With a sharp inhale, she returned her attentions to the dining table. Most of the guests from the wedding celebrations had been dismissed after the breakfast, with only Margaret and Alexander’s closest relations staying for the wedding dinner. Only a fraction of those remained at the dining table, with most already retired elsewhere, or in the case of the gentlemen, gone to the games’ room. Margaret’s friends sat to her right, with Helena arguing fiercely with Lucy about a serial they had been reading in the papers.
“Oh, Helena. You’re so tiresome. Not every story needs to end sadly for it to mean something,” Lucy said, scraping angrily at the sides of the dessert cup. “They were destined to be together,and they always knew it. No one would be satisfied with the ending you’re suggesting.”
“How can someone who reads so much be so literarily-challenged? Monsieur Le Moyne only proposed to Amélie because he felt he had to. They both would have been better off going their separate ways. She will never be happy with him.” Helena clicked her tongue against her palate in disapproval. “That cursed writer doesn’t know the first thing about women’s hearts and desires.”
“And obviously neither do you,” Sophia cut in, gracefully finishing her second serving of blancmange. “Not every woman wants to be single forever. For some women, a lifetime of solitude is the most miserable prospect of all. Good on this Amélie, whoever she is, for accepting Le Moyne’s proposal.”
Helena’s expression curdled. “You haven’t even read the story! Le MoynekilledAmélie’s brother, leaving her with no one to depend on. Theirs wasn’t a love match. He married her to absolve himself of his own guilt.”
“Why can’t both things be true?” Lucy asked. “He married Amélie because he felt that was his duty, but then they genuinely fell in love in the end. I may not be the greatest literary critic, but you, Helena, are a cynic, and that’s much worse.”
“Ladies, please.” Lady Jane sighed and took an angry sip of her wine. “I’m developing a megrim, and you are all to blame. This is not conversation suited to the dinner table, especially not at your preferred volume.”
“We’re the only ones here,” Helena protested, glancing down the mostly empty table. “The other women retired to the parlor, and the duke took all the gentlemen to play cards.”
“No, he did not. They withdrew without him,” Margaret said, lifting her head from where it had been resting on her hand. Alexander had excused himself once the meal had come to an end, disappearing in the opposite direction of the games’ room. "I have no idea where he is now.”
“Oh,” Helena said. She paused a moment, and then mischief sparked in her eye. “Well, I’m certain you’ll be reunited soon enough. That’s the way these things go, isn’t it? Are you quite nervous for tonight, Margaret?”
“Helena,” Sophia said through a laugh. “That’s no business of yours... Although we did all note your mutual disappearance earlier, Margaret. Though I shall say nothing more on that subject. Unlike some others, I know not to test the limits of my decorum.”
Margaret blushed, likely giving them the wrong idea. They hadn’t snuck away from a rendezvous – not the second time at least – but to confront Isadore. Lady Jane came to her rescue, sliding Margaret’s wine glass closer toward her.
“You look a little parched, dear.”
“I am perfectly parched, thank you,” Margaret replied, pinching the stem of the wine glass. “But I would be lying if I said todayhad not been exhausting. Was your own wedding day quite so taxing as mine, Lady Jane?”
A smile graced Lady Jane’s face. “Sir Nelson was a dramatic fellow in what little life he lived. So yes, my wedding day was a test, to be certain, and every day before and after.”
“You have spoken so little of him,” Sophia said, leaning forward in interest. “Was Sir Nelson anything like Margaret’s new husband?”
“Heavens, not in the slightest. Not nearly as good-looking, for one. He was an odd fellow, charming in a strange way. He always had a story to tell. To a young, impressionable girl like me, it seemed that he had lived a hundred lives. But he was honest, and honest with me in his affections. We did not have time for love, but perhaps, if he had lived long enough, ours would have been a happy life.”
“Your life is happy,” Helena said. “You have everything you could ever want.”
“Not everything.” Lady Jane pressed her lips together, visibly holding back a thought. “And that is why your debate about Monsieur Whomever and his little French bride is ultimately flawed. You young ladies think only of love, or the absence of love. But there is companionship to consider, too.” She leaned over and brushed a strand of hair behind Margaret’s ear. “I can tell from the way you look at him that you and His Grace will be the happiest of companions. That is what matters above all—that your souls align even when your hearts do not.”
Margaret warmed at Jane’s words. She recalled Alexander’s almost-kiss, nibbling lightly on her bottom lip, and trying not to think too deeply about Helena’s predictions for the night ahead. After what had been revealed that day, she suspected Alexander would want his privacy to think.
She remembered suddenly that she still had Lucy’s handkerchief, tucked beneath her stays all day. She retrieved it and handed it to her with a smile.
“You dropped this when last we saw one another,” Margaret said.
Lucy wiped her mouth and inspected it. “I thought as much. Did you have it with you all day?”
Margaret nodded.
“How wonderful!” Lucy beamed, taking the handkerchief from her and looking down at it lovingly. “Your something blue and your something borrowed came from me. And it’s quite old too.”
“Ah, yes,” Sophia chimed in. “Blue, borrowed, old, and covered in your snot. How very thoughtful, Lucy... But while we are at it, I have something for you, too.”
Sophia reached into her pockets and pulled out a small box with a ribbon. Margaret grinned, eagerly taking the gift and unwrapping it. Inside was a small tesserae brooch picturing twodoves. It glittered prettily in the candlelight. The inscription on the back read ‘Con amore’.
“Don’t thank me, Margaret. It’s a gift from Anna, included in her latest letter to me. She said it could be your something new, direct from France, but I think the inscription is in Italian. She wrote that it has something to do with music? I do not really know. Admittedly, she had planned it as a gift for your wedding to Baron Faversham. But I’m sure she will be relieved to learn you snagged a much better husband instead.”
“I wonder what she will say when she does find out,” Margaret murmured, “when she learns that we are both duchesses now, expected to lead society side by side.”
Sophia tapped her chin. “Probably something in French. She’s been there long enough.”
