Margaret reached up to push down on the straw hat she’d decided upon. Lord Rockingham had not spoken to her at dinner the night before or later in the withdrawing room. In fact, he’d managed to avoid her very successfully. Of course, she’d been of a mind to avoid him as well. But she would have had to be blind to miss that most of the young and unmarried women had demanded his attention most persistently and that he had done nothing to discourage any of them.
It was good that he’d not sought her out.
George, who had been sitting beside her, commented on Lord Rockingham’s popularity. “My nephew has the benefit of looks, charm, a lofty title, and an even loftier one in the future. Ah, to be young again.”
“You are not all that old, George,” Margaret had reassured him.
He’d laughed. “Nor are we as young.”
Lying in bed later, she’d resented the comment.
And so that morning, rather than wear one of her more conservatively colored gowns, she’d selected a buttery-colored muslin with chartreuse trim and embroidered flowers. And she’d had Esther return the bonnet to her wardrobe in favor of a lovely straw hat adorned with silk daisies and butterflies.
Margaret grasped the top of her head, unwilling to part with the whimsical accessory as a gust of wind whipped all of the ladies’ dresses against them. She would be most disappointed in herself if she lost it merely because her intended had made an innocent comment that she’d taken offense to.
“I should have known better, Abigail.” Margaret smiled at the petite duchess beside her. “It’s likely to be worse once we reach the cliffs.” She was contemplating running back inside just as George emerged from the house, and then Penelope and Hugh behind him.
Penelope, wearing a more practical hat that tied beneath her chin, but looking lovely in a mint gown with three-quarter-length puffed sleeves, garnered everyone’s attention as she waved from the top of the steps. “It’s a gorgeous day! Shall we be on our way then?” she shouted in a most un-viscountess-like manner.
Several of the younger people cheered and a few took off running along the road leading to the cliffs.
“Good morning, Your Grace.” George stepped beside her and bowed in Abigail’s direction. “My dear Lady Asherton, you look very pretty today.”
Appreciation warmed his eyes, which were the same gray as his nephew’s but not quite as bright and with deeper creases at the edges. George was truly quite a handsome man, not even for his age but handsome in his own right. Margaret reminded herself again that she was lucky to have captured his attention.
“Thank you.” George never failed to comment on her appearance. “I’m looking forward to spending time outdoors. Before moving to London, I walked beside the cliffs all the time.”
“I forget that you spent most of your childhood here,” Abigail volunteered. “Ah, there’s Monfort. I was beginning to think he had changed his mind about coming. He tends to get distracted by business, even at house parties.”
Monfort had been known as the Duke of Ice before he’d married Penelope’s cousin. Their union had surprised all of thetonas Abigail had been ruined beyond all hope when she’d first come out. And although pretty in a simple way, she was not at all considered a beauty.
She possessed a particular quality that managed to be even more attractive than superficial looks. Even before she’d become a duchess, she had shown kindness and empathy for those around her. She exuded… comfort. As the aloof-looking gentleman joined them, placing a hand at his wife’s back, Margaret considered that Abigail’s gift had been exactly what the tragic duke needed to melt his heart. With one infant in their nursery, it was rumored another might be on the way.
Margaret hated the pang of envy that shot through her.
“We best be on our way!” Hugh announced as he and Penelope strode across the lawn. “Otherwise, it will be nightfall before we even get to the path.”
Penelope slapped his arm, but everyone laughed and began walking along a route that was nostalgically familiar to Margaret.
“Have you missed living in the country? Near the sea?” George took her arm and led her at a modest pace, allowing many of the others to proceed ahead.
Margaret averted her gaze away from the gentleman walking a few yards ahead of them with a pretty girl on each arm. She would not notice how his thighs filled out his breeches nor how he moved with devil-may-care ease.
“Margaret?”
“Oh. Oh, yes. I love living in London and having my own residence.” She chastised herself for becoming so easily distracted… by the hills and the sunshine. “And I refuse to impose myself upon my brother and my sister-in-law for more than a few months out of the year.” She inhaled deeply. The air was never this fresh, this clean, however, in London. “But, yes. I do miss it.”
George patted her hand. “Cragg House is not far from the sea, and it is much closer to London. I am anxious for you to become my wife, so that you can take it in hand.” He described some of the aspects he liked about his home and many that needed updating or repairs. “The decor requires a woman’s touch. I shall give you carte blanche with my bank accounts.”
“I will not spend all of your money.” Margaret laughed, a sense of unease flickering in her mind. “I hope that is not the only reason you would take me for your wife.” She lowered her voice, hoping to draw some sort of romantic declaration from him.
“Of course not, my dear.” He glanced down at her. “I admire a great deal about you, Margaret, and above all, I look forward to the day you become my wife.”
Looking into his eyes, Margaret couldn’t help but believe his sincerity. She squeezed his forearm beneath her hand and added daringly, “And the night.”
This time, his glance was more curious. “But of course.”
What did that mean?But of course. She would be encouraged by it if he’d spoken with even a hint of ardor in his voice or if he’d touched her with anything other than a grandfatherly pat.
