Margaret thought fondly back to her hostess, but it was another memory that rose to the surface, mingling with the rest as she reached for the butter dish.
“I had the most delicious spiced cake while I was there,” she continued. “You would have loved it, Liz. Cinnamon and cardamom, and marzipan on top, so moist it melted in your mouth...” She sighed wistfully as she buttered her bread roll. “I can still taste it.”
“Is Lady Jane allergic to cinnamon?” her mother asked from across the table. She sipped leisurely at her tea, placing her teacup down with a damningclink. The rings on her fingers glistened, heirlooms she had refused to give up when Margarethad started her budgeting. “Yes, I could have sworn she was allergic. I served a spiced tea cake at one of my luncheons years ago and almost killed the woman. Well, that was what Lady Jane claimed – but the worst she seemed to suffer was a tickle in the throat.”
Margaret paused her buttering, suddenly remembering where she had tasted the cake. It had not been at teatime at Lady Jane’s, but for breakfast at Somerstead Hall.
“Oh...” The knife worked the butter slowly as Margaret tried to come up with an excuse. “Well, she is still quite allergic, I believe. But she asked her cook to make the cake especially for me and Helena and did not taste a crumb of it herself.”
The answer appeased Katherine, and Margaret breathed a quiet sigh of relief. She peered up from her plate as she set down her toast, watching Baron Faversham slice into his own breakfast, completely oblivious to the conversation happening around him.
Her mother had invited the baron over that morning to discuss wedding preparations. It had only been a week since Margaret’s return from Wiltshire, but the hope was for them to marry as soon as possible. The first banns would be read that Sunday at St. James’s Church. In the meantime, her mother thought it was important for Margaret to learn to live with the baron – and that included mealtimes.
But the more time that passed, the more convinced Margaret became that the Duke of Langley’s warnings about Lord Faversham had been founded in truth. The baron was a quietman on the surface, looking much older than he was, liver spots decorating his forehead and the naked stretch of scalp between what remained of his hair. His bushy grey brows were always turned down in a scowl, and he might have been tall once, but now walked with a pronounced stoop. As for conversation, there hadn’t been enough to judge. He mostly sat in silence, looking at the floor or reading newspapers, while the Pembroke women tried vainly to animate some sort of interest in him.
Not fit to be someone’s friend,Margaret thought,let alone someone’s husband.
Margaret had seen many handsome older gentlemen at soirees, men who exuded wisdom and kindness, or elegance and grace, who had obviously led happy lives and had much more life to live. Baron Faversham was not like those aged gentlemen in the slightest.
“What do you think of the cheese, My Lord?” Katherine asked him when there was a lull in the conversation, pointing her pinky finger at the cheese platter. “I purchased them in Bloomsbury. There is the most fabulous cheesemaker’s there. A little shop just off the square, owned by a Scotsman, if you can believe it. My husband and I discovered it when Margaret was just a babe, and the place is still going.”
The baron shrugged, wiping his mouth on his napkin. “Run of the mill cheddar and Stilton. What more is there do say?”
“Quite right. It was a silly question, My Lord.” Katherine smiled, her neck bobbing above the ruffled collar of her dress. “Whilewe are on the topic of food, I have ordered a sampler of chocolates from Fortnum and Mason for the wedding, thinking that we might serve chocolate to drink.” She looked over at her daughters. “Should we try some now?”
Eliza’s eyes lit up, and Margaret chuckled at the sight. She was just about to endorse her mother’s plan when the butler arrived with the morning post. Margaret gasped in delight, having been hoping for a letter from her friend Anna, who was currently abroad with her husband. Licking her fingers clean, she leaned forward in anticipation.
Mr. Rathbone had nothing to deliver but the morning papers, leaving Margaret to sink back into her chair in defeat.
“Hand me one of those,” ordered Baron Faversham, wiggling a bony finger at the butler.
Katherine took a paper as well and sped directly to the society sheets. They both began reading quietly. Margaret felt Eliza poke her in the ribs as Mr. Rathbone left.
“What about the chocolate?” Eliza whispered.
“Sadly, I don’t think Mama was speaking seriously,” Margaret whispered back, sipping her tea. “Sometimes people say things just to bridge a silence.”
Eliza glanced at Baron Faversham’s, pushing away her mostly empty plate. “Not everyone. Some people barely say anything at all... He's so boring.”
Margaret choked on her tea. Thankfully, the baron was still distracted.
“You’re right. Some people instead excel at silences.” Margaret wiped her chin. “Some others excel at saying things that will get them into trouble. You needn’t stay if you’re bored, Liz. I can excuse you from the table. Didn’t you want to finish your book today, so we go back to the lending library this afternoon?”
A smile brightened Eliza’s face. She nodded and hopped down from her seat, placing a kiss on Margaret’s cheek before she left the drawing room. Their mother was so absorbed inThe Morning Postthat she didn’t even notice.
Now that Margaret was looking at her, something in Katherine’s expression gave her pause. Usually, Katherine salivated over the scandal sheets. But that morning, her face had blanched an unsightly shade of white. Margaret licked her lips, leaning forward slightly to try to get a look at the paper. What had Katherine read that provoked such a strong reaction from her? Something about Margaret’s father?
A second later, Katherine’s mouth dropped open, and Margaret reeled back. Katherine shook her head slowly back and forth as she tried to comprehend whatever she had read. Visibly panicked, she then looked over at Baron Faversham, who had just turned to the society sheets as well.
A dark sense of foreboding washed over Margaret, her heart thumping against her ribcage to the rhythm of a familiar name.
“Oh, Margaret...” Her mother swallowed, looking over at her. “Is this true? What they have written here about you and... I... I can scarcely believe my eyes.”
Margaret’s hands tightened around the arms of her chair. “What does it say?”
Katherine bared her teeth and shot out of her seat. She shoved the broadsheet in Margaret’s face, pointing at a column in the society pages. Between the engagement announcements and the obituaries was Margaret’s name printed in large bold letters.
Beside it was the Duke of Langley’s.
