Lady Sheffield's words sent Margaret’s mind in numerous directions. Because “exploring other opportunities” could alter Margaret’s future forever.
19
Changing Course
Penelope proceeded with the house party as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred that morning but nothing could halt gossip when it was this meaty.
Without fail, when Margaret entered a room, conversation seemed to stutter haltingly and then start up again at a near frenzy. Nobody gave her the cut direct nor did anyone say anything untoward but an entirely different mood had taken hold of the party.
Was it possible Lady Sheffield had been correct? Did they assume she had done something wrong, which had sent George Kirkley so happily into the arms of a younger woman?
It had been a mistake, but only those who had been inside of George’s room that morning were aware of it. Mrs. Drake and Mrs. Redcliffe were both itinerate gossips, but they themselves would become mired in scandal if their original scheme was made public.
By the time she came down to the drawing room for tea, Margaret had overheard more than she cared to. Mr. George Kirkley was now engaged to the beautiful young American heiress and would be leaving the house party the next morning in order to meet with the girl’s father. Mr. Kirkley, many declared, was a lucky man, indeed. He’d have benefited from the sale of Lady Asherton’s townhouse, but with Miss Drake’s dowry, his pockets would be far richer now!
Margaret had known her assets would belong to George after their wedding, logically. It was the way of the world. But she had been so concerned with confirming his ability to sire a child that she’d never questioned his other assets. The two of them had not once discussed the possibility of selling her townhouse. Lawrence had had it renovated especially for her. She loved it. She would have been heartbroken to have it sold out from under her.
Had she married him, she would have had no say in the matter.
She ought to feel relieved, elated, grateful beyond belief, and yet she felt numb. She’d nearly made a very costly mistake.
Margaret had not made any attempt to locate Sebastian that morning. She presumed he’d gone up to the meadow to search for his uncle’s ring, but she could not possibly disappear with him again in light of her current… situation.
Instead, she’d gone ahead with her usual routine. She’d taken her breakfast in the morning room and then sat in the drawing room with the other ladies knitting and writing letters, all the while, holding her head high. She had done this partly due to what Lady Sheffield had said and partly because…
She did not want anyone to pity her.
When she had entered that room, George and Miss Drake were not simply in the bed together. Both were in a complete state of undress. They had made love. Possibly more than once.
Margaret hadn’t wanted to recognize it, but the scents of the room had been heavy with those produced from sexual relations. The counterpane had been pushed to the bottom of the bed and both had barely covered themselves but for the use of a sheet.
Miss Drake was far slimmer and taller than Margaret, her hair shorter, and her voice higher pitched. And having witnessed the reaction of both parties once the drapes had been drawn and light allowed to slant illuminate the room, Margaret had seen the expressions on both of their faces.
George had known who he’d made love to. Miss Drake had not.
George Kirkley had been quite happy to trade up for a far more lucrative marriage.
Margaret added sugar to her tea and then a healthy pour of milk and sipped at it thoughtfully. She was angry with herself for nearly tying herself to such a mercenary and dishonorable man. Of course, George had only been marrying her for her money!
Had he not asked her on a few occasions how many rooms her Mayfair townhouse contained? His eyes had gleamed on the occasions he’d visited in the afternoon.
He’d only shown her affection when he’d sensed that she might wish to withdraw her consent. His kisses had been chaste, and his declarations of happiness forced.
She’d been a fool not to notice it before.
The room buzzed around her now. No one had come to sit beside her. Hugh had remained in his study, Lady Sheffield took tea in her chamber, and Penelope was being kept far too busy with her duties as hostess. No one wanted to be associated with the woman who had been rejected.
Oh, but Margaret did not blame them. She reserved her rage for herself.
Movement at the door drew Margaret’s gaze. It was the Duchess of Monfort, who had been notably absent all day. With determination in her normally calm gaze, the duchess strode across the room and quite purposely lowered herself onto the settee beside Margaret.
“The baby has been teething, and I only just now heard all that has happened.” She dropped a hand onto Margaret’s arm. “You are better off for it.” Her eyes were sympathetic, but more than that, they showed support.
The cold smile that had stretched Margaret’s lips all day remained. “Indeed.” She nodded, speaking low enough that no one but the duchess could hear. “I was an idiot to give him my consent.”
“If you wish to leave Land’s End now, Monfort and I are more than happy to make an early departure. Come with us and stay at Brooke’s Abbey for as long as you wish.” And then the duchess turned her attention to the table and placed a decadent pastry and sandwich square onto one of the small plates. “But you must eat. Don’t waste away because of that greedy scoundrel.”
Margaret accepted the plate and stared down at it. She didn’t want to spend the next week making nice and pretending that her life was not at an unwanted crossroads. Ducking out was an appealing idea but she had intended to remain at Land’s End through the holidays.
