by Regina Scott
As she released her stepmother, Mrs. Munroe sighed deeply. “I'm not asking you to be less, Margaret. I am asking you to be more. Why, just once in your life, can you not follow Society's dictates? I am not asking you to commit some heinous crime. Just purport yourself as a lady until the marquis is safely engaged to you."
Margaret frowned. “I do not see that I'm fundamentally different from others. What exactly are you asking of me?"
She was immediately sorry she had sounded conciliatory. “You must stop racing,” Helen declared. “In fact, it might be best if you do not ride at all. Carriage rides are more calmer, and more cozy. Don't you dare take the reins. And you must stop being so effusive when you dance. Sit out a few of the dances and try to move with some moderation when you join in. You mustn't be seen to perspire. And please refrain from waltzing, even if the hostess is brash enough to allow it. Most of all, keep silent about this latest charity of yours, this Comfort House. What a horrible name! If Lady Jersey had not pledged to support it, I would insist that you quit it immediately. I don't care what the Whattlings think of it! You know how embarrassing it is to me. I cannot believe the marquis would countenance it. When you're the Marchioness DeGuis, you can do as you like. I daresay you can build those women a quiet place in the country where no one will have to see them ever again. Until then, you simply cannot afford to say that you know anything about them."
Margaret made a gagging noise and crossed her eyes. Her stepmother gasped at her rudeness. She shook her head in disgust. “Let me see. What you are asking is that I pretend to be someone else entirely; someone quiet, boring, stuffy, priggish; someone just like Lady Janice Willstencraft, who refused him. I'm sure that will endear me to his heart."
"Well,” her stepmother said with a blush, “your regular behavior certainly won't endear you to him."
Margaret shook her head again, this time in determination. “That is where you are wrong. He has seen me dance and claimed to like it. His calls my laugh delightful. He admitted enjoying our race today. I am beginning to think that it is the very fact that I am different that attracts him to me."
Mrs. Munroe pouted, obviously doubtful. Margaret continued on doggedly. “I may not know as much about Society as you do, but I know one thing.” She looked down into the woman's stormy brown eyes. “No man appreciates a dishonest bargain. He will hardly come to cherish a wife he married under false pretenses. And do not ask me to forego all my pleasures simply to marry well. I cannot imagine anything more dismal. No, if the Marquis DeGuis decides to marry me, he will do so because he loves me, just as I am, and no other."
She could see the fire of righteousness in her stepmother's eyes and knew she was in for a fight. Even as she squared her shoulders to do battle, a cough sounded from the doorway. Mrs. Munroe looked past her, and Margaret turned to see Becky. The little brown-haired serving girl dropped into a hasty curtsey.
"Beggin’ yer pardon, mum, but there's a young lady here to see Miss Margaret and she's wearing a closed bonnet."
Margaret could feel her stepmother scowling at her back. “Who would visit without wanting us to know who she is? If this is about your charity, Margaret, you will put her out at once! I told you I would not have one of them showing up here."
"None of the ladies of Comfort House would care to visit, knowing your censure,” Margaret replied with annoyance. “They have been taught their places, far too well. Though why you should be so unfeeling when they are simply trying to put their lives back in order is beyond me. We should commend them, not condemn them. It is only Christian."
"We will speak of this later,” Mrs. Munroe hissed. Raising her voice, she continued to Becky. “Did Margaret's caller give you a card, Becky?"
The maid shook her head but tiptoed into the room and spoke with lowered voice. “No, mum, and she wouldn't give me her name neither."
"You see!” Helen declared accusingly. “Send her away at once."
"No,” Margaret ordered, rising. “If Annie Turner, who manages Comfort House, was forced to come here, something terrible must have happened. I'll see her immediately."
Mrs. Munroe surged to her feet as well. “Then you will see her alone. I refuse to lower myself. I'm going to tell your father about this, Margaret. Perhaps he can make you see the danger.” She started from the room, then looked back with a warning glance. “And you keep that creature out of my withdrawing room!"
