She needed to reach her seat. Now. Before more well-wishers appeared with their unbelievable sympathy.
She moved toward the table, navigating around clusters of guests with the practiced ease of someone who’d learned to make herself small, unnoticed, unremarkable.
Then she saw the place cards.
Her name. Flanked by two others. Both men. The table itself was a long, gleaming monstrosity meant for display—one uninterrupted stretch of linen and silver, so that everyonecould see everyone else, and every conversation became public property.
Place cards marched along the edge like a plan of attack. The matrons were clustered together—safe, respectable islands—while the younger widows were spaced out in a pattern so obvious it was almost obscene:matchableones near eligible men,unmatchableones tucked politely toward the ends.
A widow placed between two men wasn’t merely seated. She waspresented—as if she’d volunteered for the notice, as if she’d invited whatever story people chose to tell about her.
Her heart sank.Another scandal in the making.
“Apologies, Lady Margaret.” A male voice came from behind her—apologetic, uncertain. “This really seems like quite the blunder.”
She turned. Heat flooded her face. The man standing behind her was… well… was unfairly handsome. Dark hair slightly mussed. Pale blue eyes that caught the candlelight. Strong jaw. The kind of face that made sensible widows forget too much.
She looked away and focused on the place cards instead.
“Apologies, Lady Margaret.” He sounded apologetic. Uncertain. “This really seems like quite the blunder, does it not?”
Lord Henry Something. She couldn’t remember his full name, only that he was new. Recently elevated. Still awkward in his title. And far too handsome for her comfort.
Before she could respond, another voice—one sharp with outrage—cut through the air. “This is beyond the pale.”
Lord Gainsborough. One of her late husband’s former comrades—built like an ox, and, when propriety was bruised, just as gentle. His gaze snapped from the place cards to the twomen flanking her name, as if the little rectangles of paper had personally insulted him.
“Please, Lord Gainsborough.” Margaret kept her voice low, smoothing the words the way one soothed a nervous horse. “It’s an innocent arrangement, not an attack on decency. Lady Thornby has more gentlemen than ladies and is trying to keep the table balanced.”
“A widow seated between two unmarried men is notbalance,” Gainsborough muttered, still scowling at the cards.
“Then it is fortunate I am capable of sitting in a chair without disgracing anyone,” Margaret said, gentle but firm, and gestured toward the seats. “Shall we?”
They sat. Lord William still muttering under his breath about propriety and widows and the shocking decline of common courtesy.
Margaret bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. Their hearts were in the right place. These men who’d served with her husband, who thought they were protecting her from scandal or insult or whatever perceived slight a widow might suffer from sitting between two gentlemen at dinner.
If they only knew how little protection she actually needed.
What she needed was escape. A few blessed hours where she didn’t have to perform appropriate grief for a man she’d never loved. A man she’d never had the chance to love.
The first course arrived. Some sort of soup. Margaret lifted her spoon. Set it down. Lifted it again. She couldn’t concentrate.
Lord Henry sat to her right, close enough that she could smell sandalwood. Could feel the heat radiating from him even though they weren’t touching.
He shifted in his seat. His shoulder nearly brushed hers.
Her pulse kicked.
She was a widow in mourning. She should not be noticing the way his hands looked holding spoon. The way his jaw tensedwhen Lord William spoke. The way his breath caught slightly when their eyes met across the table earlier.
She absolutely should not be noticing any of that.
But she noticed all of it.
“You mentioned plans to help with the Charity for Local Widows?” Lord William’s voice cut through her thoughts.
Margaret forced herself to focus and look at Lord William instead of the man beside her, whose mere presence made her forget how to breathe properly.
