Margaret.
Nathaniel turned at once. She stood just inside the doorway, one hand still on the frame as though she had stopped mid-step. Her face had gone pale, her eyes fixed on the scene before her.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then Arabella stepped back slowly, her expression carefully composed now, though something almost satisfied lingered at the corner of her mouth.
Nathaniel felt anger rise, sharp and immediate.
“Margaret–”
“Stop.”
Her gaze moved from him to Arabella, then back again, searching both of their faces.
“What is this?” she asked quietly.
Nathaniel stepped toward her immediately.
“It is not what you think.”
“It is never what I think,” Margaret’s gaze settled on him again. “Is it? Tell me, did you know she was here?”
“No.”
“And yet she seems very comfortable touching you.”
Nathaniel felt the trap closing around the moment.
“She moved without warning,” he said. “You saw the end of it, not the beginning.”
Arabella folded her arms loosely, leaning against the small table as though enjoying the spectacle.
“Did she?” she murmured. “I wonder.”
Nathaniel ignored her completely now.
“Margaret,” he said, his voice steady but urgent, “I was told Eliza needed assistance. That was the reason I came here.”
Margaret’s expression did not change.
“And then?”
“Then I discovered it was a lie.”
Arabella tilted her head. “Such a harsh word.”
“It was that and nothing else,” Nathaniel replied.
Margaret looked between them again, measuring the space, the tension, the carefully controlled stillness in Nathaniel’s posture. Her gaze drifted briefly to the place at his collar where Arabella’s lips had touched him.
Nathaniel noticed. His voice lowered.
“I did not invite that.”
Arabella smiled faintly.
“You did not resist very quickly. Not until you sensed your wife was there, of course.”