Margaret sighed, nodding to the wide-eyed Becky to show the woman in. A moment later, to the whisper of fine silk, her visitor swept into the sitting room. The quality of her sable-trimmed pelisse and matching muff told Margaret immediately that this was not Annie Turner. Even as she was relieved there was no emergency, her curiosity rose. She peered closer, and the woman turned her head to prevent her from seeing into the confines of the tightly shaped bonnet.
"Might we speak privately?” she murmured so low that Margaret could not make out the voice. Annie had told her that some of the women who could have retired to Comfort House made impossibly large sums of money for their work. Perhaps she was about to save the soul of a high-priced courtesan. Swallowing, she motioned Becky from the room and sank onto the sofa. The woman closed the sitting room door then turned, lifting a hand to her bonnet. Margaret leaned forward expectantly. As the silk cage of the bonnet was lifted away, two emerald green eyes glared at her, narrowed and cat-like.
"Lady Janice,” Margaret acknowledged, not knowing whether to be disappointed or surprised.
The lady stalked further into the room, tossing the bonnet disdainfully onto a chair. “Do you have any idea what you're doing?” the dark-haired beauty demanded.
"Perching in my sitting room wondering why you are in disguise,” Margaret quipped.
"As if I want any more gossip,” Lady Janice sneered. “They would all think I came to beg you to return him to me."
Margaret barked out a laugh that only made the woman's scowl deepen. “As I haven't stolen the Marquis DeGuis,” she replied, “I don't see how I can give him back."
"I wouldn't want him if you did,” Lady Janice declared vehemently.
Margaret leaned back on the sofa and eyed her. Lady Janice was two years her junior, but she had been a close friend to Allison and Margaret while Allison had been in town. For the last year, however, Janice had moved in more exalted circles, circles that had no use for an Original like Margaret. It had cut a little to learn how cheaply Janice counted their friendship. Now Margaret wasn't sure whether to claim Janice as a friend, especially since her refusal of Thomas had put them at cross-purposes.
At the moment, Janice did not seem to think of Margaret as a friend either. All of her five-foot, five-inch frame was trembling as if in indignation. She stood with head high and chin raised righteously. She would have been the very picture of a woman scorned if it had not been for the pallor of her face and the red rims of her eyes.
"Me thinks the lady doth protest too much,” Margaret said quietly. “Why don't you sit down and tell me why you're here?"
Lady Janice let out a prodigious sigh and slumped onto a chair across from Margaret. “Oh, Margaret, what a crashing disappointment! I thought I'd found my match at last. He seemed so perfect!"
As Margaret still considered him as close to perfection as any man was capable, she did not argue. However, her curiosity rose again. “What happened to change your mind?"
Lady Janice colored. “That is a private matter. But when I heard he had called on you, I knew I had to warn you. We were friends once, and I would not want to see you hurt. Margaret, do not be taken in by him. He will not make you happy."
"That I can well believe,” Margaret admitted, thinking of her stepmother's advice to behave in a constricted manner to win the marquis’ love. “Much as I admire him, I wonder whether we could possibly suit. We are so different, in temperament, in philosophy."
Lady Janice waved those considerations away with her hand. “I do not doubt you will find him congenial. I am far more demanding than you ar
e, and I was delighted with him."
"So delighted you refused him,” Margaret pointed out, annoyed with her cavalier manner. “Are you certain this isn't a case of sour grapes?"
"Not in the slightest,” Lady Janice replied, green eyes snapping fire. “I fully intended to marry him, until he showed me he was less than a man."
Margaret started, frown returning. “What do you mean?"
Lady Janice hesitated, then shrugged. “I have a test my suitors must pass. A very personal test. He failed, miserably.” She paused again, watching Margaret. As Margaret seldom made any attempt to hide her emotions, she was certain her confusion and curiosity must be written on her face.
