Page 85 of The Theory of Earls (The Beautiful Barringtons 1)

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Margaret woke and immediately stretched out her arm, surprised to find the other half of the bed wasn’t full of gorgeous, muscular male. She sat up and looked toward the open door of her rooms.

Only Daisy’s plump form could be seen busily laying out Margaret’s clothing and bath towels. Steam floated around the maid in a thick mist.

Wherever Welles had gone, he’d ordered her a bath before leaving.

Margaret flopped back on the bed. She was ridiculously happy. While Welles hadn’t said he loved her, after taking all of his actions into consideration as well as his adamant assertion he had not been unfaithful to her, it was very possible Georgina’s assumption about his feelings had been correct.

I need to hear him say it.

Welles was a work in progress. When he was ready, he would tell her he loved her.

She stood and grabbed her robe at the foot of the bed, wrapping the silk around her naked body, and walked into her bedroom, sniffing the aroma of rose oil Daisy had put into her bath. The maid helped her out of her robe and into the steaming water.

Margaret closed her eyes and sank into the heated water with a groan. “Daisy, do you think you could check downstairs to see if there are any fresh currant scones?” She giggled. “Spare one or two for my husband.” When the maid didn’t answer, Margaret’s eyes fluttered open.

Daisy frowned. She’d been doing that quite a bit of late.

“Is there something amiss, Daisy?” Margaret trailed her hand in the water. The maid insisted she was content to stay in London. Romy had been saddened but glad Daisy would stay in the family, so to speak. But perhaps she was homesick.

“No, my lady.” But the maid was still looking at Margaret before a smile broke across her face. “I’ll go pull out one of your new day dresses. The green sprigged muslin? It’s very fetching.”

“Perfect.”

As she sank back into the water, Margaret’s glance fell on the latest letter from Cherry Hill, this one from Phaedra. There was a new barn cat who was quite a mouser, a stray the duchess had taken in. The cat had been christened Theseus for his bravery in clearing the barn of rodents. He was most appreciative of his new mistress and showed his affection by leaving the duchess dead mice and the occasional bird in her rooms. The letter detailed Phaedra’s attempts to find out how the feline was entering the house and depositing gifts for her mother.

The duchess had written a small note at the bottom of Phaedra’s letter. The duke continued to decline; the brief improvement at the news of Margaret’s marriage to Welles had only been temporary. Even the laudanum the doctor prescribed was no longer enough to ease his pain. She begged Margaret to convince Welles to at least return to Cherry Hill to bid his father goodbye.

Margaret pulled her eyes away from the note. Wellesshouldgo to Cherry Hill. Forgiving his father would not mean forgetting the duke’s treatment of Welles’s mother, but possibly it would ease the bitterness her husband continued to live with.

Welles had also received a letter from Cherry Hill not two days ago, another note addressed directly to him in the familiar shaking hand of his dying father and bearing the ducal seal. Mindful of what had occurred the last time Welles had received a letter from his father, Margaret had left him alone to read the contents. He’d disappeared shortly thereafter without a word. Margaret had awoken later that evening at being carried from her room to his, where she’d been dumped unceremoniously on the bed, before Welles had collapsed next to her fully clothed, reeking of scotch.

She had wisely chosen not to question him.

As Daisy dried her off, Margaret mulled over the situation, determined to find some sort of an answer to her husband’s refusal to address the issues he had with the Duke of Averell. She was hesitant to push him on the subject, not wishing to shake their still fragile but strengthening reconciliation. But still, each day she grew more and more sure of Welles and their marriage. Maybe it was time to sit him down and force him to face the duke before it was too late.

Daisy pulled her stays tight before pulling the green sprigged muslin over Margaret. The maid’s hands went to work on the buttons at the back, tugging on the material before pausing.

“Daisy?”

“I’m sorry, my lady. Perhaps the seamstress got your measurements wrong on this dress. It’s far too tight.”

The bodice hugged Margaret like a glove. If she breathed too deeply her breasts might pop out. “I think I’ve gained some weight,” she said to Daisy. “I eat far more now than I ever did at my aunt’s home, where the cook wasn’t nearly as good. I’ll have to watch myself. I shouldn’t eat so many scones. I won’t have any today.” She smiled. “I don’t wish to grow stout.”

Daisy didn’t return her smile. “My lady, if I may.”

“Daisy, what is it?” She touched the maid’s hand. “Do you wish to return to Cherry Hill? Please don’t be worried I’ll be upset. I’ll be sad to lose you, but Cherry Hill is your home. I would understand.”

“No, what I mean to say is, I don’t wish to return to Cherry Hill. I like London and my place here. But there’s something—” Daisy looked away before turning back to Margaret. “My lady, forgive me if I’m impertinent, but I’ve ten brothers and sisters. All younger than me.” She paused. “I know what a woman looks like who—”

“That’s not possible.” Margaret stopped Daisy before she could hear the words she feared most. “No. I am not,” she said with conviction. Her husband may have reconciled himself to having a wife, but not children, as evidenced by the more strident measures he took. Welles had been using a device he called a French letter to prevent contraception. She used the small sponges soaked in vinegar. If anything, Welles’s determination to not have a child had intensified, as if ensuring he would grant his father no solace at all before he died. She hoped, one day, Welles would relent and accept a child.

But not like this.

Margaret fell back against the bed, struggling to remember the last time she’d had her courses. Not since before she’d played the piano for him at Elysium in her chemise. She calculated in her head as dread filled her.

How could I have not noticed?

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