Page 68 of A Lady's Touch of Sin

“Hear, hear,” Aunt Margaret blared.

Marta flared her nostrils and gave Laura a big-eyed, well-meaning look. She hoped to translate just how little she cared for Lord Remington.

“I imagined that dear Baldwin Terrence would be in attendance this evening,” Lord Remington said then. “I know he’s never so far from either Ewan or Marta. The three of you seem attached at the hips.”

Aunt Margaret tittered. “It’s really not so frequent any longer, My Lord. Baldwin recognises that Marta is here for the reason of courting. He …”

“I wish he had joined us,” Marta blurted then. She couldn’t fully help herself. “He’s always pleasurable company. He comprehends the weight of language, certainly. Ewan, wouldn’t you agree?”

Ewan’s eyes bulged. He seemed unable to answer.

“I don’t suppose it matters what he thinks of language, only that it’s improper in these days and times for Baldwin to spend so much time here,” Aunt Margaret affirmed.

“It’s a sad thing when eras end,” Lord Remington said.

“I dare say he’ll be here tomorrow and the next,” Marta blurted.

Why couldn’t she shut her lips? She was giving the game away. Memory of their gorgeous day on the water flooded her. She felt it impossibly horrid to discredit those hours. She wanted nothing to do with this mouldy conversation. She pressed her hands hard against her thighs and inhaled.

“Marta, you know how busy Baldwin is with his father’s business,” Aunt Margaret said. Between the lines, she seemed to suggest:how dare you bring this up. How dare you extend this lacklustre conversation. How dare you press your luck.

“I’m terribly sorry. I think I must have eaten something off during our picnic today,” Marta said suddenly. “I really must be excused.”

Aunt Margaret’s eyes bulged. She dropped her fork with a loud clack and drew her fingers together. “Shall I call for a doctor, Marta?”

“It’s not necessary. I need only rest,” Marta returned. She rose from her dinner chair and swept towards the hallway, her heart racing. At the doorway, she paused and turned towards Lord Remington. She knew her anger wasn’t entirely fair. Lord Remington was a selfish and arrogant beast, but it wasn’t as though he could force her to marry him. This was all tied up in Aunt Margaret’s expectations. She could put the blame nowhere but upon her shoulders.

“Thank you for the fine company,” Marta said, tilting her head. “I look forward to the next time we can sit around together and have such provocative conversations about the use of language and how it alters the course of our thoughts and the fluidity of our lives. Good night.”

The fire of her own sarcasm shot through her. She spun around and hustled up the stairs to find solace on her mattress. Once there, she fell into reckless sobs, the likes of which she found impossible to stop until she spontaneously fell into slumber. She did not dream.

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