‘You have done that already, by marrying that…that woman with her infernal shop.’
‘If that is all it takes to ruin us, then I fault you for creating such a fragile honour.’
Perhaps he did not have to strike the man. Showing him his faults had caused an expression as shocked as a slap.
It was enough. For now, at least. He bowed. ‘And now, your Grace, I must go. Back to Milsom Street. I suspect they still need help with the cleaning up.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
‘Must we be here?’ Margot stared out over the crowd in the assembly room, who all seemed to be enjoying the last ball of the season more than she was.
Stephen shook his head, smiling. ‘What sort of woman are you, to turn up your nose at balls and dancing? It is positively unfeminine. Next you will be telling me you do not like jewellery.’
‘You know I will not. I am simply tired. I swear, I have worked harder in the last month than I have all year.’
‘Because, as always, you take too much on yourself,’ her husband scolded. ‘You must trust Mr Suggins to do more. And you may always ask me for help. I will put on an apron and work for you.’
She smiled, remembering Stephen’s ineffectual attempts at sweeping the floor on the day that the shop had been destroyed. Until that day, she had not thought a broom a particularly complicated tool. But it was clear that he had never used one in his life. Or perhaps he had only been trying to make her laugh. She kissed him on the cheek. ‘It is enough that you paid for the new glass and the curtains.’
‘And the painters and woodworkers,’ he reminded her.
She shrugged. ‘Since so much work needed to be done, I felt it was time for a few changes to the rest.’
‘I consider it an investment in our shop,’ he said, smiling at her.
‘Our shop,’ she repeated. At times, she still found his change of heart to be rather amazing. But he had returned from talking with his father that day and informed her that the shop was to remain open with the full support of his family. While she suspected that was an exaggeration, she’d had no further visits from the duke.
‘You will rest tomorrow, in the coach to Derbyshire,’ he said, kissing her hand. ‘I know you are not looking forward to the trip. But I assure you, you will enjoy the place, once we have arrived.’
She smiled and nodded. It was plain from his expression, when he spoke of it, that the pleasure of the summer holiday was wearing thin for him. She must learn to be as supportive of his interests as he was of hers.
‘But you say you are tired. Do you wish refreshments?’ He gave a shallow bow to indicate that it was his pleasure to serve her.
‘It would be nice,’ Margot admitted, for the heat from the crush of bodies in the room was oppressive.
‘Stand here and wait for me. I shall return in a moment.’
‘Or I could accompany you,’ she said. The spot he had chosen for her was out of the common path, near a back wall of the assembly room. If she remained there, she would not see a single person of her acquaintance.
‘Wait,’ he insisted.
‘I will be over there, by Louisa.’ She pointed across the room to where her sister-in-law was surrounded by a flock of gentleman eager to procure a last dance before summer ended.
‘Later, there will be time to speak to her,’ Stephen said. ‘For now, you must stay here.’ He pushed her even deeper into the shadow of a potted palm.
‘Are you trying to hide me from view?’ Margot said, hands on hips. ‘Because I cannot think of a reason you would wish me to stay here.’
‘I am trying to surprise you,’ he said with exaggerated impatience. ‘And you are making it damned difficult.’
‘Then I will hide behind the palm tree, just as you wish, Lord Fanworth,’ she said, blowing him a kiss as he walked away.
It took only a moment for her to realise why he had been so particular on her exact location. From the other side of the plant that hid her, a voice called out, ‘Larchmont!’ It was the Duke of Bellston, greeting the other peer in the room.
Another duke, perhaps, but not an equal. The Bellston title was one generation older than Larchmont’s. Despite all the family pride he professed, her husband’s father ranked beneath the younger, and far more pleasant, Bellston.
Although she doubted he would make a scene in front of the other peer, as Larchmont approached Margot shrank even further into her concealment. Stephen had sworn that she never need see the man again. He had also assured her, if they did meet, the duke would behave as a gentleman. And that seemed almost as unlikely as her husband using a broom.
‘Bellston.’ The answering greeting was delivered with the minimum of courtesy. If this was the way Larchmont behaved in public, it explained why her husband was thought rude, when he did not speak.
‘So good to see you this evening,’ Bellston said, sounding positively gleeful. ‘I was just saying to Penny that it has been too long since we’ve seen you.’
‘Yes, dear.’ Her Grace, the duchess, was not nearly so convincing a liar as her husband.
In response, Larchmont said nothing.
‘I trust the waters have helped with your foot,’ Bellston continued.
‘There is nothing the matter with my foot,’ Larchmont announced.
‘Of course not,’ soothed Bellston. ‘So I assume you carry that handsome stick as an ornament. May I examine it?’
Margot put her hand to her mouth to keep from laughing. It had surprised her when Stephen had made this very specific request for a gift for his father. Then he remarked that the old cane had met with an accident. She suspected the accident was similar to the one that had happened to Arthur’s nose.
A moment passed as Larchmont relinquished his cane to the younger man.
