Chapter Nineteen
"I am so sorry, my dear Margaret, I had a particular gentleman all set for you to meet this evening, but something came up and he had to refuse me.” Lady Raeburn pursed her lips in displeasure. “I do so hate being refused.”
Margaret smiled, grateful that Miss Ritson had not followed when Lady Raeburn had taken her for a stroll about the room. “It is no matter, my lady. I will meet anyone you would like me to.”
“Yes, but Marlowe would have been a fine match for you. A bit dull, but quite proper. My niece’s husband knows him well, he recommended him, in fact, and I always trust Kit’s word. I don’t know Lord Marlowe well, but he is pretty to look at, and one must always appreciate that.” Lady Raeburn sighed heavily and shook her bronze turbaned head. “No matter. I suppose someone else will have to do. I hope you are not disappointed.”
“How can I be?” Margaret laughed. “I don’t know him myself, my lady, so it makes no difference on my account.”
Lady Raeburn tsked. “Call me Tibby, Margaret. I insist.”
“I couldn’t.”
“You will.”
“I couldn’t!”
“Margaret, protesting once is demure, twice annoying. I am to be Tibby or nothing else.” She gave Margaret a look so severe she nodded out of fear, swallowing harshly.
The evening was a glorious reprieve from her captivity, and Lady Raeburn… Tibby… had a home that made one weep with envy. The rooms held all of the elegance of the lady herself and just a hint of the eccentricities she bore, all melding together into something that was truly a spectacular sight. She had seen gold trimming on the ceiling, bold splashes of color in nearly every room, and antiquities that could only have come from the Indies and other exotic places. The furniture was clean, classic, and elegant, and so fine it was leaving her with no doubt that the woman in question was wealthier than anybody might have guessed.
What would it be like to live in such splendor?
Each room was alight with dozens of candles, chandeliers twinkling in the light, and everywhere she looked, there were servants with trays of food and drink. People she had only seen in the finer ballrooms of London were milling about, mingling with each other and looking very fine and important. And the house was rapidly filling with more.
And this was a quiet evening?
“I never do anything by halves,” Tibby told Margaret as she patted her hand, reading her thoughts with ease. “It is much more fun to be bold and daring.”
Margaret glanced at the woman, whose entire ensemble directed all attention to her. “I can see that,” she said drily. “I am neither bold nor daring, and I could not manage an evening like this if I tried.”
Tibby gave her a sharp look. “Self-pity? Oh no, my dear, we cannot have that. It would clash horribly with that lavender gown you wear, and you wear it so well, just as I knew you would.”
That drew a grin from Margaret. “Yes, thank you, my lady.”
“Tibby,” she scolded, her lips quirking.
“Tibby,” Margaret corrected with a slight roll of her eyes, which made the other woman laugh. “It is a lovely gown, and suits me and my tastes well.” She looked down at the skirt, then up at Tibby with a wry brow lift. “Are the skirts supposed to be that full?”
Tibby snorted. “Darling, just because it does not cling to you does not make it full. Now…” She glanced about the room, which was filling with people. “…if we are out of sight of that horrid woman, I can introduce you to some more entertaining people.”
Margaret glanced back and could not even see Miss Ritson for the guests between them.
“Don’t worry, my dear,” Tibby said rather smugly. “I’ve asked Lady Darlington to pay special attention to your Miss Ritson this evening. She may be rather cantankerous when you leave, but that will not be your fault.” She smirked and steered Margaret along the outside of the columns in her music room. “Now, I believe you need to meet my niece and her darling husband.”
Marianne Gerrard and her husband were pleasant and warm, and Margaret was adopted by Mrs. Gerrard at once, and introduced to so many people her head was spinning. Mr. Gerrard followed along behind them, seeming disinclined to leave his wife’s side, which was quite touching. She met Mr. Gerrard’s twin brother, who made her and several others laugh easily, and introduced her to several other couples, among whom were Lord and Lady Whitlock, whom she had met before, but was hardly on speaking terms with.
