“I know you will not let me down.” With that, mama slapped her thighs. “Well then, we have dispensed with the necessary conversation, and I feel so much better. Now, let us return our attention to your wardrobe, as that concerns me most. Stand before me, as I would make a thorough inspection.”
“All right.” Yet, Margaret was anything but all right, as she obeyed her mother’s request. “I do wish to look my best.”
“I believe we should start with a new hairstyle, as your severe chignon does little to emphasize your bone structure, which I believe you inherited from me.” Mama wrinkled her nose and then came alert. “I have just the answer, and I shall dispatch a footman to fetch Monsieur Andre, posthaste.”
“Oh?” Swallowing hard, Margaret stared at her reflection in the long mirror. “What is the urgency?”
“My dear, the situation is most pressing, as you are a bride-to-be and not long for the altar.” Mama pushed from the mattress, strolled to Margaret, and wiped a stray tear from her eyes. “We depart for Derbyshire, in the morning.”
Chapter Two
Derbyshire
Looming in the foyer at Whitstone, Percival studied his reflection in the hall mirror, checked his appearance, and smoothed his signature Howe blond hair. Pacing, he clasped and unclasped his hands, as the footmen assisted the Hogarts, as they descended their traveling coach.
“Percy, stop fidgeting.” Henrietta, his lifelong friend and Ernest’s wife, halted him and adjusted his cravat. “Margaret will adore you.”
“How can you be so sure, when I am a stranger to her?” Of course, that was not entirely true, because he bestowed upon Miss Hogart her first kiss—only she did not know it was him. “What if she does not like me?”
“I dare her to resist you.” Hen giggled and patted his cheek, until Ernest grabbed her from behind and kissed her neck. “Oh—my lord, stop it, as you startled me.”
“Ah, my little bird, but you are too tempting in your unique creation, so I am not to blame if I cannot resist you.” Ernest sobered. “How do you feel? Are you tired? Shall I carry you upstairs?”
“Will you quit worrying, because I am fine?” In play, she swatted at her husband. “Now, behave, and let us greet my guests, else I shall be vexed with you.”
“Mrs. Howe, what a treat.” Beryl Hogart doffed her pelisse and turban, which she handed to the butler. “And I cannot thank you enough for Miranda’s wedding gown, as she remains the talk of the ton, excepting your own remarkable nuptials.” She rested her palm to Henrietta’s increasing belly. “Permit me to congratulate you on the impending addition to your family, and I have a gift for your little one, however prematurely, owing to my affection for you and Lord Ernest.”
“That is not necessary, and I was honored to dress Miranda on her special day.” Henrietta kissed Mrs. Hogart on the cheek and turned to welcome Mr. Hogart. “I am so happy you could join us for our first holiday celebration in our new home.”
“We were most appreciative of the invitation.” Mr. Hogart peered at Percy and initiated the predetermined ruse. “Mr. Howe, we are so glad to see you again.” He stepped aside. “May I present my daughter Margaret.”
That was Percy’s time to shine, yet he fumbled for an elegant response.
“Miss Hogart, it is a pleasure, although I have seen you in the ton’s ballrooms, and I have long considered you one of society’s brightest flowers.” Bloody hell, he was trying too hard. Nervous, he shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. “Must confess it is my hope we might become better acquainted, prior to our wedding, as we share the Christmastide traditions.”
“You are too kind, Mr. Howe.” She curtseyed. “I am surprised you noticed me, given we danced but once, at the Netherton’s masque, years ago.”
“Margaret Clare Hortence, apologize, this instant.” Mr. Hogart bared his teeth. “How dare you speak to Mr. Howe with such insolence.”
“It is all right, John.” Percy evoked first names, to emphasize the friendship between their two families, underscore their intimate connection, and alleviate the tension. “Miss Hogart is correct in her assertion, as I have not partnered her with regularity, but it was not because of a lack of interest.” In that moment, she met his stare, and in her blue eyes he spied so much pain. “It was because I ignorantly presumed she would deny this beggar the privilege of her estimable company. I humbly apologize, Miss Hogart, as I meant no offense.”
