She realised neither man had told her he loved her—perhaps they did not think she was worthy of love. She only provoked lust in the one; and provided amusing companionship to the other. The thought gave her pause: for the first time in her life, she was uncertain of a course to follow.
It was true that Argyle proposed marriage; but, as her father had said, he was aware of the need to acquire an heir, and why not with a woman for whom he felt desire—it did not guarantee his behaviour in years that might stretch endlessly ahead, devoid of affection and joy. She was French enough to make the distinction between desire and love. A loveless marriage, such as many she observed around her—no, she wanted a union like her parents’, full of laughter and complicity.
After her return from Harwick, her parents scolded her for driving alone with the duke—her aunt had told them about it. Lady Lennox said, ‘You must be careful of your reputation,ma chérie.You know how people talk.’
Marguerite felt her cheeks flame. ‘I thought his tiger would be with us,Maman.But it was only a short drive.’
Her father looked at her quizzically. ‘You should have said something. I have not known you to be so reticent before. You refused his offer of marriage without a second thought—I wonder, why drive out with him in the first place? I thought you didn’t like him.’
Marguerite reddened more. ‘Charles was not there and most of the other guests were boring.’
Her parents exchanged a glance. Her mother said, ‘I hear you had anotherprétendant,a most handsome and pleasant young man.’
She forced a smile. ‘Yes, Mr Crampton. He was nice—and very polite. Still, it was a claustrophobic environment. I felt in need of fresh air. And there was no hunting that day.’
Her father raised his eyebrows. ‘Surely some of you could have gone riding in a group. I am disappointed in your aunt. She should have been chaperoning you better—however, I also thought I could trust you to make better decisions. It was most injudicious to drive alone with someone of such high rank, and whom you have already refused.’
Marguerite cast her eyes down. ‘I’m sorry, Papa.’
‘So you should be. I expect better judgement from you in the future. I would not like to think I have been too lax in your upbringing.’
‘No, Papa.’
Her father looked at her shrewdly. ‘Are you regretting your refusal, perhaps?’
Marguerite was at a loss. ‘I…’
Luckily at that moment the butler came to announce an unexpected visitor, and she made good her escape, running up to her room with her face still aflame. She flinched thinking of the look in her parents’ eyes: her father stern and disapproving, her mother disappointed and a little sad.
And had they known of the night in the library…Belatedly it had occurred to her there might be consequences from that night, and she had experienced another bout of panic, but luckily her courses arrived soon after—she breathed a sigh of relief, and pushed the thought away.
Deep down she knew Argyle would have liked consequences, because it would have forced her hand. She kept wondering what it was that had made her give herself to him that night—curiosity, irresistible attraction—or perhaps it had been the need to exorcise him. To satisfy the attraction once, and be done with it. The thought her action might have a different consequence, wedding night complications when she decided to marry someone else—this thought never entered her mind. She was not marrying anyone else—at least for now.
Marguerite felt in need of advice, but it was not easy toconfide in her mother, whose ideas so differed from her own. As for her father, she had often found herself on the verge of asking his opinion, but kept putting it off. He would expect the truth, as he always did—and how could she ever explain the night in the library? And now, after this last conversation, it all seemed more impossible than ever.
* * *
Waiting for a decision to come to her, she distracted herself with frivolous activities: rides in the park, picnics, and balls with her usual group of friends—girls she did not confide in, men who flirted lightly. All these pursuits felt pointless.
She did have one source of satisfaction. Betsy Swinton had received a proposal from the Honourable Kenneth Erroll, second son of a Viscount, who appeared to be as smitten by her kindness and good nature—and her lovely blue eyes—as by her fortune.
Mr Erroll did not fancy either the Army or the Church and thought it unfair that his brother was inheriting everything while he was condemned to be as poor as a church mouse. He loved to hunt and fish and was more than happy to spend his life in Yorkshire, drinking good claret with his father-in-law, with no need of acquiring any other profession. As well as enjoying the charms of a curvaceous and cheerful wife, a portion of whose dowry would go towards repairing the roof of his father’s house, which made his father perfectly reconciled to his son marrying into ‘trade.’
Meanwhile, Sir Robert was reconciled to the lack of a title by seeing his daughter happy—and, after all, his future son-in-law was a scion of the nobility. He was also quite shrewd—Sir Robert was certain he could entice him into his business soon enough. Betsy was radiant and pronounced herself much in love. She thanked Marguerite profusely for all she had done and repeated her invitation to visit; Marguerite was envious, and wished her own life could be as simple.
Charles, returned to town, was friendly as ever. He told her he had missed her but did not go any further. Crampton sent flowers and called in the mornings; she tried to let him down gently andwas ashamed to see the incomprehension and hurt in his eyes. All her friends could see she was distracted and remarked upon it. Distraction turned to frustration. Still, she hoped time would bring her counsel.
Meanwhile, dancing with Charles one evening, she caught a glimpse of Alice who was sitting with her mother on one side, and the look on her face gave her pause. She was gazing at Charles with open adoration. Marguerite was shocked—how could she have been so blind, so self-involved, as not to see it? When the dance ended, she went and sat next to Alice, and said in a low voice, ‘I’m so sorry, dear cousin. I had no idea you liked him so much.’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Alice, laughing a little.
‘Charles. I am talking about Charles. You want him. I will keep away.’
‘Oh, Marguerite, it is not so simple. He has to want me, too. And I think he wants you more.’
‘Nonsense. He only flirts, and even that, lightly. He has never said or done anything more.’
Alice had a glint of hope in her eyes. ‘Really? He looks smitten by you.’