They were all pleasant and refined, and Margaret felt distinctly out of her element. Oh, by all accounts she belonged in this circle, by her fortune and standing, but by her nature, personality, and prospects, this was all too much.
Not that Mrs. Gerrard or Tibby cared, for they continued to tote Margaret along with them, ensuring that she was always surrounded by people, introducing her to scads more, and finding every eligible bachelor in the room to meet her.
Some of them she already knew, and they had not expressed any interest in her at all, but in the company of these women, she was suddenly worthy of attention.
It was quite a bewildering thing.
Eventually, something caught Mrs. Gerrard’s eye, and she tugged Margaret away from a rather nice man whose name she could not recall. “I think I see something more to your interest than worthless suitors who are not truly interested in you or anything you have to say.”
Margaret laughed in surprise. “Is it so obvious?” she asked as Mrs. Gerrard weaved through the people, her majestic blue silk swirling around her feet.
Mrs. Gerrard gave her a pointed look. “Dear Miss Easton, if it requires my interest to make them interested, they are highly unintelligent and not worth your time. You need a man who wants you regardless of what anybody else thinks of you.”
Rafe’s face flashed in Margaret’s mind and she felt her cheeks heat.
Mrs. Gerrard caught the flush and smiled a bit deviously. “Oh my, there is a telltale sign. But I will not ask, much as it might kill me. Do not let Tibby see that, she has less control than I.”
“Noted,” Margaret remarked, raising a cool, gloved hand to her face. “Where did you say we were going?”
She heard a squeal and looked up just in time to see Helen and Rosalind descending on her, hugging and squeezing and rambling on like schoolgirls about everything under the sun.
Mrs. Gerrard chuckled and squeezed Margaret’s arm. “I believe I can leave you to their care, Miss Easton. Rosalind, would you see to it that she meets the Blackmoors? And then the Rivertons, if the Blackmoors are up to it.”
“Of course, Marianne,” Rosalind said, her dark eyes dancing merrily. She looked at Margaret and grinned. “You must have stories to tell. Come on and meet the others so we can go and have a chat.”
Helen and Rosalind took her over where Mrs. Gerrard had indicated, and while Lord Blackmoor scared her to death with his severe expression and solemn reserve, Lady Blackmoor was warm and vivacious, and insisted she be allowed to call upon her the next day. Lady Blackmoor introduced her to Lord Sheffield, who would be Lord Riverton when his father passed, and he expressed his condolences that she already knew his brother, Captain Riverton. She laughed at that, and Captain Riverton, much offended by his brother’s insult, took Margaret away and insisted that there be dancing, which prompted Lily Granger to take up the pianoforte, and soon several others were lined up to dance.
Captain Riverton was charming and entertaining, and Margaret thought she could probably find herself in love with him in another time and place. But she suspected he held a tendre for Rosalind, despite her bristling at him, and was not convinced Rosalind did not feel the same.
When Captain Riverton returned her to Helen, he plucked Rosalind away to dance without even asking, which made Margaret and Helen choke back laughter. Rosalind looked infuriated, but she did not resist him, which was also telling.
“She really ought to just encourage him a little,” Helen said with a fond smile. “He would make her a quite charming husband.”
“You know Rosalind,” Margaret sighed as she watched her friend dance. “She is determined to have her way, and nothing must come easily. And Captain Riverton’s charm irritates her.”
Helen snorted, her eyes twinkling. “Because it works, even on her. She cannot abide the flutterings he produces, and until she succumbs to the very great pleasure of it, she will resist every single one.”
Margaret looked at her cousin in surprise. “When did you become such an expert on men and feelings?”
Helen gave her a sly look. “I have my ways.”
Margaret rolled her eyes, and saw Mr. and Mrs. Gerrard dancing nearby, both of whom had their eyes on her, speaking softly to each other.
“Lord, Margaret,” Helen murmured under her breath. “What did you do to become adopted by everyone of significance in this room?”
Margaret shook her head. “I have no idea. I met Lady Raeburn at Aunt Ada’s and she seems to be my sponsor now.”