‘Do not worry,’ Bellston drawled. ‘I will return it to you, if you feel unsteady. I only wished to see the markings on the head. That is your family crest, set in the mahogany, is it not?’
Larchmont grunted in acknowledgement.
‘And a wolf at the head, pewter or silver?’
‘Silver, of course,’ snapped Larchmont, as if no lesser metal would dare contact his skin.
If he was so sensitive to base metals, it was a good thing he did not know about the lead shot she had hidden at uneven intervals down the length of the wood. Though Stephen had remarked that the old ebony cane handled like a rapier, this new one was fit for nothing more than support. It would prove horribly balanced, should one attempt to wave it about, or strike out with it.
‘Are those rubies for the wolf’s eyes?’ asked the Duchess of Bellston. ‘How very clever. They are set inside the mouth as well. The beast looks quite savage, does it not, Adam?’
‘Ravenous, my dear,’ her husband agreed. ‘Tell me Larchmont, where did you purchase such a marvellous stick?’
‘It was a gift,’ the man admitted, sounding rather like he was going to choke upon this act of kindness.
‘From de Bryun’s, I suppose,’ Bellston said. ‘We buy all our jewellery there, because of the family connection.’
‘Margot is very talented,’ agreed the duchess. ‘She has redone the hideous Bellston ring for me so that I almost enjoy wearing it.’
Almost? Margot shrugged. But it was exceptional praise from the duchess who had simple tastes for such a great lady.
The conversation continued in a similar vein, with the younger couple extolling her talent until she was quite embarrassed to be eavesdropping and Larchmont became frustrated enough to leave.
‘Did you like your surprise?’ Stephen had arrived and was holding a glass of lemonade out to her.
She nodded, taking a sip.
‘I doubt if he will ever admit it aloud, but he is quite enamoured of the cane,’ Stephen said.
‘However can you tell?’ He had not said two words about it, just now.
‘I have seen the care he takes that the crest is visible, when he walks with it. Family pride, you know.’ Stephen looked across the roo
m at the retreating back of his father. ‘And now we must go to your next surprise.’
‘Two in one night,’ she said. Although she was relieved to see that he was leading her in the opposite direction from the one the duke had taken.
They worked their way through the crowd to a quiet terrace at the back where several invalids in Bath chairs were enjoying the music. Seated amongst them, on a low couch, was a pale woman in her middle years. She was obviously beautiful and just as obviously frail. Around her neck were the rubies that had been the cause of Margot’s greatest trouble and her greatest joy as well.
‘Mother.’ Stephen bowed and then bent forward to kiss the woman on both cheeks. ‘May I present my wife?’
Margot swallowed nervously, propelled forward by her husband’s hand at the small of her back.
‘Come closer, my dear.’ The Duchess of Larchmont gestured to her, reaching out to take her hands. ‘Let me look at you.’
Margot had known the moment would come when she would meet her husband’s mother. Despite his assurances that she was very different from Larchmont, she had not known what to expect. Her plan had been to be friendly and polite. But now, face-to-face with the great lady, the best she could manage was an awed curtsy. ‘Your Grace.’
‘She is a rare beauty, Stephen, just as you said,’ the duchess announced, pulling Margot forward to sit on the couch beside her. ‘There is no need to be so formal.’
‘I scarce know how else to be,’ she whispered, for a moment shocked into honesty.
‘You must treat me as you do your own mother,’ the duchess said firmly.
‘I do not have a mother,’ she said, and then corrected herself. ‘At least, I have not had one since I was very small.’
‘How sad,’ said the duchess. Then she smiled. ‘But I understand you honour her by continuing with your family’s work.’
Somehow, Margot doubted that the duke described what she had done in quite that way. But for the duchess, she settled for a simple, ‘Thank you. You are too kind.’
The duchess gave a small nod of her head and touched the necklace at her throat. ‘And I see you are admiring my rubies.’
‘They are magnificent,’ Margot agreed.
‘I was so glad to hear that Stephen had them reset for me.’
For a moment, Margot hovered on the edge of fear. It was rare to see her work after it left the shop. And even stranger to see it in this way.
The duchess touched the necklace again. ‘It is strange to lose something so precious and have it returned looking even lovelier. See how clever the work is on the gold. And Stephen has promised me that I shall meet the designer here tonight.’
Her first impulse was to turn and run. But she felt her husband’s hand at her back, holding her in place. ‘And so you shall, Mother. It is none other than my Margot.’
His mother’s eyebrows raised in surprise. ‘You?’
She could manage nothing more than a small nod of her head.
‘Beautiful and talented,’ the duchess said. ‘When I heard that Stephen had married a shop girl, I did not think that could be right. But to find a lady with such a rare gift? That is entirely a different matter.’
Margot wanted to correct her. When she took on the shop, it was never with the intent of being anything so grandiose as an artist.
But Stephen was speaking and there was no time. ‘Yes. It is. When I first chanced upon her work, I had to know the person that had executed it. You can hardly blame me for losing my head.’