“It is I who should apologize, if I portrayed myself in such a manner as to deter much appreciated attendance from one as accomplished as you, Mr. Howe.” Just as she had that night at the Netherton’s masque, she responded to the smallest compliment, and he vowed to extend several more, before the holiday ended. “Given we are to be married, all my dances are perforce yours, but I should grant them to you, exclusively, were the circumstances otherwise.”
“Well said, Miss Hogart.” He snapped his fingers. “And such a prize is deserved of another, which I shall gift you, tomorrow night, as I brought something expressly for you.”
“You did?” She all but bounced with excitement, as she glowed. “What an amazing coincidence, because I brought something for you, too.”
“Then we are of like minds, Miss Hogart.” As he bowed, he brought her hand to his lips, pressed a chaste kiss to the backs of her knuckles, and smiled, as she could not possibly know the truth of that statement. “Now, I imagine you must be tired after your journey, and if you wish to get settled in your accommodation and rest, I shall take a drink with your father.”
“Of course.” She nodded.
“Poor thing, it is dreadful outside.” To the butler, Henrietta said, “Please, show Mrs. Hogart and Miss Hogart to their rooms, and have the cook prepare tea and shortbread, and deliver a tray to each guest.”
“Yes, Mrs. Howe.” The servant bowed. “Mrs. Hogart and Miss Hogart, if you will follow me.”
“And on that note, I believe my exceedingly charming bride and mother-to-be should take her ease.” Ernest wrapped an arm about Henrietta’s waist and pulled her to his side. “Come along, darling.”
“What about Barrington, Florence, and the children?” Henrietta pouted, and Percy almost felt sorry for his cousin, as she wrapped Ernest about her little finger. “Would you have me shirk my duties as your chatelaine?”
“No, because Barrington should not arrive until tomorrow morning.” Ernest’s demeanor took a decidedly decadent turn, and Percy averted his gaze. “I would have you tend your duties as my wife, as they take priority.”
“Uh—what say we have that brandy by the fire, John?” Percy gave Mr. Hogart a pat on the back, and together they strolled down the hall to Ernest’s study.
In silence, Percy shut the door and then walked to the side table, where he lifted a crystal decanter and filled to glasses.
“What have you learned of Ratking?” Hogart unbuttoned his coat and sat. “Have you discovered what became of the money?”
“Not yet, but my man identified at least eleven other investors, all facing similar circumstances, although they refuse to come forward.” At the window, Percy studied the grey sky, as snow dusted the ground in a white blanket. “However, the pattern remains the same. They entrusted the whole of their estates into Ratking’s care, they received naught but verbal assurances to the health of their holdings, and they recently discovered they linger on the brink of insolvency.”
“My god.” Hogart shook his head. “But I cannot criticize them, as I fell for the same swindle, and who could blame me? Ratking gives every appearance of being a successful businessman, given the lifestyle he keeps, and he possesses the right connections, as he is related to a duke, or some such.”
“Well, that is not necessarily true.” Percy recalled his solicitor’s report.
“Which part?” Hogart inquired.
“All of it.” Percy trailed the flight of some poor creature, as it fought the wind. In some ways, that unfortunate bird shared much in common with Ratking’s clients, as neither appeared heade
d for success. “My man engaged the services of an investigator to make a study of Ratking, and we cannot locate any evidence to corroborate the supposed illustrious connections. And then there is the issue of Ratking’s income and how he supports himself. Given his unutterable failure as a financier, I am unable to identify a source of funds.”
“Do you mean to say he could be just anyone?” It struck Percy as the height of absurdity that Mr. Hogart appeared more upset that he was taken by a commoner than the fact that he had lost his fortune. “I was cheated by an ordinary man?”
“Indeed, it would seem so.” As the storm intensified, a tree limb broke and fell to the graveled drive. “I have my man looking into Ratking’s friends and associates, as well as his wife’s relations, because we cannot risk missing even the tiniest bit of information.” Percy glanced over his shoulder. “You made it just in time, as I fear the roads may be impassable by the morning. By the by, does Margaret know anything of our arrangement?”
