Page 61 of The Theory of Earls (The Beautiful Barringtons 1)

Allshe’d wanted was a pleasant, slightly stupid husband so she could play the bloody piano and help her fellow female musicians.

Two days after the duchess’s ball, Margaret decided it was finally time to face the music, so to speak. She could not continue to wallow in self-pity and lie in bed cowering from the world. Margaret was made of sterner stuff, though she’d pretended not to be. She would discuss the situation calmly with her aunt, apologize profusely, and make it clear to her nothing except a kiss had been exchanged. She would express her regret to Winthrop for any discomfort she’d caused him. Then Margaret hoped to convince Aunt Agnes to send her away to the country, preferably back to Yorkshire. At least it was familiar.

Her aunt sat on her favorite chair in the formal drawing room, as if knowing Margaret would seek her out. The painfully thin, sticklike figure became rigid at the sight of her niece, clearly poised for attack at the slightest provocation.

“Good morning, Aunt.”

“Margaret.” The flinty eyes ran over Margaret, not bothering to hide her dislike. “I did wonder when you would decide to face me after what you’ve done. An heir to a duchy. My, my, I would not have thought you so ambitious, or so stupid. Are you still a virgin?”

“Yes,” Margaret lied feeling the rush of heat up her neck at the memory of Elysium. “It wasonlya kiss.”

A horrid cackle left her aunt. “Only a kiss? You’ve beencompromised. No one thinks you sharedonlya kiss with the Earl of Welles. I saw your face when you returned to the ballroom. And the mark on your neck. Thankfully the duchess interrupted before he’d seduced you completely. Whatwereyou thinking?” Her voice raised an octave.

She had beenthinkingshe was going to compromise Carstairs.

“All of London is holding its collective breath to see if Welles will do the honorable thing.” A shrill laugh escaped her as she shook her head. “We will waitforever. Welles hasn’t an honorable bone in his body. Did you really think being compromised at the Duchess of Averell’s ball would result in marriage?”

I did. Just not to Lord Welles.“Of course not. It was only a kiss,” she said again.

“Perhaps you aren’t nearly as clever as you think you are, my dear. Marriage to Lord Welles!” Another ugly laugh escaped her. “This entire affair smacks of a jaded rogue who decided to make sport of a plain girl for his own amusement. Had he managed to seduce you, I would have had to send you away.”

It was on the tip of Margaret’s tongue to confess Welles had seduced her over a week ago; if the end result was expulsion from London, she was ready to pack her bags. Possibly if she mentioned Elysium, Aunt Agnes would send her all the way to the Continent. Gathering her courage, she opened her mouth to confess everything, but the next words from her aunt stopped her cold.

“As it is, you’ll still be able to marry Winthrop.”

Dread swirled deep and dark in her stomach. “But you just said—”

No. This would never do.

“Lord Winthrop is distraught, of course. But I’ve explained your…impassionedresponse to music. A flaw inherited from your mother who was similarly afflicted.” She waved her hand in the air. “As if you were slightly addled.”

“Do not equate my musical talent with a sickness. It is a talent.”

Her aunt’s lip curled at Margaret’s show of defiance. “You were merely playing the piano as you had onmanyoccasions when you visited the duchess. Welles came upon you while you were in the throes,” her mouth tightened, “of your music. Welles is a seasoned rake, a seducer, who took advantage of an innocent young girl. You were onlystupid, not despoiled. Winthrop has assured me he won’t tolerate such nonsense in the future. I doubt you’ll ever be permitted to play again.” A smug look crossed her skeletal features while the feather atop today’s turban, a pheasant’s, quivered with triumph.

“No. I mean, that’s not—” Margaret’s throat felt as if it would close and leave her begging for air. Once, when she was a child, she’d escaped her nanny to explore a small lake at the edge of her father’s property. Slipping in the mud, Margaret had fallen into the dark water, her limbs tangling in her skirts. She’d held her breath for as long as she could even though her lungs screamed for air. One of her father’s men had seen her fall in and saved her. That’s what this conversation with Aunt Agnes felt like, onlyno onewas going to pull her out of the deep waters her aunt had pushed her into.

“A quick marriage to Winthrop and you’ll be shipped off to his country estate where, he assures me, there isn’t a piano within miles. By next season, Welles will have seduced some other young girl and you will be forgotten.”

The truth, as told by her aunt, was painful.

“My dear, did you think you were theonlyyoung lady Welles has ever compromised?” An ugly, choking sound left her. “Goodness, there’s at least one each season. You can nearly set your clock to him.”

Margaret said nothing. She was afraid if she opened her mouth she would begin to scream and not be able to stop.

A knock sounded on the study door. The heavy oak swung open to reveal a slightly ruffled Henderson. The butler bowed low and carried a silver platter over to Aunt Agnes, whispering in her ear.

Her aunt’s mouth quivered as Henderson spoke to her. She looked down at the note sitting on the salver and nodded. “You are excused, Margaret,” she croaked before waving Margaret upstairs.

“Has something happened?”

Her aunt blinked as if surprised Margaret was still in front of her. “I said you are excused. Go to your room. This instant,” she snapped.

Dismissed, Margaret had no choice but to make her way upstairs. After reaching her room, she closed the door behind her and told Eliza she wished to take a nap. As soon as the maid retreated, Margaret locked the door before squeezing under her bed, feeling beneath the mattress for her composition book.

Opening to the sonata she’d been working on, Margaret traced the notes with a fingertip, hearing the corresponding music in her head. A sob escaped despite the fist pressed to her lips. Even after all her careful planning and preparation, Winthrop would still have her.

She shut the notebook with a slap, pushing it back beneath the mattress. For the first time in her life, Margaret had no desire to play the piano, even though she could hear the music of Welles quite clearly. Disgusted with herself for still longing for him when he was the cause of her ills, she fell to the floor, the rug chafing against her cheek. Tears fell from her eyes and for once, Margaret didn’t blink them back.

She had no idea what she was going to do.

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