She blinked away that salacious thought and thrust her arms into the sleeves of the green flowered muslin gown her maid held out to her. Facing her family with thoughts of Anthony in her mind would not be a good idea.
At least she hadn’t started to wash her hair. While her maid brushed it out and repinned it, Marguerite checked her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips a little swollen, but that might be explained away by her bath.
“There, my lady. You look lovely.”
“Thank you.”
With a grateful nod, Marguerite picked up her skirts and descended the stairs to the drawing room. Mrs. Jones waved at her from her seat behind the tea tray. Even from a distance, the smell of brandy on her breath was all too evident.
“Oh, there you are, my dear; I was just telling your father how famously we’ve been getting along.”
Marguerite glanced at Lord Philip Knowles, who winked at her. He was her mother’s husband but not her father. It wasn’t worth correcting Mrs. Jones. In the few years she’d known him, Philip had certainly done everything in his power to treat her like one of his own children. He sat between the twins on the couch, his relaxed manner a quiet testament to his wealth, intelligence and good taste.
Marguerite liked him immensely. He was the only man who had ever been able to deal with her mother as an equal without resenting or trying to possess her. Philip stood up and bowed, then stared at Christian until he followed suit.
“I apologize for visiting you so late, but I was at my bankers’, and your mother asked me to pop in and see how you did.”
“Why didn’t she come herself? Is she unwell?”
Philip’s eyebrows rose. “Not at all. She is simply too busy, and she was concerned about you.”
Marguerite immediately felt guilty. She already sounded defensive and she hadn’t even sat down. Exactly how much had her mother told Philip, and why hadn’t she come herself? It was most unlike her. A cold sensation settled low in Marguerite’s stomach. Perhaps Helene really had washed her hands of her eldest daughter and her inconvenient choices. But wasn’t that what Marguerite had wanted? Now she wasn’t so sure.
“We didn’t go into the bank.” Lisette smiled at Marguerite. “Apparently, I’m a distraction and Father fears Christian will start asking for more money.”
“Hardly that.” Philip chuckled and sat back down, his amused gaze on Christian’s stony face. Sitting as he was, between the twins, Marguerite could trace their likeness to each other, their shared heritage and their deep connection. The twins were as dear to her as she hoped her own children would be, but she’d never known a father’s love.
“Oh, dear.”
Marguerite jumped as Mrs. Jones dropped a tea cup and bent to pick it up, almost dislodging the entire drinks tray.
“It’s all right, ma’am, I’ve got it.” Christian located the cup, which had rolled under his chair, and replaced it on the tray.
Mrs. Jones hoisted herself out of her chair and stared distractedly at the door. “I’ll go and get another cup. I’ll be back in a moment.”
Marguerite waited until her chaperone left the room and the gentleman resumed their seats before defiantly pouring herself a large shot of brandy. The taste reminded her of Anthony, and she licked her lips, wondering what he was doing now, whether he slept or whether he lay awake thinking about her, touched himself as he did.
“Marguerite, are you listening to me?”
With a guilty start Marguerite looked up and into Lisette’s laughing eyes. “I’m sorry, Lisette, what were you saying?”
Lisette smiled at her. “I was just remarking that before the cup fell, your chaperone was rummaging in her reticule as if her life depended on it.”
“She was probably looking for her gin bottle.” Marguerite shrugged. “That’s why she excused herself, to get a new one.”
“She hardly seems like an adequate chaperone, my dear,” Philip said, his keen gaze on Marguerite. “Are you sure you want her?”
“I don’t want her; I need her. She allows me to live alone. If I complain about her to the Lockwoods, they might make me move in with them, and that I couldn’t stand.” Marguerite glared at her brother and Philip. “It is so unfair that ladies are so constricted.”
“I agree.” Christian nodded. “But as a widow, you have more freedom than most.”
“I know that.” Marguerite turned back to Philip before her brother could elaborate. “Was there anything in particular my mother wished to say to me, sir?”
“Not that I recall. She was simply concerned that you hadn’t made any, um, rash decisions as to your future.”
Marguerite put down her glass. “Oh, is that all? Nothing much then, only that she doesn’t trust me to make any decisions at all.”
“That’s not what Philip said, Marguerite,” Christian interrupted her. “And to hell with being tactful, we’re all concerned about you.”
“Why?”
“Because of Anthony Sokorvsky.”
Marguerite fixed him with her best glare. “You were one of the people responsible for my meeting him!”
Christian shrugged. “I didn’t expect you to go this far.”
“Have you all been discussing me, then?”
Lisette nodded. “Of course we have. We’re your family.”
“No, you’re not.” Marguerite stood up and gripped the back of the chair. “Not if you think it gives you the right to tell me whom I can bed. I’m the widow of a peer, not an innocent unmarried girl.”
Philip laid a hand on Christian’s arm, the quiet gesture enough to stem the anger brewing on her brother’s face and his impulsive step toward her. “I think what the twins are trying to say is that they are worried about you.”
“As is my mother, apparently.”
“Yes.”
Marguerite inclined her head a glacial inch. “Thank you all for your concern, but I am quite capable of dealing with Anthony Sokorvsky. If I need any help, I will ask for it.”
“Sokorvsky isn’t doing this because he’s enamored of you,” Christian said. “He’s doing it to avoid a scandal.”
Marguerite met his glare head on. “I know. He told me.”
“He told you?”
“Yes, imagine that, two adults having an honest conversation about their relationship. Isn’t it refreshing?”
“And you’re not disturbed by what he said?”
“I’m a grown woman; I’ve been married before. I understand that not all men have the same sexual inclinations.”
“But Maman didn’t think you knew about Justin and Sir Harry,” Christian said. “Mon Dieu, she wasn’t even sure herself . . .”
“Christian.”
Christian closed his mouth and nodded at his father. “I apologize, sir, that is none of my business.”
“How about apologizing to me?” Marguerite countered as anger finally forced its way through her tiredness. “I’m the one you’re insulting. Why is it all right for you and Lisette to enjoy yourselves at the pleasure house when I should not? Does having a titled father make you somehow more immune to scandal than a Bastille-born bastard like me?”
Lisette stepped in front of Christian, her chin raised, hazel eyes fired up for battle. “That’s not fair, Marguerite. Christian was only trying to help.”
Marguerite was the first to look away. She knew they meant well, but at this moment she hated their solidarity and their legendary closeness, hated them. “Perhaps you should go.”
Philip came around the twins and took her hand, enclosing it between both of his. “I’m sorry, Marguerite, I didn’t bring them here to start an argument.”
She struggled to smile. “I know. I just wish everyone would stop trying to protect me from my own choices.”
He squeezed her hand and brought it to his lips. “That is the nature of loving someone though, isn’t it? I love your mother, but I’ve had to learn to allow her the freedom to make her own decisions and, God forbid, her own mistakes.”