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‘Yes, but—’

‘But you chose not to use them?’

Isabella’s voice increased in volume as Meg’s cheeks flared. Was such a trivial thing truly worth remarking on? Judging by her hostess’s incredulity, she might as well have thrown the teapot out of the window for good measure, but Isabella hadn’t finished.

‘Why didn’t you use them? Is it that you don’t know how?’

‘I—it would seem not.’

To Meg’s dismay, the Viscountess burst out laughing. ‘Oh, Margaret! You poor thing!’

None of the other women in the room joined in but Isabella’s laughter alone made Meg shrink. It was unkind and clearly meant to embarrass and she felt her face flame hotter as she stood beside the table, wishing she could walk away instead of staying to take such undeserved spite.

The door had never looked so appealing, but she rapidly changed her mind when it suddenly opened and Anthony came into the room.

Her throat squeezed shut. What new horror was this? She’d managed to avoid him for the most part, relieved that he chose to subtly leave any room as soon as she entered it, but as she took in the expression on his face it seemed her dubious good fortune had come to an end.

He didn’t look inclined to turn round and walk away again, she saw fearfully. He studied her with icy coldness behind his eyes, and he only broke his stare when a second newcomer appeared on the threshold behind him.

‘Good morning, ladies. We heard the laughter from the billiard room. May we join in on the joke?’

Jacob looked around the parlour, nodding at each woman in turn, and when his eye met Meg’s it came like a warm blanket on a wintry day.

‘Ah, Jacob. I was just admiring your wife’s method of making tea.’ Isabella pretended to brush away an imaginary tear of mirth. ‘She’s so comical, using her fingers instead of the sugar tongs, like some common drab. I’m sure I’ve never come across anyone else who doesn’t know how to use them. Was she living under a rock when you found her?’

The small modicum of comfort Meg had felt on Jacob’s entrance vanished without a trace.

Mortification coursed through her. She didn’t want to peep up at him but she found her eyes drawn to him regardless, the unhappiness wending its way through her increasing at his frown.

Was he ashamed of her, she thought wretchedly, now he’d seen her as the butt of the joke? She didn’t know the first thing about being a real lady, and it showed, the uncertainty about the difference in their stations she’d wanted to speak to him about five years ago once again rearing its head. The other ladies might not realise she was from a class far below theirs, but Jacob would be harshly reminded, the very thing he’d assured her he didn’t care about now laid out inescapably before him.

She stared down at the luxurious carpet. Anthony would be glowering at her, no doubt fearful her faux pas might reveal too much, while to see Jacob’s reaction would turn the knife already lodged in her gut. She knew he hadn’t married her for love but to think of him being embarrassed by her was uniquely painful, something she never wanted to witness with her own eyes.

The uncomfortable quiet underlying Isabella’s laughter was split by Jacob’s lowered but manifestly hard voice.

‘I don’t like hearing my wife being mocked, Isabella. Is that usually how you talk about your guests? If so, it would certainly explain why you don’t entertain more often.’

The Viscountess’s laughter ceased abruptly.

Startled, Meg’s head jerked up. Was it acceptable to be so deliberately rude to one’s hostess, even if it was deserved? She hadn’t expected Jacob to step in at all, never mind quite so robustly, and from the awkward silence it seemed some of the other ladies were as taken aback as she was.

She risked a glance around her. Isabella was scowling at Jacob, who gazed back unmoved, while Anthony glared in Meg’s direction as if trying to make her combust with his eyes. Suddenly the room felt stifling, the air around her so fraught that even to breathe it felt oppressive, and all at once she needed to get out.

‘Please excuse me. I have the beginnings of a headache and I’d like to lie down.’

Without waiting to be dismissed, she lunged for the door, hardly noticing the concerned murmurs of the ladies who hastily swept their skirts out of the way to let her pass. All she could think of was getting out of the parlour as quickly as possible, her legs shaking as she reached for the handle and almost stumbled into the corridor and blessed escape.

It was a welcome reprieve to flee such an atmosphere, although she only managed to take a few paces before she heard footsteps behind her.

‘Meg. Wait.’

Reluctantly she turned to see Jacob had followed her. He was frowning again, although when he caught up to her it changed into an apologetic grimace.

‘I’m sorry about that. Isabella has always been unpleasant. Don’t listen to anything she says.’

He was standing very close to her and his presence somehow managed to be soothing and rousing at the same time, a comfort on the one hand while on the other the very reason for her current confusion. He’d spoken up on her behalf, and she was grateful for it, and she tried very hard to dredge up a natural-looking smile that she hoped would hide what was going on beneath.

‘I won’t. And… I appreciate your intervention. Thank you for defending me.’