“Or your protector,” Helen added darkly, nodding her head towards a portion of the room as she sipped punch.
Margaret looked and saw Miss Ritson staring at her in an unmistakably hostile manner. “Oh lord,” Margaret whispered. “I am going to be in so much trouble.”
“Why? You’ve done nothing but go where you are led.” Helen snorted and tossed her blonde curls, glinting like spun gold in the light of the room. “If she wanted you to be prisoner, she ought to have refused invitation.”
Margaret shook her head, looking down at her new slippers. “I doubt even Ritson has fortitude enough to withstand Lady Raeburn.”
Helen laughed and set aside her cup of punch. “No one has, not even Mama.”
That prompted Margaret to glance up at her cousin, finding her smiling at Tibby fondly and receiving an equally warm look in return. “What is their connection, Helen? I did not know they were so acquainted.”
“They’ve been friends for years,” Helen said, craning her long neck as if looking for someone. “She happened to be visiting Mama when your first note came, and when we didn’t hear more, she took it upon herself to visit Mrs. Campbell on the day when you usually visited.” Helen made a soft tsking noise of disappointment. “You haven’t seen Mr. Pratt this evening, have you?”
Margaret shook her head, chewing her lip a little. “So you know everything, then.”
Helen smirked. “Not everything, Margaret. I still don’t know where you were that day.” Her look became prodding, her eyes teasing.
Margaret looked away quickly, not ready to speak of it, even to her cousin. “It makes no difference now. So long as I know you have received my notes and know…”
Her hand was seized and squeezed hard. “Margaret, come and stay with us. Surely Rickety will allow that.”
Tears formed as she felt a surge of longing. “I don’t think she will allow it,” Margaret managed. “She does not want me out of her sight, and if I have to visit Sir Vincent again…”
Helen’s eyes widened and she snapped her head around to look at Rosalind, who was nearing the end of her dance. Rosalind caught it, said something to Captain Riverton, who looked as well and seemed concerned, and both came to her.
“Margaret, what is it?” Rosalind asked, taking her hand.
She shook her head, exhaling slowly. “Nothing, continue your dancing. Really.”
“It’s over,” Rosalind retorted with a wave of her hand. “And Will trod my toes.”
Captain Riverton gave her a hard look. “I did not.”
Rosalind didn’t even look at him. “Don’t be childish. Margaret, we need to talk.”
Helen cursed under her breath, making Captain Riverton cough a surprised laugh. “Rickety is coming.” She glanced around, then tugged Margaret towards the door, Rosalind trailing behind.
“She’ll follow us,” Margaret warned.
“She can try,” Rosalind said with a smile. “Will is very good at distractions and diversions.”
Helen and Margaret shared a look, avoiding smiles as much as they could.
Once out in the hall, Margaret told them everything of her last week at home, and her prospects for the future.
They were appropriately appalled.
“I am going to tell Papa about this!” Helen snapped, her delicate brows lowered. “He would not tolerate it.”
“Climb out of the window,” Rosalind suggested. “You can use the bedsheets.”
Margaret shook her head. “It’s too far, and I don’t think I could manage it.”
“I think you could.” Rosalind tapped her chin, brow furrowed in thought “What would it take to get you down safely? There is no point in escape if your legs are broken.”
“I am going to insist that Papa invite you to stay!” Helen said again, not hearing them. “Let Rickety try to deny Edmund Dalton his niece’s company!”
Margaret sighed softly. “She’d find a way. You did not see her, Helen. She is completely fixated on controlling me and on my being with Sir Vincent. She was disappointed that he did not get a chance to compromise me.”
Both of her friends shrieked in outrage and began concocting all sorts of plans to break Margaret free of her prison, of preventing her from seeing Sir Vincent again, and various methods of harm to concoct for Miss Ritson. It was entertaining to hear, but Margaret felt a wave of sadness crash over her. No matter what they plotted and tried, nothing would be able to free her from Miss Ritson, or Sir Vincent. Even if she did manage to escape, she could not hide away forever.
