Margaret silently took the chair between Isadore and Alexander, nodding as a maid came forward to pour her drink. The scents of black tea, orange, and cream wafted into her face. Wiltshire's morning fog was a sea of white beyond the windows, clinging to the far corners of the garden.
“It’s a terrible morning for a walk,” Isadore said, setting down her knife. She tore her roll to pieces. “But that’s where Mr. Hawthorne has gone, if you were wondering, Your Grace.”
“I was wondering, yes.” Margaret eyed the breakfast buffet nervously. Pastries, eggs, and cheese, some now-cold kedgeree for Carlisle, yet she couldn’t rouse her appetite. “And Lord Somerton is absent too."
“He knew I would be down early,” Alexander explained, not looking up from the paper. “I have an errand this morning in town.”
Margaret sighed quietly. The feud between Alexander and Carlisle was growing worse by the day. They refused to be in the same room with one another except at dinnertime, where Carlisle would talk to Margaret all evening just to avoid having to address Alexander. For a newly married couple, they had barely spent a moment alone since their arrival. And with the way things were going, it seemed unlikely that would change. Perhaps theirswasgoing to be a marriage of convenience.
“Which is somehow highly inconvenient,” she said under her breath.
“What was that?” Isadore asked.
Margaret started, filling her mouth with a bite of toast so she didn’t have to answer.
Isadore provided her with some conversation while she finished her meal, eventually rising from the table and excusing herself, saying she needed to prepare herself for the day ahead. Margaret watched as she left, both relieved and terrified that it was just her and Alexander for once—and the ever-watchful maids.
“Miss Bell seemed fully prepared to me,” Margaret said. “What plans was she speaking of?”
“I offered to bring Isadore into town with me,” Alexander explained, folding his newspaper and setting it aside. He called for more coffee. “She is growing restless here at the manor and asked for a change of scenery.”
“Oh.” Margaret’s toast tasted suddenly bitter, and she set it down on her empty plate. “You are calling her Isadore now?”
“I found the formalities draining.”
“I see...” She wiped her fingers, correcting the furrow that formed in her brow. “I might have liked a trip into town too, you know.”
Her husband paused mid-sip of coffee. “Mrs. Howard said you were meeting with the head gardener today to discuss thesummer renovations. I would have asked you to accompany us if I had known that was not the case.”
“We are meeting later this afternoon.” Though her desire to discuss roses was dwindling by the second. “But for the rest of the day, I will be alone.”
“I cannot say we will be returned in time for you to meet your appointment.” He stiffened, having decidedly given up on his coffee. He turned to excuse the maids, and they left silently, closing the door behind them. “Is more the matter than me failing to invite you into Salisbury?”
“I do not know what you mean,” she lied.
Alexander raised a brow. “You have hardly eaten—and not just this morning either. Something has changed in you, Margaret. I would like to know what.”
Margaret stared into her plate. Her abandoned corner of toast looked pitifully up at her. She tried to summon a sarcastic reply, something that would divert him. This was hardly the time to discuss the letter.
“It’s nothing. I suppose?—”
“If you say that you are tired, I will not believe you again.”
“But Iamtired...” She swiped up her teacup, taking an angry sip. “I have spent the last two weeks acting as a middleman—middle-woman—between you and Carlisle. And quite frankly, I am exhausted. And when Carlisle is not here, you and I have not... We have not...”
There were many things theydid not have. Margaret knew better than to discuss such things at the breakfast table. She pushed her plate away, feeling suddenly homesick for Katherine and Eliza, knowing they would have to meet soon anyway, if her father’s letter held any truth.
“You cannot blame a woman for feeling a little lonely in this large, solitary place.” The words struck closer to home than she expected. “Either way, you needn’t worry about me. I will find my own entertainment today. It’s important that I learn to amuse myself. And that failing, I’m certain Helena or Lady Jane will accept a visit from me while you show Isadore the wonders of Salisbury.”
It took all her courage to look up at Alexander. His face was set in stone. He did not believe her.
The ticking clock on the mantle seemed to grow louder until finally Alexander stood and crossed to her side of the table. She braced herself, unsure what he planned. He settled gently in a free space on the table, pushing her plate back toward her.
Margaret was flustered for an entirely different reason now, ashamed by the tenderness in his demeanor. She didn’t deserve kindness from him, not when she was lying to him, deflecting from what was really gnawing away at her.
“It has never been my intention to make you feel lonely,” he said. “But I cannot resolve what I do not understand. Would you prefer it if we called your family here to Wiltshire?”
“What?” Margaret met his gaze, heart fluttering against her ribs. “I could never ask that of you.”
