Page 60 of The Theory of Earls (The Beautiful Barringtons 1)

25

The duchess had been right about one thing. Miss Turnbull’s discretion could not be counted on because it didn’t exist.

The whispers began the moment they returned to the ball. At first, the looks were discreet, merely quiet hisses behind fans that snapped shut in her direction. But as the hour grew late, more scandalized faces looked Margaret’s way in pity and thinly veiled malice. Everyone in thetonadored good gossip and the ruination of plain Miss Lainscott by the rakish Lord Welles was simply too juicy not to repeat. All of London would know by tomorrow morning, if not sooner.

Romy, loyal to a fault, stood next to Margaret chattering away on a variety of topics, none of which Margaret really listened to. Discreetly, Romy leaned over and tugged a bit of hair out of Margaret’s coiffure.

“To cover the bite mark,” she whispered, her cheeks pinking.

Margaret nodded, horrified down to the tips of her slippered toes. Bad enough her lips were swollen and her coiffure a tangled mess, but there was also proof of Welles’ ruination on her neck, for the entire room to see. As if he had taken a bite of the spoiled fruit Margaret now was and tossed her back into the bowl.

Carstairs circled the ballroom with Miss Turnbull clinging to his side like a silk-clad barnacle. He avoided eye contact with Margaret, never once turning in her direction. Miss Turnbull shot her a look of sympathy mixed with triumph while twirling her fan about. Every so often she would stop and whisper to another young lady. The listener’s eyes would widen in distaste while listening to Miss Turnbull’s recollection of the events in the conservatory.

Welles did not reappear. Margaret was certain he’d left.

The duchess circled the room, trying her best to contain the gossip, but by the looks thrown Margaret’s way, it became a losing proposition. The duchess finally pulled Aunt Agnes aside and whispered furiously in her ear.

Aunt Agnes nodded grimly at the duchess, her eyes rising to Margaret who stood next to Romy.

Moments later, Winthrop emerged from the card tables, his sweaty face sour and full of muted horror. Aunt Agnes went to his side immediately, clasping his arm and speaking in a soothing tone. When both Winthrop and her aunt glanced in her direction, Romy reached out to take her hand.

“I will have a conversation with Miss Turnbull,” Romy said under her breath. “And I willnotdesert you. Mother has told me what Tony has done. I amashamedof my brother’s conduct. I always knew Tony was a rogue. I’d heard the gossip. But intentionally taking advantage of you in order to spite my father?” She bit her lip. “It’s intolerable, Margaret.”

Was that what he’d done? Compromised her to embarrass his father?Margaret’s stomach pitched at the thought.

Another twitter came from the direction of Miss Turnbull and her friends.

Romy’s eyes, so much like her brother’s, narrowed into slits.

“I am the daughter of the Duke of Averell. She won’t dare disparage you in my father’s ballroom.” Romy squeezed her hand and made a beeline for Miss Turnbull.

Miss Turnbull looked around the room, eyes wide, searching for any escape from the angry woman in the blue dress who was striding her way.

Margaret appreciated Romy’s loyalty but knew it would do little good. The damage was done.

Aunt Agnes, chin pointed and sharp, nodded to Winthrop and made her way to Margaret’s side. Curling her spindly fingers around Margaret’s elbow, her aunt steered her out of the ballroom without allowing Margaret the chance to say goodbye to either the duchess or Romy. She pushed Margaret into Winthrop’s waiting carriage without so much as a word, her boiling rage at Margaret so fierce it threatened to suffocate them both.

Margaret turned to look out the window as the coach rolled back to her aunt’s house. Well, she hadwishedto be compromised tonight, though the evening had taken a rather sharp departure from what she’d originally intended. Had it been Carstairs who’d compromised her, he would have asked to speak to her aunt discreetly and promised to arrive the following day with his solicitor bearing a formal proposal of marriage. Instead, Margaret had become merely another young lady whose reputation was irrevocably destroyed by a notorious rake. Welles was known for his sexual exploits and his pleasure palace,notfor his honorable intentions.

Welles wouldneveroffer her marriage. It simply wasn’t in his character.

If there was one bright spot in this entire fiasco, it was that being compromised by a man with Welles’s reputationdidensure one thing. Not even Winthrop would have her.

Margaret would have to live the remainder of her days outside society due to her fall from grace. That didn’t actually bother her too much, except she would be dependent on her aunt’s charity until she could find some sort of employment. Once she turned thirty, a portion of her inheritance would revert to her. Perhaps she could teach piano or become a governess.

Unlikely once your indiscretion becomes public knowledge.

Aunt Agnes may well turn her out. Margaret had no other family to seek refuge with, except for a distant cousin on her father’s side whom she’d never met and who lived in Scotland.

Once they arrived at her aunt’s home, Aunt Agnes left Winthrop’s carriage without a word to Margaret. Thin shoulders stiff, her aunt picked up her skirts and walked up the stairs to her rooms without bothering to see if Margaret followed.

Margaret slept little that night, her thoughts anxious and disjointed. There had to be a way out of the situation she found herself in. She’d worked sohardat endearing herself to Carstairs. My God, she’d studiedfly fishing. Her mistake, Margaret could see, was confiding in Welles. The pain at his betrayal was made worse by her own feelings for him. Why had he ruined everything for her? Because he could?

The question kept her in bed for the remainder of the day.

Margaret, by nature, was a problem solver. Her intelligence set her apart, she told herself, from those poor girls who depended on others to think for them. She accepted her limitations, namely the fact that she was only passably pretty and came from tin miner stock. Instead of lamenting her circumstances, she had always chosen to find ways to circumvent obstacles. When her aunt had thrust her into the season against her wishes, Margaret had adopted a shy, retiring manner to remain beneath the notice of any fortune-hunting lord. When she had rebelled at her aunt’s rules, and the piano had been taken from her, Margaret had become docile as a way to get what she wished even though it chafed at her constantly, like an itch begging to be scratched.

A wave of self-pity engulfed her.

---