Her parents were her only hope.
Her parents… and Rafe.
“Miss Easton,” Captain Riverton said, coming down the hall quickly. “Your chaperone is asking for you. I think she is prepared to make a scene.”
Margaret closed her eyes, suddenly ill. She was going to be forced to leave, and to never go anywhere or do anything again.
“Will, do something!” Rosalind pleaded, sounding more angry than distraught, though her voice was wavering.
“What would you like me to do, Roz?” He gave her a somber look. “I barely managed to escape to warn you all.”
“She’s going to make her wed Sir Vincent Castleton!” Rosalind cried.
“Oh, very discreet, Rosalind,” Helen said with a roll of her eyes. “Excellent with secrets, very impressive.”
Captain Riverton winced and shook his head. “No one in their right mind would pair her with him.”
“Yes, well, apparently one can be a chaperone without being in their right minds,” Helen snapped. “It’s not a prerequisite.”
“Can you pretend an engagement with her?” Rosalind asked Captain Riverton hopefully. “That would take care of things.”
Captain Riverton’s look was pitying. “No, Roz, I can’t. It would harm Miss Easton’s future chances, and it is possible that an actual wedding would be insisted upon, and not even my family’s clout could prevent that.”
“And he can’t marry her in truth because he fancies someone else,” Helen said dismissively.
Both Captain Riverton and Rosalind seemed startled by the statement, and flushed a little.
“I’ll manage,” Margaret murmured softly.
Captain Riverton shook himself and straightened. “I can’t distract her any longer, and making a scene myself wouldn’t help Miss Easton a bit.” He looked at Margaret with an apologetic expression. “I don’t know what else to do, Miss Easton, but I am at your service.”
“I refuse to let you go back to her!” Helen raged, her hands tight fists. “I won’t stand for it!”
“I’ll speak to my brother-in-law,” Rosalind vowed, tears glinting at the corners of her dark eyes. “Granger is a respected man, he won’t tolerate it.”
“And there is a room filled with important people who like you quite a bit, I think,” Captain Riverton reminded her. “You would have no end of help there.”
Margaret smiled wanly. “So many saviors, so little time.” She looked down the hall towards the room, exhaling slowly. “I cannot let anyone fight my battles for me. I will see her, and I will find a way.”
“We’ll go with you,” Rosalind said, taking her arm.
Margaret shook her head and moved out of her hold. “No, you will go and dance with Captain Riverton again. Helen, you will go back to looking for Mr. Pratt or whichever man you seem to be missing this evening. Let me see to my own problems.”
Her friends stared at her in surprise, but Captain Riverton was grinning, a newfound respect in his eyes.
She smiled at them all. “I will manage, I promise. I have let myself be submissive long enough. I know I have you all with me, and that is going to carry me through.”
Helen opened her mouth to reply, but Captain Riverton was quick to interject. “Well, we have our marching orders. Come along, Rosalind, Miss Dalton.” His tone was firm and very authoritative, no doubt from his days with the navy, and there was no denying him.
Helen and Rosalind hugged her quickly, then returned to the party, and Margaret slowly followed, praying she could actually be as strong as she had just pretended for her friends.
Miss Ritson found her quickly, looking murderous. “Where have you been?” she demanded, seizing Margaret’s forearm.
“Miss Dalton required some assistance with her dress, and I gave it,” Margaret lied easily.
Miss Ritson snorted, tugging her towards the door. “This evening is a waste. You are claiming a headache and going home.”
Margaret did not budge. “No, I will not.”
Miss Ritson stopped and slowly turned to look at her, eyes flashing. “Excuse me?”
Margaret raised a brow. “Miss Ritson, you are under the impression that you actually have authority in my life. You are an employee of my family, and are meant to protect my reputation and person, not control me or dictate the manner in which I live my life. I have no qualms about leaving early if that is what I wish to do, but I will not disrespect our hostess by doing so abruptly and without explanation, and I will not allow you to tell me that I must do so.”