“We are blessed in that.” Hogart rubbed his chin and shook his head. “And, no. As you requested, I told my wife and daughter that we met to discuss a marriage between our two families and naught more.”
“And they did not doubt you?” As the gale whipped and howled, Percy moved to the hearth. “Because I do not want Margaret to think I accepted her as payment for my services. I would have helped you without a betrothal agreement.”
“Daresay Mrs. Hogart was too overjoyed to doubt your sincerity, as we despaired of ever finding someone to marry Margaret, and my daughter knows her place is not to question her father.” Hogart’s rude assessment of his own offspring grated on Percy. Did no one actually see her? “As we discussed, I apprised them not of the true nature of our business, and our secret is safe. Trust me, I am in no hurry to divulge the state of my finances with Mrs. Hogart, as I fear what it might do to her heart.”
“Then we will stay the course.” Given the speed with which Percy hoped to claim his bride, he required other alterations. “But I would ask that you permit me unfettered audience with Margaret, as we celebrate the holidays, and I would fix a date for the wedding, now.”
“Are you that certain of your path?” Again, Hogart displayed ambivalence, regarding the union. “You hardly know my daughter, not that it matters, but I would not have you regret your actions, as I would still pay you, once my estate is recovered, if it is your preference.”
“Sir, with all due respect, it is not my preference, as Margaret will be my wife. On that, I have your word as a gentleman, and I hold you to it.” Resolute, Percy downed the brandy and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “I would marry her in April, at the start of The Season, as I require her to perform the requisite hostess duties associated with her new station, and I would have her at my side, at the parties and balls that command my attendance.”
“Of course.” Hogart opened his mouth and then closed it. “But my accounts do not support such extravagances, as of yet, and, as the father of the bride, I must shoulder the related expenses. Might you consider an elopement to Gretna Green?”
“Absolutely not.” The mere suggestion gave Percy a wicked shudder. “I envision a fantasy ceremony, the envy of every debutante, with Margaret at the center, and I shall transfer sufficient funds to cover the costs, as she will have only the finest trousseau and gown. I rely on you to get it done, with all expedience, because I am an impatient man where she is concerned.”
“Mr. Howe, at the risk of offending you, might I inquire after the true nature of your acquaintance with my daughter?” Hogart sputtered and blinked. “Given you intend to do the honorable by her, I will not be angry if you have some prior familiarity with her. Is there a reason you are in a rush to the altar?”
“Sir, Miss Howe has behaved as nothing less than a lady, and I claim no prior knowledge of her.” Yes, that was a lie, as even then Percy revisited that sweet kiss in the Netherton’s music room, but that cherished memory belonged to him and his woman. “Suffice it to say that you grossly underestimate Margaret’s worth, but that is not a mistake that I shall ever make.”
Owing to the horrid weather, Lord and Lady Ravenwood dispatched a messenger to explain they could not risk the health and welfare of their two small children, to make the relatively short drive in the heavy snow, to Whitstone. Thus, there were six in the chasmal residence, and Margaret longed to get lost, while mama and Mrs. Howe napped, and the men played billiards.
Skulking along the maze of hallways, Margaret peered into various chambers, until she found what she sought. Glancing left and then right, she checked the vicinity for an interloping footman or maid and sidled into the music room.
Embroidered tapestries covered three walls, while mirrors overlaid the fourth, and a colorful pastoral decorated the ceiling. In pride of place at the center of the elegant space sat a priceless treasure, an ormolu mounted Broadwood grand piano, made of rich mahogany and boasting delicate marquetry in sycamore, satinwood, and fruitwood, and she perched on the bench before the stunning instrument.
At the first touch of the keys, she sighed with pleasure, opened the door to her heart, and let her soul sing through her fingers, because the ivories manifested a world all her own. A place where she existed as the talk of the ballrooms. Where every rake sought her company, and every debutante wanted to be her.
