Whoever will be next, I wonder?" It was a rhetorical question. But it was answered almost immediately.
There was a tap at the parlor door even before they had all sat down, and it opened to admit Constantine. "Ah," Margaret said, throwing both hands in the air. "I will not ask if that gesture demonstrates delight at seeing me or displeasure," he said cheerfully as he crossed the room toward her and took one of her hands in both his own before releasing it again. "But I hope it is the former. I have just come from a vigorous sparring bout at Jackson's and am hoping you will offer me tea or coffee." Stephen and Elliott arrived together before the tea tray was brought in.
Jasper followed them in before Margaret had finished pouring the tea.
Margaret wondered if she had ever felt more foolish in her life and decided that it was not possible.
And talk about storms in teacups!
She was also angry but had not decided with whom she was most annoyed.
Herself, perhaps?
Crispin had told her she was stubborn and always had been. The accusation had irritated her. But he must have been right, she concluded after a few minutes.
The choir sang in perfect unison. There was not one dissenting voice.
Vanessa and Katherine were incredulous and aghast that she would even /think/ of marrying a man she had met for the first time last evening – without even a formal introduction. Normally their reason would have been that she could not possibly know a thing about him on such short acquaintance. But on this occasion just the opposite was the case.
She knew /everything/ about him – he had even admitted it all himself – and none of it was good. And /that/ was a massive understatement.
Stephen, with Elliott's concurrence, had agreed to allow the Earl of Sheringford to pay a formal call at the house during the afternoon. He could hardly have refused when Margaret had introduced him to Crispin Dew last evening as her betrothed. Both men agreed, though, that he should be allowed to proceed no farther into the house than the library and to see no one there but Stephen. Meg must give him leave to inform the earl that she would not receive him, today or any other day. "After all," Stephen said, "you are not embroiled in any real /scandal/, Meg, only a great deal of silly gossip. If you are never seen with the man again, and if nothing more is said about any betrothal between you, it will be concluded soon enough that there never was any truth in the story – as is the case with most rumors." "Very true, Stephen," Katherine said. "And very sensible," Vanessa agreed. "And everyone knows you as the soul of propriety, Margaret," Elliott added.
Which was perhaps a bit of a mistake on his part. Being the soul of propriety sounded to Margaret like a very dull thing to be. Did she want /that/ written on her epitaph? "Sherry was a friend of mine at one time," Constantine said. "He still is, I suppose. We sparred with each other at Jackson's this morning and then walked to White's together. But it would be extremely unwise to ally yourself to him, Margaret. He has an undeniably wicked past, and you would not want a deservedly spotless reputation sullied by association with him." /A deservedly spotless reputation/. That would look good too on her headstone. Future generations would yawn as they read. "Rakes would be doomed to eternal infamy if some decent lady did not fall in love with them and take a chance on them," Jasper said, grinning at Margaret and threatening the choir's harmony for the moment. He ought to know the truth of what he said. He had been one of London's most infamous rakes when Kate had taken a chance on him – nudged on her way, it was true, by the eruption of scandal. "However, Sherry is not exactly a rake, is he? Justly or otherwise, he is seen as the blackest-hearted of villains. Certainly no one can deny that he did something pretty villainous five years ago – two things, actually. You would not be able to handle him, Meg – or he you, for that matter. You have lived a righteous life and deserve better." "Oh, that is /exactly/ what we have all been trying to say," Katherine said, laying a hand on his sleeve. "We want someone perfect for you, Meg. We want you to be /happy/. You deserve the very best life has to offer." /You would not be able to handle him …/ /You have lived a righteous life …/ These were the people who loved her most in the world. The people who loved her so dearly that they wanted only the very best for her that life had to offer. To them she was the soul of propriety, a woman with a spotless reputation who had lived a virtuous, righteous life. They wanted someone perfect for her – someone equally proper, blameless, virtuous, righteous … A very dull man, in fact.