"You understand why he so quickly switched his affections?” Lady Janice asked suddenly.
Margaret chuckled. “Certainly. You refused him. His pride was wounded. I was a sympathetic ear."
"I do not doubt he could find any number of sympathetic ears,” Lady Janice replied. “No, Margaret, he is getting desperate."
"Thank you so much for the compliment,” Margaret quipped. “I am finding this conversation less and less interesting. You have braved the dangers of gossip to warn me the marquis is less than perfect. It was nobly done. You will pardon me if I disagree."
Lady Janice surged to her feet. “I knew you would be impossible! Any other young lady would have avoided him at all costs so soon after he had been refused."
"Any other young lady would have leapt at the chance to take your place in his affections,” Margaret corrected her, rising also. “I assure you, I did not leap. I'm sorry to be mulish, Lady Janice, but it appears to me that you came to warn me off because you want him back. If you love him, tell him so. If you don't, you mustn't mind if others decide to be seen with him."
"I came with the best of intentions,” Lady Janice protested, snatching up her bonnet. “As usual, you must play the Original. Learn the lesson to your sorrow.” She crammed the bonnet back onto her head with no regard to her artfully arranged coiffure and finished her speech from its depths. “If you will not believe me, ask your cousin Allison. I advised her to use my test. It is my belief that when she did, she preferred to wed a country nobody to the Marquis DeGuis."
"I will write Allison, if I get the opportunity,” Margaret allowed. Much as she hated to admit it to Lady Janice, her curiosity had not abated. Something had happened to scare the woman off the scent. It remained to be seen whether that something would also frighten Margaret. “You are certain you cannot simply explain this test?"
Lady Janice finished settling the bonnet. “It is personal. And, forgive my bluntness, but you have a reputation of being unable to tell a lie. I should not like it bandied about that I am less than a lady. Which I am not,” she hastily added.
"Very well,” Margaret agreed with a sigh. “But you must understand that, without evidence to the contrary, I must stand fast on my opinion of the marquis."
Lady Janice reached for the door. “You'll have your evidence. You are too passionate to do otherwise. And when you know the truth, you will never agree to wed him. I only hope you find out before it's too late!"
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Seven
Margaret was still on his mind when Thomas took dinner that evening with his sister and aunt. He found himself eyeing his diminutive sister half way up the long, polished mahogany dining table. In her unruffled gown of lavender silk she did not seem the type to frighten her soon-to-be-fiancé Lord Darton as Margaret occasionally frightened Thomas. Of course, Lady Catherine DeGuis lacked most of the attributes that made Margaret Munroe impressive. His sister was barely five feet tall, her hair was a long straight sunny blond, and her figure was willowy. While her eyes were blue, it was a deep, warm color that always made her appear wide-eyed. Her nose was a little snubby thing, and her laugh was a rare and polite little giggle. He could not imagine his fellow peer ever being discomposed in her presence.
His Aunt Agnes at the far end of the table, however, was another story. While she was as small as his sister, and even more fragile at the age of seventy-two, her iron gray hair and gray-blue eyes marked a strength of purpose that was as strong as steel. As a child, he had been intimidated by her sharp voice and piercing gaze. He could never seem to behave properly in her presence; something was always lacking. He was almost immune to her scolds now, although Catherine had yet to learn to tell the woman her commanding advice was not needed.
Tonight was no exception. He had no sooner picked up his damask napkin than his aunt started in at him.
"Have you broken off with that Willstencraft chit?” she demanded before the footmen could start serving the food. “I thought you intended to propose a week ago. What happened?"
Catherine paled, refusing to lift her eyes from the figured bone china in front of her, clearly embarrassed by their aunt's probing.
Thomas took a deep breath. “Lady Janice decided we would not suit,” he replied, signaling to the nearest fellow to serve him from the plate of beef ragout. “I am no longer welcome to call."
"Oh, Thomas,” Catherine murmured kindly as the footmen lay some of the beef on her plate as well. “I'm so sorry."
