Hopefully, that would be the last time he saw that smile. A trip to the Gaiety Theatre would surely be something Miss Whitmore would not approve of. Nor would she like the fact that he was known to many of the actresses and dancers who appeared on stage.
Yes, seeing him in his own environment would remind her that he was not a man who strolled round art galleries, and certainly not a man who could become so affected by a bunch of brushstrokes on canvas that it left him in a state of awe and wonder.
Then she would go back to snipping and snapping at him, and everyone would be happy.
Chapter Seven
‘Don’t fuss.’ Margaret flicked her head back to stop her mother from once again trying to rearrange the surprisingly springy ringlets Molly had so artfully created.
She knew she was being fractious and was aware that her mother thought she was being helpful, but shewasfractious, and her mother wasnothelping.
Yet again, an exhaustive amount of time had gone into making her as pretty as possible. Molly had got to work on her hair the moment Margaret had announced her evening plans to her parents. Alterations had been made to her pale green silk gown, and Gertrude, along with her strong hands, had been summoned, despite Margaret’s objections.
Given the time and attention that had gone into dressing her, she was starting to feel like an offering who had been prepared for the Duke’s approval.
She closed her eyes and placed her hand on her roiling stomach as an unsettling vision invaded her mind, one where she was a sacrificial virgin, bathed and bedecked with flowers for presentation to a worshipful god.
She shook her head to drive out that unwanted imagery. That was the last thing she wanted to think about if she was to retain a shred of composure tonight.
Margaret stood up and frowned at her mother as if this was all her fault. She was sure she would not be quite so flustered if her mother wasn’t still hovering around her bedchamber, filling the air with her contagious anxious energy.
Her mother smiled, lifting up her hands at the sides of her face, to indicate how Margaret was supposed to comport herself. Margaret’s frown deepened.
Tonight was not about courtship. It was not about impressing the Duke. This visit to the theatre was just another chance for them to be seen together in public. That was all. Many of the people the Duke associated with would frequent art galleries. It made sense that he would escort her to the theatre, where they could present themselves to Society as a respectably engaged couple.
Yes, it was very sensible. She glanced at herself in the full-length looking glass and patted her hair. And hopefully it would also be an enjoyable evening. Margaret loved the theatre but rarely got a chance to attend, neither of her parents having any interest in the performing arts. This evening would merely be a pleasant outing and had nothing to do with sacrificial virgins or Greek gods.
Her hand dropped from her hair and she clenched her fists tightly together to steady her nerves. Why did she have to think of gods and virgins yet again? He was just the Duke of Rosedale, for goodness’ sake. A man who needed a fake engagement to save his lover from the divorce courts. Not a god. Not even close. And sensible women like her did not let men like him affect their equilibrium.
With that firmly in her mind, she pulled on her elbow-length white evening gloves and did up the small pearl buttons, then paused, her fingers toying with the last undone button.
But he was also the man who had gazed atThe Garvagh Madonnaas if it had touched him deeply in the core of his being. No, that was an aberration she thought as she quickly did up that last button and picked up her reticule. Most of the time he was a frivolous, superficial peacock who flirted with every woman he encountered and led a dissolute, completely soulless existence.
Fighting to keep that at the forefront of her mind, she descended the stairs, her mother following behind, still attempting to further fluff out her train, then entered the drawing room.
The Duke stood up and smiled at her, and she was certain that if a statue of a Greek god could smile, this would be exactly how he would look.
‘You look divine,’ he said almost reverentially. Was he gazing at her in that manner for her parents’ sake? Of course he was. Her nerves were already frayed; the last thing she needed was to start thinking the Duke was seeing her as a woman to be admired.
‘Doesn’t she just?’ her mother gushed, once again giving a ringlet a light pull, causing Margaret’s head to flinch backwards. ‘As pretty as a picture. She’s going to make such a beautiful bride and a dazzling Duchess.’
‘I think we should leave now,’ Margaret said before her mother could cause more embarrassment. If that was possible. ‘We should not be late.’
The Duke bowed to her parents and said his goodbyes, but that didn’t stop her mother from following them out into the hallway, still trying to make last-minute adjustments to Margaret’s hair and gown.
‘I believe tonight you won’t be needing Molly as your chaperone,’ her mother said, causing Margaret’s heart to sink. Would her mother be accompanying them?
‘As you’re officially engaged to be married now,’ she continued as a disappointed Molly retreated up the stairs, ‘I believe it will not breach propriety if you go to the theatre unaccompanied.’
Thank goodness for that.
The Duke once again bowed goodbye and to Margaret’s relief they escaped from her fussing mother.
‘I’m so sorry about my mother,’ she said as the carriage drove through the night-time streets.
‘Nothing to be sorry about. Your mother loves you. That is something to be treasured. And isn’t a mother supposed to take pride in her daughter?’
Margaret could have said that he wasn’t the one who’d had to endure several hours of having his hair styled and restyled and undergoing the ordeal of being cinched into a corset so tightly he thought his ribs were going to break, all so that he could make his mother proud. Nobody subjected him to such tortures sohecould look attractive forher. And yet he managed to do exactly that. Dressed in evening attire of black suit, white shirt and tie, with a gold brocade waistcoat, he was the one who looked divine, and it was all so effortlessly achieved.