He sounded a little like the Marquess of Allingham. Was /that/ why she had hesitated so long about accepting his marriage offers? It seemed disloyal. He was all those things, and she had always liked him. She had always considered him a friend. /Friend/, not lover.
The Earl of Sheringford had called him a dull dog.
She had been horribly disconcerted by the marquess's announcement last evening. But had she also been /upset/? Did she feel heartbroken today?
In light of everything else that had happened, she had spared him scarcely a thought.
These people wanted her to be happy. But how did they know what would make her happy?
Did /she/ know?
Once she had thought happiness and Crispin Dew were synonymous terms.
But today he had offered her marriage again, and she had refused because … Oh, there was a host of reasons.
But she realized something as her family all looked at her in love and concern and waited for her to say something.
She was ripe for rebellion.
Or else she was just stubborn.
She had such a short acquaintance with the Earl of Sheringford that she could not even remember clearly what he looked like. She knew he was tall, well built, dark-haired and dark-complexioned, with angular features and almost black eyes. She knew that her first impression of him was that he was almost ugly. She remembered too that her eyes had nevertheless been drawn to that face while they talked. There had been an intensity there, in his eyes, in the tautness of his almost morose features, that had somehow fascinated her. /He/ had fascinated her.
She had never held a conversation with any other man that even remotely resembled her conversation with him. His honesty had fairly taken her breath away. He had urged her to marry him in almost the same breath as he had admitted to being a wife-stealer and a man who had abandoned his bride on their wedding day. And he had not pretended to any sudden infatuation for her, Margaret. He had told her exactly why he wished her to marry him. He needed a wife before two more weeks had passed.
Surely any other man in the same circumstances would have gone out of his way to charm her with sweet talk and lies, and to keep the truth about himself from her for as long as possible – until after their marriage if he could.
He was – /different/. She was quite sure that if she met him again in the cold light of day and listened to his marriage proposal, she would reject him in a heartbeat. Today she would see him for the unattractive, ill-tempered villain that he was. She would see the desperation in him and be repulsed by it. What man, after all, would be prepared to marry a stranger – /any/ stranger – merely in order to keep the house and property from which he drew an income until his grandfather died and left him a fortune?
And she was the stranger he had chosen.
It was really quite insulting.
But he had fascinated her and still did.
And she /was/ stubborn. Her family was united in urging her against even seeing the Earl of Sheringford again. Crispin had urged her to change her mind and marry /him/ instead. Mrs. Pennethorne had urged her to put an end to her betrothal.
The silence had become quite lengthy – and very tense. "The Earl of Sheringford is coming here this afternoon," she said, "to speak with /me/ – after he has spoken with you, Stephen. It would be uncivil of me to refuse to receive him, especially when I was the one who caused all the gossip by introducing him to Crispin as my betrothed last evening. It was not /he/ who said it, re member." "You were upset," Vanessa said, "at seeing Crispin again so unexpectedly, Meg. It is understandable that – " But Margaret held up a hand to stop her from continuing. "It is neither understandable nor excusable," she said, "that I would use one gentleman merely to spite another. Which, if I am to be perfectly honest with you and myself, is exactly what I did. I will speak with the earl this afternoon. I will apologize for involving him in all this foolish gossip when I daresay he hoped to slip quietly back into society after so many years as a castaway. What has happened was all my fault, and I owe it to Lord Sheringford to tell him so in person." "It is just like you to take all the burden of blame on your own shoulders, Meg," Stephen said, looking troubled. "It is something you always did. Let me do something for you now in return. Let me send the fellow on his way." "He is not /the fellow/, Stephen," she said, getting to her feet. "He is the Earl of Sheringford. And I will speak with him myself." "Bravo, Meg," Jasper said. "Oh, Meg," Vanessa said, hurrying toward her to hug her, "you are always so noble. But I am just afraid that you will see him to apologize to him and end up betrothing yourself to him." "Trust me," Margaret said as they all got up.