Without warning, Lenora burst into tears.
“Oh, darling,” Margery cried, rushing forward. Plump arms went around Lenora’s shaking form, holding her close. A gentle hand drifted over the intricate braids in her hair. “This is not about Lord Landon at all, or even about your father. This is about Hillram, isn’t it?”
Which only served to make Lenora cry harder. If Margery only knew…
Her friend rubbed her back, mistaking her reaction for an admission. “I know you don’t like to talk of him. But Hillram wouldn’t have wanted you to pine for him all your life. As good as my cousin was, as much as I loved him, your life did not end with his death. Nor did it end with Lord Fig’s cowardly elopement. And it will not end with this, either. Lord Landon was simply not the right man. After all,” she said, her lips quirking at the corner, “no one in their right mind should have the name you would have, had you married him. Lenora Ludlow, Lady Landon? Really? It would have been a travesty.”
For a single blessed moment, Lenora’s chest lightened. That mood, however, was brittle as finely spun sugar. The rustle of her wedding dress as she moved, the faint scent of ham and pastries wafting through the house, the muffled clink of glass as the servants went about dismantling the carefully planned breakfast buffet, was enough to bring her crashing back to earth. “I cannot do this again, Margery,” she whispered.
“You can get through this,” her friend insisted, taking up her hand and pressing it. “You needn’t be lonely the rest of your days. You’ll make some man a fine wife and find happiness in it, you’ll see.”
“You’ve accepted loneliness rather than remarry,” Lenora snapped, impotence over her lack of control for the future causing the angry words to spill out.
Pain flashed in Margery’s eyes, her fingers releasing Lenora’s and going to the gold band cradling her fourth finger. Regret, bitter as gall, filled Lenora that she had unintentionally hurt her friend. “I’m so sorry, Margery,” she said. “That was inexcusable.”
Margery tried for a smile, though grief dulled her eyes. “I should be the one to apologize. We’ve both lost the irreplaceable. You loved Hillram as well as I loved my Aaron. I shouldn’t have pushed you as I did.”
Lenora could only stare dumbly at her friend, trying in vain to formulate a reply. Letting her friend believe she had loved Hillram was one of the greatest betrayals she had ever committed. But her friend would despise her if she knew the truth. And she could not lose Margery.
A soft scratching at the door interrupted them. The housekeeper was there with two maids bearing trays of food and drink. Once the small feast was placed to Mrs. Clark’s exacting standards, she turned to Lenora.
“Miss Hartley, please let us know if there is anything else you need.”
The pity in the woman’s eyes nearly did her in again. “Thank you,” Lenora whispered, hugging her arms about her middle as the servants left.
Margery wasted no time now that they were once more alone. Soon the silver gown was sailing through the air to fall in an inelegant heap on the floor, the simple but preferable green dress in its place. Lenora was made as comfortable as possible, surrounded by pillows, her feet propped on a small stool. It was only then her friend went to work on the food, heaping their plates with all manner of decadent dishes, from hot rolls to ham to fruitcake.
“Eat,” Margery ordered, pushing an overflowing plate closer to Lenora on the low table between them. “And drink.” She pressed a delicate flute of champagne into Lenora’s hands. “Drink as much as you can and I shall do the same, for I cannot think of a better way to finish off this horrid morning.”
To Lenora’s surprise, she did. She drank, and ate, and drank some more. The champagne was sweet and light, tickling her nose, relaxing her muscles. And if she couldn’t forget what Lord Landon had done, she at least didn’t care quite so much about it.
At the end of an hour, she heaved a sigh and slumped back. “Margery, have I ever told you that you are brilliant? Absolutely brilliant?”
Margery gave her a lopsided smile as she studied Lenora over the rim of her own glass. “I am, aren’t I? Either that,” she said with a bleary frown, peering at the now empty bottle, “or we have had entirely too much champagne.”
“No one can have too much champagne,” Lenora declared.
“Very true.”
Lenora threw the remains of her drink back and smacked her lips in appreciation. “Why does this champagne taste so much better than any I’ve had before?”
“It’s the company,” Margery said, motioning to Lenora with her glass. “No stuffy society matrons, no drunken lords.”
In an instant, Lenora’s mood darkened. “Society,” she spat. “I abhor society.” She glowered at the silver dress, still crumpled in the corner, seeing not the fine netting and shimmering silk but an unending line of faces judging every move she made. She lurched upright again. “Do you know, I think my father had the right of it. Leaving this city is a genius idea.”
Margery made a face. “This city is horrid.”
“You’re so right,” Lenora exclaimed. “It is horrid, and I’m determined to be off now.”
Margery smiled in delight. “Then I shall leave as well. It’s no fun without you anyway.” Then she frowned. Blinking uncomprehendingly, she upended the empty bottle over her glass, trying to force the last drop out by sheer will. “Where shall we go off to?”
Lenora frowned. “He will want me to return to our country seat. And you know I hate it there even more than I hate this city.” The wind taken out of her sails, she slumped back again. If London was exhausting in its never-ending social obligations, her father’s house in Kent was the opposite. Cold and austere and removed from any polite society, it was a place of exile more than anything.
Margery’s voice suddenly burst into the quiet of the room.
“Let’s visit my grandmother instead,” she announced as Lenora jumped and tipped sideways. “She was your mother’s godmother. Your father cannot say no.”
Even in her mind-numbed state, an image of sharp brown eyes and a mountain of snow-white hair flashed through Lenora’s head. Along with that came the sound of water lapping at the shore, of pale sand between her toes, of impromptu picnics with Margery and the call of gulls as their companions.
