Page 70 of The Theory of Earls (The Beautiful Barringtons 1)

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Half an hour later, Margaret stood before Fenwick, who only gave a cursory glance at the ratty cloak the lady of the house was wearing. He was far too well-trained and had likely seen much worse as Welles’s butler.

“May I be of service, my lady?” He bowed to her.

“Can you have the carriage brought around? I’m meeting Lord Welles.” She lifted her chin in case the butler should deny her.

Fenwick’s brows knit in confusion. “Of course, my lady. I shall call for the carriage immediately, but his lordship is in the study.”

Margaret’s hands stilled against her skirts at the information. “I see. He must have decided to return home after all. I’ll join him.” How absolutely mortifying, especially since she assumed Fenwick knew she’d dined upstairs alone. Nonetheless, she gave him a bright smile. “Where would I find the study?”

“Two doors down, my lady.” Fenwick inclined his head. “Please ring, should you need anything.”

“I will. Thank you, Fenwick.”

How long has he been here?Margaret fumed. She’d been sitting upstairs, by herself, for hours. Pacing the floor. Wondering at his whereabouts.

Nothing on earth would have forced Tony to marry you if he didn’t truly want to.

Margaret drew the words close to her heart. She needed every bit of hope she could muster as she confronted her husband. Lifting her chin, she swung open the study door.

Only the fire was lit. No lamps. At first glance, Margaret wasn’t certain Welles was even in the study. Perhaps Fenwick had been mistaken.

“Hello, wife.” The coldly mocking baritone greeted her. “Looking for something?”

“Yes, my lord. I am in search of my husband. It appears after forcing me before the vicar he has chosen to abandon me, on our wedding night, no less. I’m sure Carstairs wouldn’t have done so.”

A growl came from the direction of a large chair before the fire. “I find your increasing show of stubbornness and your need to be argumentative out of character for Miss Margaret Lainscott. I feel certain you should go back to being timid.”

“I’m just as certain I should not. I am Lady Welles now.”

Another low sound of irritation. “And do not dare mention your longing for Carstairs again to me. You would have ruined him in a matter of weeks. The poor man would have had no idea the type of woman he’d married. Were you going to allow him to make any decisions at all? Or would you have just thrown open his house to invite a horde of destitute musicians to take up residence?”

“I’d allow him to hunt in peace.”

“Though not join him yourself? No hunting for grouse as a married couple?”

“After my lack of aptitude for fishing, despite the help of the book you gifted me, I would probably have taken up firearms. In fact, I’m considering doing so now.” Despite the familiar verbal sparring, Margaret detected the cold bits of sarcasm and anger lingering in his words. And the pain. Steeling herself, Margaret strode confidently into the room, nearly tripping on the carpet as she caught sight of the Broadwood against the wall, the firelight dancing off the polished wood.

Her heart beat in a hopeful rhythm. Welles had brought it here for her.

“I thought you would like to have theinstrument,” he emphasized the word, “of your ruination close at hand. Besides myself. I moved my desk into a smaller parlor to make room for this monstrosity. I am not so fortunate to have a conservatory in this house.”

Margaret was deeply touched he’d done such a thing for her, especially given his mood. “Thank you.” Her fingers ran over the ivory keys of the Broadwood, fingers tingling with anticipation at the thought of being able to play whenever she wished. It was a rather grand, romantic gesture for him to make and so very unexpected.

“You may play until your heart’s content.”

Hewas her heart’s content, only Welles didn’t realize it. Moisture gathered behind her eyes.Bloody idiot.Did he really think she’d preferred Carstairs? She’dgiven herselfto him. Margaret told herself to tread lightly. If everything Leo had told her was the truth, and she’d no reason to doubt him, it would take time and patience on her part to make Welles come around to the idea of being married.

And what of children?

Margaret brushed the idea aside. She needed to focus on one thing at a time. Approaching her husband as if he were a wounded lion or other wild creature, Margaret made her way to stand in front of him. Confrontation was not her strong suit, as evidenced by the way she’d handled the last several years living under her aunt’s thumb.

“You’re blocking the fire.”

Margaret gave a snort. “My lord, we both know I’m far too small to accomplish such a thing. Now who is being argumentative?”

Welles had discarded his coat and it now lay in a heap on the floor. His shirt had been unbuttoned, exposing a beautiful triangle of skin and dark hair to her view.

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