"Thank you, Catherine,” he replied, smiling at her bowed head. “I assure you, I'll be fine."
"So fine you immediately start in anew,” his aunt interjected with a huff. “What's this I hear about you taking up with the Munroes again? I thought you'd learned your lesson with the younger sister. Must you be abused by the cousin as well?"
He kept a polite smile on his face and waved away the salmon. “Miss Munroe is a welcome change from my previous interactions with the fair sex."
Catherine caught her breath. “Then you are truly courting her?"
"Don't be ridiculous,” Aunt Agnes snapped. “He couldn't be serious."
Thomas found his temper flaring. He set down his fork and scowled at his aunt at the far end of the table. “And if I am? What would be wrong with courting Margaret Munroe?"
He was immediately sorry he had asked, for his aunt was obviously delighted to inform him. “She's an Original! I need not remind you that the term is reserved for those whose foibles are so outstanding as to be a constant source of entertainment to the ton. Is that what you want in a marchioness?"
"I can think of worse things than to be constantly entertained,” he countered. Remembering how much he had enjoyed their race that morning, and the way she had made him enjoy himself even after Lady Janice's refusal, he knew the statement to be more than a loyal defense.
"I doubt you would be entertained for long,” his aunt replied. “Already I've heard the most shocking story about her."
A part of him quailed. After his last attempt at courting, he had begun to hope this time might be different. Certainly the woman was different from anyone he had ever met. Was he now to find that she was totally unsuitable as well?
"What have you heard?” he demanded.
Lady Agnes cast her niece a look of triumph, and Catherine bit her lower lip. Apparently his sister knew the tale as well and didn't think he should be told. His feeling of foreboding increased.
"We were told,” his aunt informed him, “that she was seen racing this very morning in Hyde Park, with a man!"
"Lady Whitworth implied she was racing you,” Catherine put in quietly. “But of course we assured her you would never be so vulgar as to race a woman, nor so foolhardy as to race in the park."
Thomas tried to summon the guilt that should accompany the fact that the ton was gossiping about his foolhardy and vulgar behavior. But, to his surprise, he could not seem to awaken his conscience. The memory still hung bright and joy-filled. The only twinge came from the fact that he had nearly missed the joy because of an attitude very like theirs.
"You need not have demurred,” he told them. “I did race Miss Munroe in the park this morning. As there were few people about, it seemed neither vulgar nor unsafe. I had a marvelous time."
Lady Agnes stared at him, and Cath
erine's already wide eyes were impossibly huge.
"Then, then you intend to continue this connection?” his aunt sputtered.
"Most assuredly,” Thomas replied, spearing a mouthful of the beef. Lady Agnes continued to sputter for a few moments, then launched into an impassioned diatribe about the proper way to conduct a courtship. As she had never married, he found her advice without basis. He let her continue to rail throughout the meal, knowing she would only be happy if she thought she was making her point clear. He was equally happy letting the noise wash over him. Only when he excused himself for his club did Catherine speak again.
"I think it very noble of you, Thomas, to stand up for your true love,” she proclaimed.
Lady Agnes snorted. “True love? True insanity if you ask me. Like should marry like, my boy. You have always prided yourself on a well reasoned response to matters. You may find this wildness attractive now, but it will pale in the long run."
"Only time will tell, Aunt,” he replied, dropping a kiss on his sister's head for her support. Even as he did so, he felt a twinge of guilt. He could not in good conscience say that he was pursuing an interest in Margaret Munroe out of a sudden passionate love. His aunt was probably right when she said it was the novelty that attracted him. Yet he saw no reason why that couldn't lead to a good marriage, in the end.
Catherine looked up at him in surprise, coloring at his gesture. He smiled encouragement and headed for the quiet of White's.
But he was not to be given any peace even in his favorite club. No sooner had he begun his stroll through the card room when he sighted Reginald Pinstin bearing down on him, wide mouth ginning as if they were old friends.