“We assumed you would be abroad. Somewhere scandalously picturesque.”
“I am in Ravensmere,” Margaret said.
“Yes, we noticed,” Eleanor replied dryly, glancing around the elegant room. “Which is precisely the concern.”
They settled together near the fire, skirts arranged, gloves removed.
Anne tilted her head.
“You invited us.”
“I did.”
“During what should be your honeymoon.”
Margaret poured tea carefully, grateful for the steadiness of the task.
“That presumes there is one.”
Three pairs of eyes fixed on her. Eleanor leaned forward first.
“There is not?”
Margaret set the teapot down.
“No.”
“Not even a brief trip?”
“No,” she replied, keeping her tone even. “His Grace has responsibilities that require his attention.”
“And those responsibilities began immediately after the wedding?”
“Yes.”
“That is absurd.”
“It is necessary,” Margaret replied.
“You are defending him.”
“I am explaining. Besides, he is my husband. It is my duty to understand such things.”
“Then explain,” Beatrice pressed. “Why are you here while your husband is… where, precisely?”
“Working.”
Anne exchanged a look with Eleanor.
“Margaret,” Anne said gently, “are you alone here?”
She hesitated.
“Often, but it is not as though I am entirely without company. I have my staff.”
The silence that followed felt heavier than any accusation.
“You invited us because you are lonely,” Beatrice sighed.
