“With a man I’ve never met?”
“Anthony Sokorvsky is the second son of the Marquis of Stratham and a frequent guest at the pleasure house. He is perfectly respectable.”
“And his presence at the pleasure house is supposed to recommend him to me?”
“Your husband visited Maman’s establishment, and you liked him well enough.”
Marguerite forced herself to ignore that unwelcome reminder and concentrate on the problem at hand. “And why would this Anthony Sokorvsky agree to escort me anyway? Is there something wrong with him?”
“Of course not. Like most young men, he is merely trying to avoid the matchmaking mothers. If he seems to be devoted to you, he hopes they will leave him alone.”
Marguerite stared hard at Christian, aware that he wasn’t quite telling her the truth, but as usual with her wily brother, she was unable to decipher exactly which part was the lie. She crossed her arms over her chest and sat back.
“I still don’t want to go out.”
“Marguerite . . .”
She scowled at them both. “I don’t have to do anything you tell me to.” Now she sounded like they were back in the nursery. “I’m an independent woman.”
“Who never has any fun.”
“I’ll leave that to you two.”
Lisette smiled and reached across to pat Marguerite’s knee. “We just want you to be happy. Will you at least agree to meet him? If you hate him, I promise we’ll stop bothering you.”
Marguerite shrugged off Lisette’s gentle touch. “All right, I’ll meet him if it means you two will stop nagging me.”
“Absolutely.” Christian bowed and turned to help Lisette up. “We’ll bring him for tea today at four.”
Marguerite watched the twins leave, their satisfaction evident on their smiling faces. Silence descended over the house as the front door shut and she was alone again. She smoothed the folds of her lavender gown. Perhaps they were right. Perhaps it was time for her to stop hiding.
With an abrupt movement, she left the drawing room and hurried up the stairs to her bedroom. The miniature of Justin that his mother had reluctantly given her sat on a table beside her four-poster bed. She sat on the quilted cover and picked up the gold frame, scrutinized his ordinary features, the smile in his brown eyes and the subtle curve of his mouth. She touched the cold glass with a fingertip and then set the miniature on the pillow.
It was becoming harder to remember what Justin had really been like. His warmth, his beauty, the feel of him naked in her arms, moving over her, inside her. Marguerite shuddered as she contemplated her perfectly made bed. So cold now, so lonely after experiencing a man’s love.
Maman had tactfully suggested Marguerite take advantage of the joys offered at the pleasure house. At first, she hadn’t been able to bear the thought of another man touching her or even watching anyone else enjoy what she could not. Now . . . she felt as empty as a dried-up lake. She stared at the frozen image of her husband. Would Justin understand that? Would he want her to be happy again?
She snatched up the portrait and kissed it, then she laughed at her own stupidity. Perhaps she was a little bored, but there was no need for such anxiety yet. She’d only agreed to meet Lord Anthony Sokorvsky, not go to bed with him. In a swirl of petticoats, she got up and hurried to find her bonnet and pelisse.
A long-overdue visit to her mama-in-law would remind her of where her true loyalties lay and seemed an excellent way to fill the time before she had to return for tea.
“Marguerite, my dear, do sit down.”
To Marguerite’s surprise, Lady Lockwood almost looked pleased to see her. She’d expected a scolding, or at least a show of indifference because of her recent neglect. She settled herself into a chair opposite her mama-in-law and mentally reviewed a list of excuses as to why she hadn’t bothered to come and visit.
If she were honest, she’d admit that Lady Lockwood had never made her welcome, had, in truth, tried to deny that her marriage to Justin was legal. If it hadn’t been for Maman and her powerful friends, Marguerite wouldn’t have received even the reluctant recognition she had achieved or the financial compensation necessary to live like the widow of a wealthy husband.
“Have you come to celebrate with us?”
Marguerite smiled automatically as Lady Lockwood handed her a cup of tea. “Celebrate what?”
Color flooded Lady Lockwood’s cheeks. “Oh, I do apologize. I thought you must have heard the news about Charles and Amelia.”
“Your son, Charles?”
“Indeed.” Lady Lockwood smiled even more brilliantly. “He and Amelia are expecting a child!”
Even as her stomach tightened, Marguerite schooled her features into an expression of delight. “That is wonderful news. You will have your first grandchild.”
As Lady Lockwood continued to chatter, Marguerite struggled with a series of emotions she hadn’t expected. Justin had been the oldest son, the one expected to inherit the title, to provide the heir, to take on the family responsibilities. And as his wife, those responsibilities would’ve been hers as well.
Did she want a child? Was she jealous? It seemed that she was. As she continued to listen to Lady Lockwood, Marguerite realized that not only was she losing sight of Justin, but that it seemed his family was as well. His younger brother would succeed to all his titles, give his parents their first grandchild and slowly but surely eclipse Justin until he was just a memory.
And it was all her fault.
After the obligatory twenty minutes, Marguerite stood up, kissed Lady Lockwood on the cheek and headed slowly down the wide staircase. Now she understood why her mama-in-law had treated her so kindly. She had become as unnecessary as her deceased husband, with no further part to play in the Lockwood dynastic ambitions. With a child on the way, it seemed that even the old resentments could be let go.
As she emerged from the grand mansion, a light drizzle caught at her face and made her blink. Did that make her obligation to remember and honor Justin less valid? No, she would never forget him. But perhaps it gave her the opportunity to move on without the oppressive weight of the Lockwood family’s ruined expectations on her shoulders.
She nodded to the driver and stepped into the cab. Maybe her meeting with Lord Anthony Sokorvsky would be more interesting than she’d thought.
By the time the dainty clock on her mantelpiece chimed four times, Marguerite’s nerves had not only returned but multiplied. Why exactly had she let the twins tell her what to do again? She couldn’t understand it. Somehow they seemed to undermine her defenses without even trying. She smoothed down the silk skirts of her favorite blue dress and walked back to the window.
A carriage had appeared outside. She recognized Christian’s fair head as he removed his hat and stepped through the front door. Another unknown man followed him in. Mon Dieu. What on earth was she doing even contemplating going out into society again? She hurried to sit by the fire and picked up her embroidery.
The twins entered without ceremony, followed by a tall man fashionably attired in a chestnut brown coat, black breeches and shining top boots. His cravat was neither too modish nor too plain; his black hair was short and showed a tendency to curl at the ends.
“Good afternoon, Marguerite. Are you embroidering? I thought you hated sewing.” Lisette gestured at the man beside her. “Look, we’ve brought him!”
Lisette’s playful remark made Marguerite wince. She stuffed her embroidery down the side of her chair and looked up into the dark blue eyes of Lord Anthony Sokorvsky. She realized he was as embarrassed as she was. With a slight frown at Lisette, she got to her feet and held out her hand.
“Good afternoon, my lord.”
He bowed, brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.