Page 64 of The Theory of Earls
Once upstairs, Margaret tossed the cloak aside and looked into the fire. She would not sit back and put her own desires on hold until Welles came to terms with their marriage. And she refused to walk daintily around him while he wallowed in resentment, pretending it didn’t bother her.
The sound of the front door slamming echoed up the stairs.
He would probably live at Elysium for a time. Maybe forever.
Daisy arrived later with a quiet knock and began to help Margaret get ready for bed. When she pulled out a silky nightgown meant for her wedding night, Margaret waved her away. Her husband’s accusations had devastated her. Welles had meant to push her away and he’d succeeded. Brilliantly.
The maid left her with a murmured good night, and Margaret climbed into her bed. She was used to being unwanted. Unloved. Margaret had existed in such a state since her father’s death. Welles doing much the same was a disappointment, but not unexpected.
Tomorrow, she would visit her father’s solicitor. The sum to come to her upon her marriage would now be hers entirely to do with as she wished. If nothing else, Margaret meant to have a rich, fulfilling life. Welles could go hang.
For the moment.
32
“Do you plan to live here indefinitely?”
Tony looked up from the desk in his rooms at Elysium—he’d been reviewing some of the accounts—to see his brother enter.
“Do you ever knock?”
“If you are moving in, you should have a bed brought up. You’ve room for it now since the piano is gone and it must be bloody uncomfortable to sleep on the chaise every night.”
“The chaise is fine.”
Leo took hold of one of the chairs by the fire and dragged it over to Tony’s desk. “I can’t imagine what is keeping you at Elysium. Do you not trust me to handle the accounts? Or are you hesitant to return to your bride after behaving like an ass?”
“We may have had an argument.”
Leo shook his head. “I assumed as much.”
After his wedding night during which he and Maggie had snarled at each other, Tony had retreated to his rooms at Elysium. He needed time to think, something he couldn’t do with Maggie in such close proximity.
“Averell sent me a congratulatory note. Did I tell you, Leo?”
“I thought he might.”
The note, written in his father’s shaky hand, had set a match to Tony’s already combustible emotions. He’d exploded, sending bits of verbal shrapnel all over the one person who least deserved it. Rage at his father and guilt over betraying his mother led him to accuse Maggie of conspiring to trap him in marriage. She’d stood fearlessly in the face of his hostility and with a smile on her face told him shepreferredCarstairs.
Brave little thing.A bolt of longing for her shook him.
“I wondered what had set you off.” Leo shot him a look of empathy. “So he sent you a letter. What of it? You went to great lengths to marry her, but now you don’t wish to be under the same roof as she? Seems a waste.”
“We can have a politely distanced marriage. Many do.”
“True. But why marry her at all if you weren’t going to have her?” Leo shook his head. “You realize, Tony, that every impoverished, anguished artist with mediocre talent is sniffing about her ankles under the auspices of wanting her patronage.”
Tony knew his wife was carrying on splendidly without him, hosting small gatherings to discuss art and music, garnering a host of admirers. He received regular reports from Fenwick. Maggie had finally blossomed without him, earning a reputation as a charming and witty hostess in the weeks they’d been parted. Her true self had finally been revealed, and she was touted for it.
I always saw who she was. Always.
“Yes, she’s busy turning my home into a refuge for parasitic musicians,” he snapped at Leo. “What of it?”
“Especially oneimpoverishedparasite by the name of Henri Bouvard.” Leo watched him closely. “I’m told he plays Chopin with much passion.”
Jealousy sparked and flared inside him. “She’s free to do as she wishes,” Tony heard himself say, knowing his brother was deliberately goading him. “As am I.” He’d tried to return to his former state of rakishness after their marriage, but Tony was having little luck doing so. Not one woman who propositioned him could play the piano, and only two possessed more intelligence than a potted fern.
“The duke is dying, Tony. Your wife is very much alive.” His brother shook his head. “For the love of God, go home. Christ, you’re miserable.” Leo stood and walked toward the door. “But if you are so stubborn as to stay, take my advice, and at least bring yourself a proper bed.”
