“Second chance, second chance,” Lord Faversham parroted with more energy than Margaret had even seen in him. “You hostedher unchaperoned. There is, in that very fact, an impropriety that should not be forgiven.”
“And it is your decision to forgive Margaret or not,” Katherine said, coming to place a hand on Margaret’s shoulder. “But with all due respect, My Lord, arguing back and forth will not help matters... I am grateful beyond words for your visit this morning, Your Grace. As you have suggested, this is a delicate situation and should be treated as such.”
The feeling of her mother’s hand on her, pressing her down into the sofa, made Margaret wary. It was a silent command, begging her to be quiet and let the two men reveal their intentions first. But Margaret had more questions for the duke than her mother was willing to ask.
“What do you intend to do?” Margaret felt her mother’s hand slip away as she rose to her feet. “I mean no disrespect, Your Grace. You have helped tremendously by coming here, but we cannot dispel a scandal simply by forming a united front.”
The duke observed her for a moment, the side of his mouth twitching before he corrected his expression. He angled toward her – away from Baron Faversham and her mother.
“As I said, knowing what little I do of your situation, I called upon you to ensure your safety. That is to say,” he paused, “that this unforeseen complication did not interrupt your betrothal to Lord Faversham.”
A surprised laugh shot out of Margaret before she could thwart it. She clapped a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes, trying to compose herself before she laughed again – or burst into tears. The duke’s gracious half-smile immediately disappeared. And Margaret bet that if she turned around and looked at her mother, Katherine would have been frowning too.
“I am so sorry, Your Grace.” Margaret shook her head. “I do not know what overcame me. It is only... that was so very thoughtful... and entirely to be expected. I suppose Baron Faversham alone may put your concerns for my well-being to rest.”
It occurred to her, in that moment of discomfort, that shewantedthe baron to call off the engagement just to see the duke squirm. That was, after all, why the duke had come: not to set the record straight, but to confirm he wouldn’t be forced to marry Margaret.
“My Lord?” Katherine asked, clearing her throat. “Might you have an answer for His Grace?”
The baron was quiet, staring at the remnants of their breakfast as the room turned to him.
“I will need time to reconsider.” His wrinkled mouth pursed. “I can provide Miss Pembroke with no other assurances today after what has been revealed.”
Katherine stepped forward. “My Lord, are you quite certain?—”
“Do not press me, Lady Pembroke.”
What looked like terror swept over the duke’s features. Margaret glowed with victory – until the implications of Lord Faversham’s reply dawned on her.
Silence descended in the aftermath until Katherine clasped her hands with finality and approached the baron, who grumbled something about wanting to leave.
“Of course, My Lord,” Katherine said to him, fetching his cane from where he had left it. He tore it from her hands. “All will become clear with time. Let us have them ready for your driver...”
She escorted him out, leaving the door ajar behind her, casting a damning look back at Margaret, who had now been left alone with the duke.
He sighed, letting his head hang forward, then began collecting his coat. He had one arm in the garment when Margaret stopped him.
“Not the results you were hoping for?” she asked.
The duke laughed mirthlessly under his breath, then finished dressing.
“What a shame that you will not be rewarded for your most gallant efforts,” Margaret continued, moving over to thebreakfast table to finish clearing away the tableware. “For what it is worth, I was convinced by your arguments, body and soul."
“Only one of which is compromised, despite public opinion,” the duke said, watching her. He shifted his attention to the broadsheet, examining the article. “You should not have laughed, Miss Pembroke. You should have fought for Faversham’s support.”
“I beg your pardon?” Margaret had just finished stacking saucers, pausing as she reached for the teapot. “In Wiltshire, you were very much counseling me against marrying him. Now you are suggesting I fall on my hands and knees and beg to become his bride.”
He fixed her with a dark look, and despite herself, it made Margaret weak at the knees. She grew hot again and resumed her task, reaching over for the butter dish.
“That was before your appearance in the papers. Your family might not survive more tumult. Faversham is a weasel, but thetonhas already recognized you as his bride. It should not be a difficult sale,” the duke murmured, focused on the open broadsheet. “By the looks of things, you are very serviceable...”
She set the butter dish on top of the saucers with force, causing the duke to look up at her as the tableware clattered. She heaved a sigh, jaw clenched.
“I knew it. It was all an act. You are not genuinely concerned for me at all,” she protested, keeping her voice low in case hermother or Baron Faversham returned. She stormed around the table and snatched the newspapers from under him, tidying them up too. “You only came out of interest for yourself.”
The duke glanced heavenward and sank into the nearest armchair, evidently making himself at home. “I would have been a fool not to come.” He pointed at her. “But nothing I said was a lie. I take no joy in seeing you like this, Miss Pembroke. And I do hope, for your own sake, that Baron Faversham remains true to your family.”
Margaret’s back was turned from him, now collecting the dishes on the opposite side of the table. She wondered if he was being purposefully subversive, not saying out loud what they both knew to be true – that in scandals like these, marriage was always the solution.