If looks could harm a person, Margaret would have died three times over standing there. Miss Ritson was livid, bright splotches of color appearing on her cheeks, and there seemed to be a slight tremor to her frame. “Make your excuses,” Miss Ritson hissed shakily. “Now.”
“Miss Easton, I believe this dance is mine,” said a low voice nearby.
Margaret turned to see Lord Blackmoor and felt her stomach clench in apprehension. She knew she had not promised any dance to any man, let alone him, and his expression was not encouraging.
But he was not looking at her, he was looking at Miss Ritson. His hand was extended to Margaret, but the thunderous expression was all for her chaperone.
It seemed she had made an indelible impression upon the imposing man after all.
“Thank you, my lord,” Margaret began, reaching for his hand.
“Miss Easton must decline, my lord,” Miss Ritson interrupted, taking Margaret’s hand and pulling her away. “She has a fearful headache, and must go home at once. She has a very important outing with her betrothed, Sir Vincent Castleton, in the morning, and must rest for it.”
Margaret gasped, staring at her chaperone in horror.
Miss Ritson never looked at her, but kept her gaze on the viscount.
Lord Blackmoor’s expression somehow darkened and he seemed to be fighting a battle within himself. “Very well, then,” he murmured, causing Margaret’s heart to sink. He turned to her with a slight bow. “If Miss Easton should require anything, I trust she might call upon me for assistance.”
Margaret nodded glumly, knowing she would never do so.
“And you will both forgive me if I do not congratulate Miss Easton on her betrothal, should such a ludicrous connection actually exist,” he went on smoothly, making Margaret jerk her head up to stare at him and Miss Ritson gape openly. “Sir Vincent is a disgusting, infectious plague upon society and human life, and I would not shake hands with him under any circumstances. And knowing my own reputation, you can only imagine how much more the villain I consider him to be. Miss Easton deserves a husband of far, far superior caliber than he.”
He inclined his head to Miss Ritson, then took Margaret’s hand and pressed a polite kiss to her glove, and she might have imagined it, but she thought she saw him wink briefly at her, and then he departed quickly.
Miss Ritson sputtered, knowing that people around them had heard her too loud declaration of Margaret’s supposed engagement, and then Lord Blackmoor’s response.
Margaret took the opportunity to thank Tibby for her invitation, and informed her that Miss Ritson had a fearful headache, and Margaret was going to see her home.
Tibby did not believe her for a second, but promised to call upon her soon.
Helen and Rosalind were deep in conversation with Mrs. Gerrard as Margaret left, but all three waved at her, looking worried.
Margaret was worried herself.
Gossip carried like a tide in London, and an engagement rumor carried like nothing else. She would need a miracle now, no matter how many allies she had gained this evening. Even they could not stave off ruination and consequences of them.
When they returned to the house, Miss Ritson hauled Margaret upstairs with surprising strength and forced her into her room. “You are remaining in here for the entire day tomorrow,” she informed her. “I will be writing to Sir Vincent, and he is the only person you will be permitted to see.”
Margaret raised her chin defiantly. “You can’t forbid everyone else.”
Miss Ritson snorted. “Watch me.”
“You can’t make me marry him,” Margaret snarled, teeth grinding. “I won’t do it.”
A light of satisfaction game into her chaperone’s beady eyes. “Yes, I can. And yes, you will.”
She slammed the door, locked it, and barked some orders at the guard at the door that Margaret couldn’t make out.
She raced to the window and wrenched it open, looking down the side of the building. Could she get out? Could she escape? She dashed to her bed and pulled off the blankets and coverlet, stripping the bed completely of sheets and all coverings. She tied the ends together and went back to the window.
There below, directly in her path, was another one of Ritson’s new footmen, staring up and watching her, arms folded across his chest.
Margaret stared back at him for a long moment, then exhaled heavily and turned back into her room, dropping the makeshift rope onto the ground and then curling up against it, corset and new gown and all.
What was she going to do now?