Page 20 of The Theory of Earls (The Beautiful Barringtons 1)

“Sit, Margaret.”

Her aunt’s beady eyes, small and black like bits of coal, followed Margaret as she came around to the chair and sat. She clasped her hands, careful to keep her expression neutral. Early on, Margaret had learned if she wanted as little interaction with her aunt as possible, and to avoid having her privileges at the piano taken away, she’d best project a docile manner. The more reticent, the better. Aunt Agnes found little pleasure in berating the pathetic creature she considered Margaret to be.

How she longed to tell Aunt Agnes of Welles’s suggestion to play for him at Elysium.

“I was invited,unexpectedly, to take tea with the Duchess of Averell.” Her aunt’s icy regard never moved from Margaret’s face. “I wasthrilled, of course.”

Aunt Agnes’s voice had a horrible, gurgling quality to it, as if a piece of wet toast was caught in her throat. It was one of many things she didn’t care for in regard to her aunt.

“The Duchess of Averell, though not a fixture in theton,is still quite influential. Imagine mydelightat being summoned.”

Margaret bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling at her aunt’s discomfort. Aunt Agnes typically did the summoning. She stayed still. Silent. The slightest word or twitch and Margaret would be pounced on, torn to shreds within the confines of her aunt’s parlor.

The coal-black eyes narrowed into slits as the ostrich feather atop her aunt’s turban quivered in accusation at Margaret. “Her Grace was so very pleased to make your acquaintance.”

This was a favorite tactic of her aunt’s. Throw out leading questions when unsure of how a particular situation had come about in hopes that the person being interrogated, in this case, Margaret, would stop and correct her or interject into the conversation, thus giving themselves away. Her aunt would then determine the punishment for her own lack of knowledge. Margaret had learned the hard way when she had first come to London. Her eyes remained on her lap. She had no intention of satisfying her aunt’s curiosity.

“I was surprised, to say the least, that you’d made her acquaintance, as well as that of her daughters,” Aunt Agnes continued. “Only the eldest has made her debut. Quite recently and somewhat quietly. I did wonder if there was something wrong with the girl. Is she lame? Scarred in some way? Has she already been ruined?” Her aunt watched Margaret’s face for any sign Margaret would collapse under her regard and tell her everything.

Margaret focused her attention on a stray thread where she’d mended the pocket in her skirt.

“I don’t recall the girl’s name.” Aunt Agnes rolled her eyes toward the ceiling as if trying to remember. Another ploy. Her aunt likely had all three of the duchess’s daughters and Miss Nelson already catalogued in her mind along with their character deficits.

Margaret said nothing.

“She thinks quite highly of you.”

“How kind of the duchess.” Margaret finally spoke lest their meeting go on for hours.

“Apparently, Her Grace grew enamored of your playing when you accompanied Lady Patson’s daughter at a party given some time ago. At least, according toher.”

Lady Patson was a close acquaintance of her aunt’s, another overly critical matron of thetonwho doled out expectations and ruined those who didn’t meet them. Margaret had been forced to accompany Lady Patson’s daughter, Gertrude, as she sang during a small event in hopes the girl could impress Lord Thackery. Margaret had reluctantly agreed. She’d heard Gertrude ‘warming up her voice,’ and she’d sounded little better than a squawking crow. Gertrude sang, to the horror of Lady Patson’s guests and Lord Thackery, for nearly an hour. Aunt Agnes had chastised Margaret during the entire ride home as ‘deliberately playing too well’ in order to eclipse poor Gertrude.

“I am pleased she enjoyed hearing me play,” Margaret said.

Aunt Agnes leaned forward, turban wobbling as if about to snap her aunt’s thin neck. “I don’trecallthe duchess’s presence at Lady Patson’s. I can’timaginehow she escaped my notice at such a small affair. Her eldest daughter—”

“Lady Andromeda.” Margaret finally lifted her chin. She was growing weary of this game. Lady Masterson’s garden party was on the horizon and Margaret not only needed to explain how she came to be invited, but she also had to find something appropriate to wear. Difficult when her aunt allowed her only the barest minimum of pin money. And there was the matter of attending the garden party, preferably without her aunt.

She looked at the tendrils of the ostrich feather which seemed to be drifting toward her. Poor ostrich, to give up a feather only to have it land on her aunt’s head.

“Not only has the duchess requested your presence on Tuesdays and Thursdays to play piano and accompany her younger daughter, but she is insisting you attend a garden party with her and Lady Andromeda.”

“I see,” Margaret said quietly, as if awaiting further instruction. She became certain Welles was behind his stepmother’s request. Hope stirred in her heart. Did it mean he’d agreed to help her with Carstairs after all?

“Lady Masterson’sgarden party. I assured Her Grace,” Aunt Agnes shook her head, “you’d not been invited because I wouldalsohave received an invitation, but sheinsistedyou had been and grew concerned your invitation had been lost.” Her aunt drew her sticklike figure up, boney shoulders pointing toward the ceiling. “Imagine mysurprisewhen Henderson informed me an invitation for you had indeed been delivered only this morning.” Her aunt said nothing more for several long moments, waiting for Margaret to speak, her lips thin and tight.

Margaret wasn’t certain what shecouldsay. Clearly, her aunt smelled a rat. Margaret had to force her lips from forming a smile. She doubted Lord Welles hadeverbeen compared to a rat.

“How did you make the acquaintance of Lady Masterson? And please, don’t tell me she was also in attendance at Lady Patson’s. Lady Patson wouldn’t have such a scandalous woman in her home.”

Margaret shrugged. “Perhaps I was included because the duchess wished me to be. I do not know Lady Andromeda but possibly she wishes us to become acquainted. Do you notwishme to be friends with the daughter of a duke? I would think it would be looked well upon.” She schooled her features into one of tentative confusion.

Her aunt’s face flushed an alarming shade of purple as her eyes searched Margaret for any sign of insubordination.

“I would not like to refuse a duchess, Aunt. But I will attend only if you give your permission.” Margaret lowered her gaze and remained still.

A noise of displeasure escaped her aunt. The ostrich feather bobbed about her turban in agitation as if guessing Margaret had lied. But Margaret knew she’d won. Aunt Agnes, regardless of her suspicions, would never defy a duchess. Finally, she said, “I would not dream of disappointing the duchess by forbidding you to accompany her. But I amnotpleased, Margaret. You are excused.”

Margaret stood and bobbed before her aunt then calmly walked out of the parlor, forcing herself not to skip, though she dearly wanted to. She paused, making sure her aunt hadn’t followed, before continuing to Lord Dobson’s study.

Margaret had never known the man her aunt had been married to, but from references Aunt Agnes made, Lord Dobson had been a sportsman. He had particularly enjoyed fishing. She knew she had her work cut out for her in wooing Carstairs. Her knowledge of outdoor sport was limited to admiring the trees when she took a walk or perhaps throwing bread crust to the birds. But hopefully, Lord Dobson would inadvertently help her cause.

Coughing at the dusty smell as she opened the door, Margaret went to the first bookcase. Her eyes searched the titles, fingers running over the spines, determined to find a book on the basics of hunting.

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