He spoke glibly today, without a sign of the halt that she sometimes heard. But it bothered her to think he would lie so easily and to his own mother.
‘She has a special room at the back of the shop, where she entertains her more prestigious customers,’ he was assuring his mother.
‘So it is hardly like going to a common shop, then,’ his mother agreed. ‘It would be more a meeting of equals. So much nicer than tramping down Bond Street with the rest of London.’ She glanced at Margot. ‘You do have a shop in London, do you not?’
‘Only the one in Bath,’ she said softly.
‘Well, that will not do,’ the duchess said, with a frown. ‘When you are in London for the Season, you must speak to Stephen about finding a property.’
‘What would happen to the shop in Bath?’ she said, not wanting to seem ungrateful.
‘I suppose then you shall have two shops,’ Stephen said, with a smile.
‘Two,’ she repeated, in wonder.
‘And we must convince the Regent to give her a Royal Warrant,’ the duchess continued. ‘I have but to show him the rubies.’
‘And Larchmont’s cane,’ Stephen added. ‘She did that as well. And work for Bellston…’
‘Really.’ His mother gave an impressed nod. ‘Then certainly, she must have a Royal Warrant. You must design a birthday gift for Prinny, my dear. One smile and he will be eating from your hand.’
‘And buying your jewellery,’ Stephen added.
‘Of course,’ she said, barely able to whisper. If she was to be a marchioness making jewellery, then why would it not be fit for a prince? Then she looked from her husband to his mother and back again. ‘But what if he does not think it proper for a woman to be in trade?’
The duchess smiled at her. ‘Then, my dear, we will remind him of Lady Jersey and the Duchess of St Albans. Some of the biggest banks in England are run by women, you know.’ She gestured to Margot to lean closer, so that she might whisper in her ear. ‘That is the problem with men, my dear. They think so small. But we love them, so what can we do?’
Margot looked to her own dear Stephen and smiled. ‘Indeed, your Grace. What can we do but love them?’
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from BOUND BY DUTY by Diane Gaston.
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Chapter One
February 1815—Lincolnshire, England
The winter wind rattled the windowpanes of Summerfield House as Tess Summerfield answered her older sister’s summons.
Come to the morning room immediately, her note said.
More bad news, Tess feared. It seemed lately that the only time Lorene summoned her and their youngest sister, Genna, to that parlour was to hear bad news.
The wind’s wail seemed appropriately foreboding.
The morning room on its best sunny days filled with light, but this day it seemed awash in grey. Lorene stood ominously by the fireplace. Genna sat sulkily in a nearby chair.
‘What is it, Lorene?’ Tess asked.
Lorene had been acting oddly lately, leaving the house on unexplained errands and remaining away for hours.
Their father’s sudden death two months ago had seemed the worst of circumstances, but shortly afterwards they’d also discovered that he’d depleted their dowries before he died. Next, the distant cousin who was to inherit their father’s title and property made it very clear he had no intention of providing for them. After all, everyone believed the scandalous Summerfield sisters were really not Summerfields at all. Rumour always had it that each had been sired by a different lover.
Before their mother ran off with one, that was.
This heir to their father’s baronetcy also made it clear he wished to take possession of the entailed property as soon as possible and that meant the sisters
must vacate the house, their home for all their lives.
What more could happen to them?
‘Please sit,’ Lorene said, her lovely face lined with stress.
Tess exchanged a glance with Genna and sat as instructed.
Lorene paced in front of them. ‘I know we all have been worried over what would become of us—’
Worry was too mild a term. Tess expected they would be split apart, forced to take positions as governesses or lady’s companions, if they should be so lucky as to find such positions, given the family’s reputation.
‘I—I have come upon a solution.’ Lorene sent them each a worried look.
If it was a solution, why did she appear so worried? ‘What is it, Lorene?’
Lorene wrung her hands. ‘I—I discovered a way to restore your dowries. A way to make you eligible again.’
It would take a sizeable dowry to erase the scandal that had dogged them their whole lives. If their mother’s abandonment were not enough, there was also their father’s scandal. Even before their mother left, he’d brought his bastard son home to rear. Of course, Tess and her sisters loved Edmund; he was their brother, after all, even if his presence generated more talk.
‘What nonsense,’ Genna grumbled. ‘Nothing makes us eligible. Our mother had too many lovers. That is why we look nothing alike.’
That was not entirely true. They all had high foreheads and thin faces, even if Lorene was dark-haired with brown eyes, Genna was blue-eyed and blonde, and Tess was somewhere in between, with chestnut hair and hazel eyes.
Like their mother, Tess was told, although she did not remember precisely what her mother looked like.
A thought occurred to her. ‘Lorene, do not say that you found our mother. Is she restoring our dowries?’
Tess had been only nine when their mother left.
Lorene looked surprised. ‘Our mother? No. No. That is not it.’
A Ring From a Marquess Page 21
