“It is. I hope you weren’t expecting anything more.” He frowned. “I am no romantic.” She scoffed. “Neither am I a man of many words.”
“I would have taken a man of common decency.”
“I am that, or I wouldn’t be here at all. Remember that.” He stood taller, making it plain without words that this conversation was over.
Her mind raced with more arguments she wished to make, but all the words died on her tongue. She was baffled they had come to this, that she was to be married, and all because of a torn gown.
I am also to be married to a man whose heart appears to be made of stone.
She thought he would turn away and leave at once, but he seemed to second guess himself and angled back to face her, reaching for her hand.
She was so stunned, she did not pull it out of his reach in time. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back. She supposed it was a way to seal the agreement of a marriage, but yet… his lips lingered.
Distracted, she stared a little too long at those aquamarine eyes and the way his lips molded to her skin. She swallowed nervously as his lips brushed her skin softly and he lowered her hand.
Was it supposed to feel like that?
Her stomach fluttered, as if a hundred moths that lived inside had flapped their wings all at once.
“I shall see you in a week. We will be married by special license next Saturday.” Then he left, departing as quickly as he had arrived.
As the front door shut loudly, Margaret turned to face Louisa who had put down her book, her own jaw slack.
“Have you ever met a more heartless man?” Margaret declared, her wish to button her lip failing at last.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Ilike this one,” Alexandra insisted, waving the rather overly flamboyant material in front of their eyes.
Margaret felt her lips purse together, though she said nothing. She and her sisters were gathered together in the sitting room, making the preparations for the wedding. If the rather short letter the Duke of Thornfield had sent that morning was to be believed, there were just four days left now before the ceremony.
“Alex,” Louisa sighed and took the lacy material out of Alexandra’s hands. “We do not have the money to buy Margaret a whole new dress. We can simply embroider what we already have. Perhaps add a bit of lace to one of her old white gowns.”
“Maybe something like this?” Penelope, sat opposite Margaret, held up a much demurer lace pattern. It would certainly be cheaper to buy samples from the modiste, and they could then sew the patches onto the dress.
“Yes, I like that.” Margaret took the material from her sister’s hand, trying her best to ignore the letter she had discarded beside her.
It hadn’t been moved since it had arrived. Short and to the point, it consisted of just three sentences.
‘To Lady Margaret,
All has been arranged as I have said. Please find enclosed the particulars. Any extra arrangements you wish to make for the ceremony, please inform me of them.
The Duke of Thornfield.’
There was no kindness, not even the slimmest hint of courtesy in the letter. It left Margaret seething, quite determined to put her stamp on the ceremony, no matter how small.
“We can do the flowers ourselves,” Louisa said eagerly. Evidently, she could read Margaret’s foul mood, despite the false cheer and fake smiles Margaret had adopted. “The garden is quite full of fine flowers. Anything we’re missing here, we can take from Evelina’s garden.”
“It is a good plan,” Penelope murmured. “Father is likely to dismiss our gardener any day now. My maid says the gardener hasn’t been paid for the last two months of work.”
They all stilled around the table, not one of them fussing with the material anymore. Such tales reached them often from the tongues of the staff.
“It’s a wonder we have any staff left,” Margaret whispered.
“Well, where you are going, you’ll have more staff.” Louisa attempted a much more buoyant tone.
“You’ll have money, too,” Alexandra whispered giddily. “A duke! Margaret, you will be a duchess.”
