“Mayhap Lady Justin is wondering how to placate Lord Anthony Sokorvsky when he gets back from his shooting expedition.” Drusilla looked down her long nose at Marguerite. “In my experience, gentlemen do not like it at all when a lady shows them up in company.”
Marguerite put down her tea cup and faced Drusilla. “You’re quite right, Drusilla. Men don’t like to be questioned do they?” She glanced around the avid circle of listeners. “But surely it is our feminine duty to ruffle their self-importance occasionally?”
Two of the married women chuckled. Drusilla’s cheeks reddened, and she glared at Marguerite. “Perhaps some of us prefer to behave in a more ladylike fashion, particularly those of us who should know better.”
“You are too hard on yourself, Drusilla.” Marguerite smiled sweetly. “Just because you pride yourself on your honesty doesn’t make you a pariah to all men.”
“Indeed! Perhaps I was talking about you, Lady Justin. A woman whose husband is scarcely cold in his grave racketing around with another man.”
Marguerite refused to allow Drusilla’s aggressive tone to intimidate her. Perhaps it was time to bring her simmering dislike out into the open, to dispel a few rumors once and for all.
“My husband died two years ago. I’m sure he’d want me to be happy again, and I’m hardly ‘racketing around.’ I’m visiting my brother-in-law and his wife for a restful weekend in the countryside.”
“In the company of another man.”
“Who is another invited guest in this house.”
“Not that I wanted either of you here,” Amelia muttered.
“Then why invite us?” Marguerite looked inquiringly at Amelia. Would Amelia admit she’d asked Marguerite both on Lord Minshom’s behalf and to expose her affair with Anthony in an unfavorable light to Charles? Marguerite didn’t think Amelia would do either. She hated not to be liked and approved of.
“Amelia invited you because her husband gave her no choice,” Drusilla said. “Although, perhaps having seen the way you treat Lord Anthony, Cousin Charles will speedily revise his good opinion of you.”
“Perhaps he will. But I suspect his good sense will prevail, and he will simply be happy for me.”
Drusilla laughed. “You’re expecting Lord Anthony to propose to you?”
Marguerite raised her eyebrows. “Why not?”
It was strange: she’d never thought of marrying Anthony, never wanted to be married to anyone ever again. The idea seemed ludicrous. Anthony deserved someone young and innocent and . . .
Marguerite realized Drusilla was speaking again.
“Why not? Because, if you’ll excuse my bluntness, Lady Justin, a man doesn’t need to buy the cow when he has already tasted the cream.”
A collective gasp rippled through the other women. Marguerite realized she wanted to laugh. Was Drusilla really so naïve about what men wanted? Perhaps she was. Perhaps Marguerite was the one who was out of step with society. But what was new about that? Her mother had hardly brought her up in a conventional manner.
“What an incredibly coarse comparison. I confess I’m quite shocked.” Marguerite got up and curtsied to the assembled women. “I think I’ll go and lie down and try to pretend you didn’t embarrass yourself by saying that out loud, Drusilla.”
Drusilla opened her mouth, but Marguerite was already moving toward the door, head held high. Her mother had taught her never to be ashamed of herself or to explain or defend her actions.
She reached her bedroom and lay back on the cream satin counterpane, stared up at the elaborately decorated ceiling. Peace surrounded her for the first time that day.
Could she really imagine Anthony married to one of the fresh-faced innocents who made their debut every Season? His sexual tastes were far too complex to be satisfied by a young virgin. Restlessly she kicked her slippers off. But was that quite true? She’d been an innocent when she married Justin, and yet she’d quickly acquiesced to his unusual sexual requests.
But she suspected Anthony’s needs were more complicated than she, or perhaps even he, knew. That didn’t scare her though— it just made her more determined to find them out. Marguerite’s slight smile died. Anthony had never suggested marriage to her. He was obviously content with their original bargain to support each other through the Season and to be friends.
She rolled over on her stomach and buried her face in the pillows. And that was enough for her, wasn’t it? Having Anthony for a friend had proved to be a blessing in many ways. She hadn’t expected a marriage proposal, had she?
The dainty clock on the mantelpiece struck six times, and Marguerite groaned. Six hours until she was due to meet Lord Minshom again, and hopefully, Sir Harry. How on earth was she going to get through them? Instinct told her to make her excuses and stay in her room for the rest of the evening, but she couldn’t do that. Drusilla would take it as an admission of guilt, and Anthony needed her help to fend off Lord Minshom.
And she was done with hiding, with trying to please everyone and not pleasing herself at all. It was ironic that her liaison with Anthony had put her at odds with the Lockwoods and her own family. If that taught her anything, it was that she could never win and might as well be herself.
With a sigh, she got off the bed and rang the bell. If she was going to face the assembled company for dinner, she was determined to look her best.
Anthony knocked twice on the inner door between his suite and Marguerite’s and waited for a response. Just as he raised his hand to knock again, the door opened and the maid he’d met the previous night emerged. She curtsied to him and smiled.
“Good evening, sir.” Her voice descended to a shrill whisper. “And thanks for your help last night!”
“You’re welcome.” Anthony nodded at the grinning maid. “Is her ladyship ready to go down to dinner yet?”
“I am.” Marguerite answered for herself. “Come in, Anthony, and close the door, you’re creating a draught.”
With a wink at the maid, Anthony stepped past her into the room and found Marguerite sitting at her dressing table powdering her face. He strolled over to drop a kiss on the top of her head and was greeted with an expanse of lush bosom that made him instantly hard.
“Good evening, my lady. You’ll be pleased to hear that I kept out of Minshom’s way today, or perhaps he kept out of mine. He didn’t stay all day, said he had errands to run. Let’s hope they involved Sir Harry Jones.”
Marguerite sighed and met his gaze in the mirror. “I’m still not convinced Sir Harry will turn up, are you?”
“It depends what Minshom is really after, doesn’t it? If he truly wishes to help you, I’m sure Sir Harry will be produced. If he’s just trying to get revenge on me for leaving him, the outcome is less certain.”
“Of course, you were lovers.”
Anthony froze. He’d forgotten how little Marguerite knew about him and Minshom. She met his horrified gaze in the mirror, her expression tranquil and reached up to pat his hand that rested on her shoulder.
“It’s all right. Lord Minshom told me he wanted you back, or that he was quite happy to share.”
Anthony shuddered. “We weren’t exactly ‘lovers.’ I don’t want to go back to him. I’d rather die.”
He hoped she heard the determination in his voice and knew that he spoke the truth. He tensed, wondering what else Minshom had told her about their unequal relationship.
“I can understand that. He seems a most unpleasant man.”
“Trust me, he is.” Anthony moved closer and squeezed Marguerite’s shoulder, desperate to touch her fine skin and forget Minshom.
“You look particularly lovely tonight, my lady.”