Given her mood, she launched into a sublime rendition of Beethoven’s Fourth Piano Concerto, in G major, and gave herself to the poise and grace of the subtle notes that commenced the piece, and she soared ever higher.
The walls yielded to emerald meadows, pristine skies of pure azure, and colorful blooms in every conceivable color, and in her mind Margaret charged the verge.
Confident in her abilities, and enrapt in the movement, she transitioned swiftly into Bach’s Harpsichord Concerto, in D minor, which sounded entirely different on the piano, and the accompanying vision yielded to an untouched beach, an incoming tide, and a mosaic of moonlight danced on the waves. Then she launched into Haydn’s quick-paced Sonata, in C major, as imaginary couples, garbed in their best formalwear and sparkling gems, twirled about her. Riding a crest of unfettered joy, she completed her impromptu concert with Scarlatti’s Sonata, in A major, as the gentle, fluid melody always calmed her, but by the time she stilled she was breathless.
“What do you play for an encore?”
At Percival’s query, she shrieked. “You should have made your presence known, Mr. Howe.”
“And interrupt your glorious performance?” He clucked his tongue. “Not a chance, Miss Hogart.”
“Why are you here?” Admiring his thick blond hair, patrician features, and broad shoulders, she searched for a diversion, as she had been caught and her ruse uncovered. “What of my father and Lord Ernest?”
“My cousin contrived a pathetic excuse to retire and seduce his wife, and your father reclines in a high back chair, in the billiard room, imperiling the rooftop with his snoring.” With hands behind his back, he neared. “Thus, I sought your company.” He arched a brow. “Must say the country air agrees with your prowess on the piano, as you are a vast deal improved. Perhaps, your mama should schedule your musicales at your summer residence.”
Cursing herself a fool, Margaret rued her careless decision to shelter in the music room, because for years she ruthlessly guarded the extent of her talents, and only one other person, her mysterious knight, knew the truth. Still, all was not necessarily lost.
“You will not tell anyone, will you?” She gulped and uttered a prayer for sympathy. “Because I would not embarrass my sister, given our skills are so disparate, and I am no braggart.”
“How intriguing I find your compassion, given she has never shown such concern for you.” He inclined his head. “In fact, she often takes sport in what others perceive as your deficiencies, and she can be brutal.”
“Please, do not say such things, as we cannot all demonstrate charity.” Although he spoke with unvarnished candor, she refused to besmirch Miranda. “Whatever her pro
clivities, I love my sister, and I am proud of her gregarious nature. Indeed, I envy her ability to converse with anyone, and I wish I possessed half her spirit, given my attempts to mimic her efforts always result in miserable failure and embarrassment.”
“But you do possess her spirit.” Percival stepped even closer. “Can you not see? You stand as her equal and so much more.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” While everything inside Margaret screamed a repudiation of his less than graceful declaration, she desperately wanted to believe him. More important, she needed him to have faith in her, if he was to be her husband. “While I am touched by your assertion, I do not agree. However, I wonder if that is why you wish to marry me? In the interest of honesty, I must warn you against unrealistic expectations.”
“And I feel honor-bound to warn you that you grossly underestimate yourself, but I will never make that mistake.” Atop the piano, he placed a decent-sized parcel. “As for your initial query, suffice it to say that I have never been known to make hasty decisions, and I have long admired you. Given my position in society, and the myriad responsibilities required of my future wife, I hold very high standards, all of which you fulfill, and then some.”
“So you genuinely wish to marry me?” Was it possible? Had her fondest dream come to fruition, just when she gave up hope? “You have not made some sort of bargain or exchange with my father, and you have no need of my dowry? There is naught more to our engagement?”
“My dear, if I may be so bold to address you as such, I state, with a clear conscience, that I neither need nor want your dowry, and I choose you as my bride.” As she held her breath, he scooted the package in her direction. “Now, be a good girl, and open the gift I brought especially for you.”
“You mean this instant?” In confusion, she blinked, as she knew not what to make of him. “I thought we were to offer presents, tomorrow, and I do not have yours with me.”
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