And while she was on the Continent she would avoid all English newspapers, so she never, ever had to read about what the Duke of Rosedale was up to or who his latest lover was or think about how he’d make that woman feel as if she was the most beautiful, desirable woman in the world.
She finished her brandy and reached out to refill her glass.
‘Do be careful, Maggie, dearest,’ Primrose said. ‘Lady Penelope developed quite a taste for the brandy even after her nerves had settled and we had to separate her from the other donkeys as her braying was keeping them up all night.’
Despite her misery, Margaret gave a small snort of laughter at her sweet, innocent friend’s warning. ‘I’m sure one more glass won’t hurt.’ She picked up the brandy bottle, then decided that perhaps her friend was correct.
‘I’m sorry for braying on about Jacob.’
‘No, no,’ Primrose said, her face contorted with worry. ‘I didn’t mean that. You’re nothing like Lady Penelope.’
Margaret smiled dolefully at her friend’s attempt to comfort her. ‘Well, I do feel like a bit of an ass.’
‘Unfortunately, love can make asses of us all,’ Alice said, once again rubbing her back. ‘It can make even the most sensible women forget themselves and fall prey to emotions they’d thought themselves immune to.’
Margaret released a loud, sad sigh. ‘That is so true. But fortunately, Baroness Winterborne saved me from making even more of an ass of myself and made me see things clearly. I now know what I have to do. You’re right, Alice, I do need to tell him how I feel.’
‘Good for you, Maggie. Honesty is always the best policy.’
‘I’ll make it completely clear to him that from now onwards we are to live separate lives. We will both begin our new lives, or go back to our old lives, or…well, a combination of the two, or our old lives, but in a new way or something…but whatever we do, we will live apart.’
Primrose and Alice looked at her with matching expressions of concern, as if she was making as much sense as Lady Penelope after a few brandies. But it mattered not what they thought. She had made up her mind.
Chapter Twenty-One
Jacob should not be feeling surprised. It had happened sooner than he’d expected, and certainly sooner than he had hoped, but it was over. Margaret had seen him back in his old environment. She had come to her senses and realised there was no future with a man such as he. All this proved was what an intelligent, sensible woman he had married.
He looked around the room. Even at this wedding his friends’ behaviour was leaning towards the riotous and he suspected it would not be long before they were encouraged to leave and continue their carousing elsewhere.
Jacob would join them. Margaret had made it clear that was what she assumed he would do, so he would not disappoint and would live up to—or should that be down to?—his deserved reputation.
He just wished he had more enthusiasm for what was starting to seem like an empty, pointless way of filling in time.
He took another glass of champagne from the tray of a passing footman, hoping that would help him get in the mood as he watched Penvale, Fenshaw and Pettigrew begin one of their inevitable drinking games.
Fenshaw spotted him watching their antics and called out something indecipherable, which Jacob chose not to answer. But that didn’t stop him from staggering across the room and slapping an arm around Jacob’s shoulder.
‘Now that this do is coming to an end, we’re planning to go on to a party at Marlborough House. Henry can’t join us tonight, obviously, the poor blighter, but now that you’ve got rid of the old ball and chain there’s nothing to stop you.’
Fenshaw leant in closer, breathing alcohol fumes over Jacob. ‘Quite a number of pretty chorus girls have been asking when Dukie Rosedale will be returning, so you can spend the night making up for lost time.’
Jacob shrugged off Fenshaw’s arm and leant backwards to escape his breath. ‘I’m not in the mood for partying, or for chorus girls.’
‘Suit yourself, but you’ll be missing out on a good time.’
Jacob expected him to depart, but he stood beside him, swaying like a sailor who was yet to find his sea legs.
‘Baroness!’ Fenshaw called out, catching Helena’s attention, and signalling rapidly with wildly flailing hands for her to join them.
Jacob’s body tensed. He wanted the company of his ex-lover even less than that of a chorus girl. He would hate it if Margaret saw them together, in case it gave her cause to doubt his fidelity. Then reality hit him once again. She was gone. What did it matter now? He had been given permission to be as unfaithful as he wanted, even though he had no wish to be so.
‘Jacob says he doesn’t want to come to the Prince of Wales’s party. You should be able to convince him that after being stuck out in the countryside for simply ages, what he needs is a bit of fun.’
‘I believe he is having lots of fun,’ Helena said. ‘Now, go away and play with your friends,’ she added, shooing Fenshaw with flapping hands as if he were an annoying animal which had entered the wrong garden.
Thankfully, he staggered off to join his friends, who were now under the watchful eyes of some rather tall and stern-looking footmen.
‘Thank you for that, Helena.’
