Margaret shrugged. “You said he refrained from teasing you the first couple of days, and as a result, you had decided the man had become a bore. It seems to me you cannot make up your mind. Or, perhaps, you do not like what your mind has already decided and are determined to see him in a poor light.”
“I cannot know what you mean, Margaret.” I massaged my temples. “The man irks me, and what’s worse, he is now conspiring with Russell.”
Probably at this very moment, in fact. I had gotten my revenge on both of them this morning. A sprig of catnip tucked inside their boots was enough to drive the cats living in the stables mad. I had watched eagerly from one of the stalls for them, knowing they always took a ride in the mornings. Russell was not fond of most animals, save for horses, and having felines attacking his shoes had elicited several shrieks and a very intriguing dance from my brother.
To my dismay, Lieutenant Paget did not share the reaction, though he did appear rather bemused.
“At least the lieutenant partaking in your brother's scheme proves he is not the bore you believed him to be,” Margaret pointed out. “I know you, Annette. If you must be in his company, you would far prefer a lively battle of wit and pranks than monotonous and dull conversation.”
She was not wrong, but still. “Can I not be opposed to both?”
“You can, but what sort of man would he be then, pray tell? What type of man might manage to woo you? I do not think you despise Lieutenant Paget half as much as you pretend.”
“I do not wish to be wooed.. I am more than content to live the rest of my life alone, without the burden of a husband. And do not claim Mr. Wilcot is not a burden, for we both know it is true. I would not call him dull or witty, but that still does not makehimappealing.”
Margaret sighed, but the typical resignation that consumed her whenever her husband was brought up remained absent. Instead, she laid her hand on her stomach, and a slight smile tugged at her lips. “Regardless of how you feel about Mr. Wilcot, loneliness is not something anyone truly wishes for. One can be lonely even with a spouse, but…well, I shan’t be lonely for much longer, and that is a blessing I look forward to.”
I blinked, understanding settling in my thoughts. “You…you are in the family way?”
Margaret grinned. “Indeed.”
“That is the most wonderful news!” I moved from the sofa to the chair next to her. We embraced, the position a bit awkward, but I was too elated to care. “Why did you not mention it sooner? I am happy for you.”
“Thank you.” She glanced down at where her hands once again rested on her stomach and smiled. It was good to see her so happy, but I also worried. Mr. Wilcot was not a gentle man, and he had not treated Margaret well in the past. What would that mean for her unborn babe?
I started to ask how her husband had taken the news, but before the words were out, the door of the parlor opened, revealing the man himself.
Mr. Wilcot’s glossy gaze searched the room until it settled on Margaret. “Darling.”
The word came out slurred. He crossed the room and leaned down to kiss Margaret on the cheek, his balance teetering as he did so. The man was drunk as a wheelbarrow.
I frowned, watching him take the seat I had vacated.
“Has she told you the splendid news?” he asked. “We are to be parents.”
Given his state of drunkenness, I could not discern how the man felt about his wife’s condition, but his taking to the bottle after, I assumed, having recently been informed did not boost my confidence that his feelings on the matter were positive.
“She has,” I answered with a forced smile. The room fell silent.
I debated whether to excuse myself and return home. It had been quite early when I left Kenwick, the sun having barely peeked above the horizon. I had not even called for my maid to do my hair, and it hung in a plait over my shoulder. This was not the first time Mr. Wilcot saw me in such a state, but it did little to help him take me seriously.
Not that applying to his absent sense of morals had ever done any good.
“I’ve had a notion to persuade my mother to organize a picnic if the weather clears,” I said. “Perhaps the two of you might join us?”
Mr. Wilcot shook his head, and the movement tipped him into the arm of the chair. “Not fond of picnics.”
Indeed, he was not fond of anything beyond drinking and gambling.
“That is alright. I know Margaret finds them enjoyable, and I would love her to be my companion for the event. You needn’t attend if you do not wish.”
The light in Mr. Wilcot’s eyes faded, leaving them dark. “Margaret shan’t be attending anything without me, and I do not wish to go.”
My jaw clenched, but I maintained my amicable expression. “Well, I hope you change your mind. An outing in her condition might be good for her. Assuming, of course, the weather permits the outing at all.”
“I won’t change my mind,” Mr. Wilcot muttered.
He wouldn’t. I had learned, through no small amount of invitations, that the man was quite comfortable in his current state and did not wish his wife to have any sort of social life. That, I imagined, was too great a risk. The more Margaret ventured out in public, the more society would judge him. The more chance that his despicable behavior toward her would come to light.
