Page 38 of The Theory of Earls (The Beautiful Barringtons 1)

16

“Ishould die from embarrassment.” Aunt Agnes shut her eyes tightly as if to block out the sight of her unfortunate niece. Her painfully thin form stalked back and forth over the Persian rug in Margaret’s room, fingers curled into her skirts, like an agitated scarecrow.

Margaret shot her aunt a baleful glare from the comfort of her bed. It would be far too much to hope Aunt Agnes would perish from mortification.

“Breakfast didn’t settle well this morning. Perhaps the butter had spoiled, for I only had toast. I can’t imagine what else could have caused such a reaction.” Margaret congratulated herself for saying such a thing with a straight face.

“Apparently, yourunsettledbreakfast did not keep you from visiting the duchess earlier today. Henderson claims you seemed well enough when you arrived home.”

“At least I didn’t cast up my accountsonLord Winthrop.” The rose bushes had paid the price for her dislike of the pear-shaped lord and her utter horror at his marriage proposal. Thank goodness she’d had the foresight to become ill in the rose bush instead of all over Winthrop’s expensive, silly shoes.

Winthrop had sputtered, his pear-shaped form jumping back in horror at her distasteful display. He’d barely had the presence of mind to toss his well-used, sweaty handkerchief in her direction, the smell of which had caused Margaret to retch again into the roses. The bit of linen was still stuck among the thorns in her aunt’s garden.

Margaret had murmured an apology of sorts, while Winthrop made sounds of disgust, and rushed up the stairs to her room. After washing her face and rinsing her mouth, Margaret felt somewhat better as Eliza had helped her to bed. She lay, staring at the ceiling, dread slowly seeping into her core. A short time later, Aunt Agnes had appeared, turban tilting dangerously and peacock feather quivering with indignation.

“Winthrop washorrified, Margaret.” She stopped and put her hands against her hips, the bones of her knuckles poking through her skin. “As am I. Thankfully, he is an understanding gentleman. Much more than you deserve.” Aunt Agnes scuttled about Margaret’s bedroom like a tiny beetle, peering at the space as if expecting to find something else to chastise her niece for.

Margaret had been right to secret away her things earlier.

“I assured Winthrop his suit is welcome. The contracts will be sent over from his solicitor to mine. There are a few more points to be agreed upon. Minor things. But once I sign, you’ll belong to Winthrop.”

She swallowed back the bile hovering in her throat. “But I haven’t accepted him. I have another suitor, Aunt. I am expecting Lord Carstairs—”

Her aunt’s head snapped around so swiftly, the ridiculous turban nearly slid from her head. “Youragreement to Winthrop’s suit isn’t necessary. His proposal was only a formality. Lord Carstairs hasn’t called intwoweeks. I’ll admit, I was overjoyed when he seemed to pursue you, but as with most other gentlemen who come to know you, you’ve alienated him in some way.” She threw up her hands. “No one wants you but Winthrop, Margaret.”

Margaret knew that to be somewhat true, but it was still hurtful to hear the words aloud.

“You fail to acknowledgeIam your legal guardian.”

“Surely my father—”

“Meant for me to guide you. He knew I would save you from the same mistake your mother made in marrying him. Your future is mine to do with as I please and itpleases meto give you in marriage to Winthrop.”

Margaret took a sharp inhale of air. If she had to plead with her aunt, so be it. “But why him? Why are you so set on Winthrop? Please, I only ask for a bit more time. Once I see Carstairs at the Duchess of Averell’s—”

“Carstairs isgone, Margaret, without offering for you. The only way you would garner another wedding proposal this late in the season would be if you were compromised.” Aunt Agnes gave a short, bitter laugh. “And we both knowIhave a greater chance of being compromised than you.”

Margaret didn’t think her chances were all that terrible; after all, she’d been propositioned by Lord Welles. “But—”

“The only wise thing Walter Lainscotteverdid, besides marrying my sister to further his lot in life, was to entrust your future into my capable hands.”

Margaret often wondered why he had done so. She had been barely twenty-three when her father had died. Perhaps her father had thought he was doing the right thing. He’d wished her to marry and had never been comfortable with the idea of his only child becoming a spinster. While he’d not liked Aunt Agnes, her father had appreciated her fine breeding and connections.

Oh, Papa. Your intentions were honest but misguided.Margaret felt tears well behind her eyes and hastily blinked them away. She refused to weep in front of her aunt, who would seize upon any weakness and use it to her advantage.

“You are too much like my sister, Clara. Flighty and empty-headed.”

“I am not empty-headed.”

“So timid you can barely meet a gentleman’s eye, let alone garner his attention. So lacking in distinction one forgets you in a moment.” Aunt Agnes continued. “The only thing you care for is playing the piano. No wonder no one wants you.”

Resentment boiled up within her. Margaret had played the shy, reserved young woman in order to avoid marriage to a man like Winthrop and not antagonize her aunt into taking her music away. It was a means to survive until she could figure out a way to escape her situation. Margaret could now see doing so had been a mistake. Aunt Agnes thought her to be weak-willed and docile, much like Clara. But the only thing Margaret had had in common with her motherwas music.

“I’m nothing like my mother,” she said, her tone glacial. Clara Lainscotthadbeen flighty. Easily distracted. A beautiful woman whoneededsomeone to care for her and make difficult decisions. Sheneededservants. A maid.

Margaret needed none of those things. Only her music and a modest income to live on.

Her aunt’s head snapped back, surprised at the vehemence in Margaret’s words.

---