Page 41 of The Tartan Trap

Unfortunately, this left Margaret to the tender care of her contemporaries, one of whom was Daisy Knope.

Margaret was exploring the garden paths, gravel crunching beneath her feet, when it happened. Daisy and her friend Millicent rounded the corner. Each of them wore pastel dresses and bows at the ends of their perfect plaits.

Margaret had started out the same, but she’d already tripped and caked her stockinged knees in dirt, and one of her blonde braids had come undone. Margaret had done her best to retie the two plaits together with the remaining ribbon.

Margaret took a deep breath, steeling herself. Daisy’s and Millicent’s eyes latched onto her as if they’d been looking for her.

“Your dress is very pretty, Margaret,” Daisy said.

Though Daisy said such with a rather pinched expression, Margaret still felt the full force of a compliment from a girl who had only sneered at her previously.

“Yes,” Millicent agreed, “it’s very nice.”

In retrospect, the compliments should have been Margaret’s first clue that something was gravely amiss, but she reacted like a sun-choked plant under its first spring rain. She drank the attention greedily, heedless of the source.

Margaret gave a wide smile, pushing an errant strand of blonde hair out of her face. “Thank you. I like yours as well.”

It was then that Daisy’s younger brother John joined their grouping. Daisy gave him a meaningful glance, one that Margaret would replay in her mind for years to come. John turned to Margaret, though he wouldn’t meet her eyes for more than half a second.

“Would you like to walk with me in the gardens?” he asked, rather begrudgingly.

Margaret blinked her surprise and awkwardly barked her assent. She had never been asked to walk with a boy before, though of course she had heard of such things from her elder sisters.

Later, she would lament the foolish pride that had her thinking how delightful it would be to inform Claire and Lily that John Knope had spoken to her alone. But in the moment, Margaret was only overcome with the joyous rapture of being singled out in such a way. They walked down the gravel pathway in the garden that led to some sort of greenhouse, or so she thought. In the end, they never made it to their destination.

John paid her several clumsy compliments that had Margaret blushing furiously. Then abruptly, he turned, leaned forward, and kissed her.

John’s breath smelled of the egg salad sandwiches that the Montroses had been serving. Margaret’s nose wrinkled, but her heart galloped. She had heard rumors of such a thing.

Those stories had been whispered and giggled about, as if kissing was the most wonderful thing in the world. Margaret was disappointed to find out that the effect of it had been largely exaggerated. It was much like her first experience eating meringue—the anticipation had far outstripped the reality.

As the kiss drew on, Margaret thought she would much prefer the chalky, spongy feel of meringue in her mouth, rather than John’s lips upon hers. She drew back with a grimace, convinced that the thing must be well over by then. Surely a kiss didn’t have to last quite so long, did it?

But even though she found the kiss distasteful, something in her heart soared, for she had never had a boy pay any sort of attention to her, and she knew his attention set her apart from both her peers and her sisters.

Margaret felt a private sort of satisfaction. Here: finally, something interesting had happened to her. She was no longer the one left behind, no longer the one only pretending to understand such things. She could join in the conversation. She finally belonged.

Yet, just as those comforting feelings settled in her midsection, just as she smiled shyly up at John and wondered why he wasn’t smiling back and whether she had kissed him all wrong or not kissed him long enough, that was precisely when Daisy and Millicent burst from the bushes.

Daisy wore a victorious expression, her eyes blazing, her lips peeled back in a vicious laugh. Millicent was also smiling, but there was something like hesitancy about her eyes.

Daisy snarled, “Don’t think I haven’t seen how you’ve looked at him. As if the heir to my father’s title would ever look at you in such a way!”

Margaret frowned, for she had never looked at John in any different way than she had looked at Daisy herself.

“Tell her, John!” Daisy crowed. “Tell her how fat and ugly she is!”

John just stared at the ground and shook his head, his jaw clenched.

Margaret’s breath came faster and faster, in silent, heaving sobs. Then she’d turned and ran, her eyes blinded by tears. Daisy chased after her and pelted her with handfuls of gravel until she tripped and fell and Margaret managed to escape.

Now, Margaret sat up with a start in bed, sweat beading along her forehead. A sliver of moonlight speared through the crack in the curtains, bisecting her bedroom rug neatly down the center. The low glow of the grate was the only other light. But for the first time since the duke had entered her parlor, Margaret thought she saw things clearly.

Why, this was all a ruse, just like what happened with John all those years ago.

The pieces certainly fit. Margaret had seen Daisy and the duke together. Then, out of the blue, he had paid her pointed attention—attention which could not be explained by anything else.

The only thing Margaret could not figure was how Daisy had become acquainted with the duke in the first place, and how she’d convinced him to do such a terrible thing to Margaret. But then, elegant, wealthy men were often looking for new sorts of amusements, things past horse racing and gambling.