“With him.”
Margaret allowed herself to be pulled into the chair beside her. The tearoom was comfortably warm, the windows fogged slightly. A fire burned low in the grate, and the scent of sugar lingered in the air.
Across from them, Clara lifted one brow.
“Hyde Park, just after two. I was told you looked composed, though I did not believe it at first.”
“You are most kind,” Margaret replied.
“It is a compliment,” Clara said with a light laugh. “You did not appear overwhelmed, and that is a good sign.”
Beatrice smiled from behind her teacup, and Anne, seated nearest the window, watched Margaret without speaking. Eleanor, however, leaned closer.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Do not feign ignorance. The entire park was whispering.”
Margaret reached for the teapot to give her hands occupation.
“It was only a promenade.”
“With the Duke of Ravensmere,” Eleanor said, as though she spoke of a prince.
“That is indeed his name.”
Clara’s mouth twitched.
“You know what she means.”
Margaret poured carefully.
“Yes. I do.”
Anne finally spoke.
“Was it dreadful?”
“No.”
“Was it uncomfortable?”
“Not particularly.”
Eleanor groaned softly.
“You are impossible.”
“I am being honest! It was not this great and important thing. It was a promenade. That is all.”
“That is the problem. You are honest in such a restrained way that we learn nothing.”
Margaret handed her a cup. There was no use arguing with her friends, for they always got what they wanted out of her once they knew what they wanted to learn.
“What would you like to know?”
Eleanor lowered her voice despite the fact that no one nearby was listening.
