“Well, I had thought that he might be a man entirely occupied with appearances. I would not have blamed him for it, given his position.”
“And he is not?”
“He is not. If anything, it is as though he enjoys toying with them all.”
“That is not rare,” Clara said.
“Perhaps not, but having someone understand me so well after such little time is. I cannot explain it, but it is as though he has known me for years. We walked, and we spoke, and the entire time he was at ease. As was I.”
They did not say another word, but Margaret wished that they would. She wanted someone to fill the empty space. She looked down at her teacup.
“It startled me.”
“Why?” Beatrice asked.
“Because it was not supposed to happen. That is not why I entered into this courtship, as you know. I am only here out of duty.”
The word lingered. Eleanor leaned back with a satisfied expression.
“So it begins.”
“It does not begin,” Margaret said quickly. “Nothing is beginning, and nothing will. I can assure you of that.”
“Are you quite certain?”
“Yes.”
Anne studied her. Of all of her friends, Margaret sensed that she would be the most difficult to please with her match. Then again, she was not supposed to be trying to please them. They knew why she was being courted, as did she, and she could not forget it.
“And yet,” Anne said at last, “you sound as though you are arguing with yourself.”
Margaret gave a small, helpless laugh.
“Perhaps I am.”
Eleanor reached across the table again.
“You cannot expect us to remain calm if you speak that way.”
“Speak what way?”
“As though you are standing at the edge of something.”
Margaret looked at her friend, startled by the accuracy.
“I am not,” she said.
“You have been careful all Season. You agreed to this arrangement for reasons none of us will question. If you have begun to feel differently, that is not a crime.”
“I have not,” Margaret insisted.
But Eleanor’s eyes gleamed.
“You have.”
“I have not.”
Silence fell. Margaret looked at her friends, then away.
