“Oh, but they do.” The marchioness nodded enthusiastically. “And I keep having the same one. I told your father about it months ago. I knew something like this would happen.”
Maggie turned to her father for help. “Something likewhat, Papa?”
Her mother sighed again. “Love.”
“What?!” Maggie and Tobias cried together.
Lord Waneborough sighed and sipped his drink. “I was hoping the man in question would be Mr. Lockham. He’s a genius, you know. Or at the very least that young Keats fellow. The poet.”
The marchioness’s head shook as she studied the cards. “Oh, no. He’s at Wentworth Place this fall. He could not make it this year.”
“Ah, well,” the marquess said, “the son of a businessman will have to do, I suppose.” He looked Tobias over from head to foot. “At least he’s aninterestingbusinessman’s son. And a potential patron of the arts.”
Maggie looked agape at both her parents, apparently bereft of words, not an affliction he ever found himself suffering from.
He lifted his brow and bowed his head at Maggie. “Looks like we’re in love, Lady Maggie. Funny. Thought I’d know it when it happened.”
“Oh! Be sensible, will you? These two are not.”
“You’re not likely to get sense out of me, Lady Maggie.”
“I’m not surprised with your frogs that are flies. Hmph.” She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them again. “Now”—she pointed at Tobias—“you, sit.” She pointed to a chair.
He remained standing.
She whirled toward her parents. “Mama, Papa, listen. I know what happened seems compromising.”
“You were on the floor and he was laying atop you.” Lord Waneborough’s features were unreadable, but his fingers flexed on his glass. Oh, ho, ho, the man was not pleased, though he did his best to hide it. Tobias could use that to his advantage. One had to take what advantages came one’s way when dressed in nothing but shirtsleeves during an audience with the parents of the woman he’d accidentally compromised.
“The wardrobe fell,” Lady Maggie said. “Mr. Blake pushed me out of the way.”
Lord Waneborough flicked a quick glance at Tobias. “He’s undressed.”
“Oh, yes, that,” said Lady Maggie. “He was showing me the detailed embroidery on his waistcoat.”
Lady Waneborough giggled. “That’s what the young are calling it these days? In my day—”
“Mama!” Lady Maggie, apparently, lacked historical curiosity.
Tobias leaned forward. “I, for one, would love to know what they calleditduring your day, Lady Waneborough.” He offered her his silkiest smile.
Lady Waneborough sighed.
Lady Maggie scowled at him. “No, you would not.” She closed her eyes again, took another deep breath. “It’s all quite easy to understand. I was looking at the embroidery, the wardrobe almost fell on me, and Mr. Blake saved me. Now, Mama. Now, Papa. Is forcing Mr. Blake to marry me any way to repay him after he saved me?” She smiled sweetly, like she’d spent her entire life smiling sweetly and getting exactly as she asked. She probably had. “And, in addition to that most excellent point, Papa, you’re always saying only the lack of an education can ruin a young lady. Are you not?” Oh, she was a managing little chit, she was.
Tobias crossed his arms over his chest. Was the feeling coursing through him annoyance or admiration? She’d poked her nose into his life and snagged him in parson’s mousetrap. But watching her manage her parents was truly interesting. This one could get things done, she could. He settled on admiration.
Lord Waneborough looked to his wife. “She has a point.”
“Oh, I know, darling. But we’re not forcing her to wed anyone. The universe is. It’s fate, not force.”
Lord Waneborough’s eyebrows knit together. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “I’m not so sure we should leave our daughter’s future up to fate.”
Lady Maggie breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Papa!”
“Oh, Waneborough,” the marchioness whined, “we must. The dreams!”
Maggie looked from father to mother, panic in her increasingly jerky gestures. “If it’s fate, it will just happen!” she blurted out.
