He looked over his shoulder at the twins, who were whispering to each other, their heads close together. “I’ve also learned that being a father to adult children isn’t easy.”
“Have you met Anthony Sokorvsky?”
“Yes.” His expression became more guarded. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I value your opinion?”
He winced. “And despite that flattery, I’m not going to tell you what I think of him. Didn’t you just say that you were entitled to make up your own mind? If you have accepted him, faults and all, what else is there to say?”
She stared into his eyes and slowly nodded. “I won’t let him hurt me.”
Philip bowed. “I’m not sure anyone can guarantee that in a relationship, but you are an intelligent woman, and I’m sure you’ll make the right decisions.”
“Thank you for your support.”
His smile was wry. “I’m not sure I support your particular ‘choice,’ but I’m certainly not going to interfere unless you ask me to.” He turned to the twins. “Say good-bye to your sister, and let’s be off.”
Marguerite walked slowly toward the twins, but neither of them moved. To Marguerite, their expressions were identical, unreadable and infuriatingly familiar. She let her tentative smile die and simply nodded.
“Good-bye then, give my best to Maman.”
Lisette glanced at her silent brother before she answered. “We will.”
As she watched them leave, Marguerite was aware of an unpleasant tightening sensation in her chest. For years, it had been her and the twins against the world. They’d grown up together in the nunnery orphanage and hardly seen their mother, who was trapped in England during the war. Marguerite had loved them, mothered them and cried with them. Now it seemed she was outside that charmed circle. Had Philip stolen her place or had she pushed her own way out?
Mrs. Jones came back into the room and looked around. “Did they leave?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, how disappointing! I was looking forward to talking to Lord Philip.”
“So was I.” Marguerite sat down with a thump and finished off her neglected brandy in one long swallow. “I think I’ll go to bed.”
Mrs. Jones waved a note in front of her face. “I almost forgot. Lady Lockwood’s footman dropped this off for you.”
“Thank you.”
Marguerite took the note with her as she made her way up to bed. Was it yet another invitation insisting she masquerade as a valued member of the Lockwood family? When would that charade end? Would she ever feel completely wanted and welcomed simply for herself? Her mother had Philip, the twins had each other, and who did she have?
She thought she’d had Justin, had been prepared to do anything to keep him, and even then, she’d failed. Her eyes filled with tears, and she hurried to rip open the covering sheet. Inside, there were two folded notes addressed in unfamiliar handwriting. The first was from Charles’s wife, Amelia, and was an invitation to a party that weekend at their country house in Essex.
The singularity of such an invitation stopped her tears. Amelia had never liked Marguerite, so why on earth was she being invited to such an intimate gathering? She opened the second sheet, read the short sentences and all became clear. Lord Minshom informed her that he’d arranged for her to meet clandestinely with Sir Harry Jones at the house party, and that it would be her last chance to see the man before he left England again.
Marguerite laid the notes on the top of her vanity and smoothed out the sheets. A weekend in the countryside would get her away from her family and perhaps help her understand the reasons for her husband’s untimely death.
The thought of having to deal with Lord Minshom gave her pause. There was something about him that both repelled and fascinated her. How could she ensure her safety and yet still see Harry? She forced her tired mind to concentrate. What would Amelia do if Marguerite asked to bring Anthony with her?
Amelia would be delighted. She’d see it as a way to destroy Charles’s affection for Marguerite and perhaps even repeat the scandal to Lady Lockwood. And maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing after all . . . She would write to Amelia, ask if she might bring Anthony and pray that she could deal with the specter of Sir Harry Jones once and for all.
16
Marguerite breathed in the icy autumn air as Anthony’s curricle swept up the long driveway to Locking Hall. She’d defied convention, left Mrs. Jones happily ensconced at home, and driven down to Charles and Amelia’s little place in the country in an open carriage alone with a man. As declarations of intent went, it was quite a statement.
She grabbed a loose blue ribbon as it threatened to rip free of her bonnet, laughing as she retied the bow under her right ear.
“You seem very cheerful today.”
She glanced across at Anthony. He looked handsome in his dark blue driving coat, black boots and buckskin breeches. His booted feet were planted firmly on the floor of the curricle, his hands relaxed on the reins. As they’d navigated their way out of London, he’d proved to be an excellent whipster.
“I am. I’m escaping my family for the weekend.”
He grimaced. “I’m escaping mine too. I’ve decided to find my own set of rooms.”
His tone didn’t encourage questions, but she didn’t care about that. After all, he’d promised her honesty.
“I have my own house and they still come after me.”
His expression tightened. “They do?” He clicked to his horses, and they started to slow. “Mayhap I’ll start looking for a castle with a drawbridge. My father probably owns one somewhere. If I’m dragooned into becoming his estate manager, I’ll probably find out for myself.”
“He wants you to run the estates?”
“Unfortunately, he does, and for once Valentin supports him.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Marguerite asked tentatively. “Doesn’t it show that he trusts you?”
Anthony flicked a glance at her. “Strange, I don’t see it like that. It’s just another way for my father and Val to keep an eye on me, to control me, to keep me from disgracing the family.”
The hurt in his voice resonated within Marguerite and made her want to reach out and touch him. “I understand. You fear you’ll never be free of your father’s interference.”
He laughed, the sound carried off by the wind. “And I can’t really leave. My mother is married to him, remember? And she would be devastated if I walked away. God, what an unholy tangle . . .”
Marguerite stared hard at the beech trees edging the drive. “How nice to have someone who wants you to stay. Neither of the families I’m supposed to belong to seem to need or want me anymore.”
She refused to look at him, set her teeth on her lower lip to stop it from shaking. He guided the horses to the edge of the driveway and stopped the curricle. She gasped as he drew her into his arms and held her close, then she allowed herself to subside like a foolish girl against his broad chest.
“Marguerite . . .” She made the mistake of looking up, saw her tiny reflection mirrored in his dark blue eyes. “If you don’t think you’re wanted, why did you accept this invitation?”
She lowered her gaze to stare at the embossed silver buttons of his coat. Trust Anthony to reach into the very heart of the matter. How much of her true undertaking did she want to reveal? She had hoped for more time to ascertain that Harry was actually there before she revealed anything to Anthony. The whole weekend might just be part of some cruel joke on Lord Minshom’s part.
She sighed, her breath condensing in the cooling air, and put her hand on Anthony’s shoulder.
“I can’t tell you exactly why yet. But this visit could help me understand Justin’s death.”
“Ah.” Anthony brushed her mouth with his gloved fingertip. “Then I can scarcely complain, although if that is the case, I’m still not sure why you asked me to come with you.”