A Masquerade in the Moonlight(96)
“Oh, Lord. I’m doomed,” Mrs. Billings moaned quietly, so that Marguerite prudently took hold of the woman’s elbow, in case she swooned, and quickly suggested they adjourn to the row of chairs at the back of the crowded room where the amateur musicians would soon perform.
“Perhaps we might seek out a glass of lemonade for your chaperone, Miss Balfour?” Lord Laleham suggested a moment later, as if he could read her mind.
“Yes,” she answered, slipping her arm through his so that everyone could see she was with him, that he accepted her. She didn’t care if she were to become a pariah, but being in disgrace would limit her invitations, and she wished to be on the scene to watch each of her victims fall. “I believe that might be best. We can then give dear Billie a few moments alone in which to collect herself.”
“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Billings said, sighing, then reached into her reticule for her vinaigrette.
Together, Marguerite and the earl made one circuit of the long room, greeting mutual acquaintances, Marguerite smiling as if she were truly enjoying herself before adjourning to one of the dozen or so tall, open windows looking out over the gardens that had been thrown wide to catch the evening breezes.
“Sir Gilbert is still shunning society, dear Marguerite?” Laleham inquired as if he truly wished an answer.
“You know my grandfather, William,” Marguerite replied, watching as a young couple strolled down one of the dimly lit paths, their heads pressed together. Will I soon be out there with Donovan? “He would rather visit the tooth drawer than spend an evening listening to amateur musicians sawing away on their instruments. In truth, so would I. Do you suppose Lady Southby is going to sing? She did two weeks ago, at Lord March’s, and I had to pinch the inside of my wrist to keep from jumping up and stuffing my shawl down her gullet. If anyone made such a terrible racket near the home farm at Chertsey the hens would lay square eggs for a fortnight. But enough of that! How are you, William? It has been so long since we’ve spoken. Is your injury quite healed?”
“Descriptions of my injury were quite exaggerated, my dear,” he said, taking her elbow and assisting her in stepping over the low windowsill and out onto the balcony. “I am much recovered, as my presence here tonight proves. But I have learned my lesson. Never turn your back on an American, my dear, for they are not dedicated to any notions of fair play.”
Marguerite longed to slap him. “Are you saying, William,” she asked, careful to keep her tone even, “Mr. Donovan took advantage of your good manners and attacked you unfairly? How utterly expected of the man. I barely know him, but I believe he hasn’t a single scruple.”
Lord Laleham smiled, stepping in front of Marguerite so that she could not advance to one of the stone benches and sit down. “I have always known you were an intelligent young lady, Marguerite, ever since you were little. Do you remember my visits to Chertsey—and your excursions to Laleham Hall? Those were wonderful days, with your parents and I such good, good friends. Why, we were almost a family.”
Marguerite felt a chill sweep across her shoulders and pulled her pale pink shawl closer around her. Why was he doing this to her? Why was he bringing up old memories, old hurts? “My family is all gone now, William, except for Grandfather.”
He took hold of her hands, bringing them to his chest. “You can begin another family, my dearest Marguerite,” he said, his voice low and faintly fevered, his dark eyes boring into her very soul. For the first time in her recollection, he seemed not quite in control of himself. “I am reluctant to embarrass you, but that man Donovan has been bruiting it about that he plans to make you his wife. Yet you have just now told me you dislike him. That’s good, Marguerite. Very good and most reassuring. Your Selkirk lineage is perfect. You are entirely too precious to throw yourself away on just anyone. Why, with the right man at your side, Marguerite, you could become the beloved matriarch of a dynasty.”
Was he suggesting a marriage between the two of them? No. That was impossible. William was twice her age—more! She must have misunderstood. But wait! He seemed overly concerned with her lineage, as if he had already considered a union with the Selkirk family. Had he been the one in the maze? The one who had proposed to her mother? It was possible. Anything was possible. Marguerite opened her mouth, not knowing what she could answer, and then heard herself ask, “A dynasty? Really? As you would have done with Victoria?”
She watched, unable to look away, unable to move, as his skin seemed to tighten over his cheekbones, pushing the blood from his face. “Perhaps you are still laboring under the strain of your recent indisposition, my dear, to have even considered such a possibility. I was Geoffrey’s friend. His very good friend.”