card inside signed with love from Romy. It appeared her friend was to blame for the stylish but somewhat scandalous neckline and expensive Belgian lace. The duchess had sent her a lovely pair of earrings. Pear-shaped diamonds, which now dangled from Margaret’s ears, catching the light every time she moved. Margaret had exclaimed in surprise when she saw the diamonds, sitting in a red box with a silver ribbon.
The earrings had come with an apology that neither the duchess nor her daughters would be present for Margaret’s wedding to Anthony Marcus Barrington, 10thEarl of Welles and heir to the Duke of Averell. The duchess and her household had departed unexpectedly the day prior for Cherry Hill, the duke’s seat. The duke had taken a turn for the worse and the duchess, ever devoted, wished to be at her husband’s side.
Margaret understood. Besides, she wasn’t certain shewouldbe married today.
Aunt Agnes was beside herself that Margaret had brought Welles up to scratch. Dozens of invitations for her aunt had arrived in less than a day and had begun to stack up on the table in the foyer. As the aunt of a future duchess, Lady Dobson was more in demand than ever. Despite her aunt’s almost frightening bliss at the marriage, Margaret was less than happy.
This entire marriage was bound for disaster.
When her aunt had first informed Margaret that Lord Welles had offered for her, she had been certain Aunt Agnes was joking. Or having a hallucination. Welles wouldnevermarry. He’d told her so on more than one occasion. His aversion to marriage was well known in theton.
Margaret should have been thrilled. She would not be a pariah, but a duchess. There was also the immense relief, of course, of escaping her future as wife to the pear-shaped Winthrop, but it was tempered by the thought that Welles was being forced. Had the duchess held something over his head?
He compromised you intentionally.
If he actually showed up to marry her today, she would have to ask him why.
“Don’t dawdle.” Aunt Agnes appeared in the doorway of Margaret’s room, now devoid of most of her things. Her trunks had already been sent ahead to Welles’s town house. Contrary to Margaret’s earlier assumption, Welles didnotlive at Elysium, but only kept a room there. He had a lovely home not three blocks from Averell House.
She didn’t really know him at all.
Margaret turned and followed her aunt downstairs to the drawing room. Strange, she’d managed to avoid this room, her least favorite in the entire house, for years. She’d never thought it would be the place where she’d be married.
“Come, Niece.” Aunt Agnes took her hand.
Margaret looked down at the claw-like fingers encircling her wrist. It was the first time Margaret could ever remember her aunt touching her with anything resembling affection. That she did so now seemed more disingenuous and impossible than marrying Welles.
She shook off her aunt and marched into the drawing room, blinking at the two men standing before the vicar. Welles and his brother, standing side by side, looked so alike it took her a moment to realize it wasn’t her anxious mind playing tricks on her. She’d seen Leo Murphy before, the night she’d visited Elysium, but that had been at a distance.
