Someone drew in a breath. Whispers ignited with frightening speed, passing from one pair of lips to the next before the doors had even swung wider. A woman’s fan stilled mid-motion. A gentleman stared too long before remembering to look away.
Margaret stepped back as though she had been burned. The space between her and Nathaniel widened in an instant, though it changed nothing. The image had already formed in their minds. The Duke swore under his breath, low and sharp. His jaw tightened, eyes sweeping the small audience with a look that should have driven them back. It did not. They had what they needed.
The music inside continued, grotesquely cheerful. More guests appeared at the threshold, drawn by the sudden hush. They saw enough; her proximity, his expression, and the distance that had only just been created.
Margaret felt heat surge to her face, then drain away entirely. This would spread. Not the day after, but in that very moment. She heard her name spoken, too soft to catch fully, yet clear in intent. Nathaniel stepped slightly toward her, lowering his voice.
“Margaret–”
She shook her head, panic rising faster than reason.
“No.”
He reached for her again, whether to steady her or shield her she could not tell. She moved beyond his reach.
“I must find my family.”
“Listen to me.”
“There is nothing to listen to.”
Her voice trembled despite her effort. The guests began retreating inward, eager to carry what they had witnessed back into the ballroom. Laughter resumed in fragments, and Margaret turned and walked swiftly toward the doors. She refused to run. She would not give them that. Inside, conversation faltered as she crossed the threshold. Heads turned, fans lifted, and eyes tracked her every move. She saw Poppy first. Her sister stood near the edge of the floor, confusion plain upon her face.
“Margaret?”
Emily stood beside her, expression already darkening as she read the room.
“Where is Mama?” Margaret asked.
“With Mrs. Ellsworth,” Emily answered, gaze sharp. “What has happened?”
“We are leaving.”
Poppy blinked.
“But the next dance is–”
“We are leaving,” Margaret repeated, more firmly.
Emily’s eyes flicked past her toward the terrace doors, where Nathaniel now stood framed in candlelight, speaking tersely to a gentleman who had clearly approached him with interest. Understanding dawned.
“What did they see?” Emily asked quietly.
“Enough.”
Lady Fairleigh approached at that moment, her composure intact though her eyes searched Margaret’s face.
“Margaret, what is the matter?”
“We must go home,” Margaret said. “Immediately.”
Lady Fairleigh looked beyond her, toward the direction of the terrace. She saw the glances. Her mouth thinned.
“Very well,” she said.
Poppy looked from one face to another, confusion deepening.
“But I have been having the best time.”
