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“You shouldn’t let Lady Strangeways intimidate you,” she whispered.
“I don’t. I try not to.” Margaret was surprised by how coherent her mother sounded.
“She may be a lady now, but she began life as a maidservant in Lord Strangeways’ house in Yorkshire.” Mrs Willoughby put a finger to her lips, as if this was a secret. “Once they were married, they came here to escape the gossip. Your father has forgotten the truth, or prefers not to remember. Over the years, Lady Strangeways has become more and more like those who once looked down on her.”
Margaret hadn’t known that story, and although it was a surprise, it also explained the woman’s bitter tongue and difficult personality. But more of a surprise was how intelligible her mother was today. “You remember that?” she asked curiously.
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“It’s just … some days you don’t remember.”
Whatever her mother would have said was interrupted by the vicar, who had noticed their lack of attention and sent them a ferocious glare. Mrs Willoughby gave a little giggle, as if she’d reverted to girlhood, and Margaret couldn’t help her own lips twitching. After that they remained silent for the rest of the sermon.
Dominic stayed awake during Mr Willoughby’s sermon, but only just. It was so tedious he was surprised to see so many people were present. He’d felt Sibylla’s sharp elbow in his ribs more than once, whenever his eyes threatened to close. Margaret was nearby but he didn’t once look in her direction. He told himself it was because he didn’t want to give Lady Strangeways any more ammunition, but he also wanted to wait until he could talk to Margaret properly. After yesterday’s dominant performance, he needed to choose his words carefully, and the last thing he wanted was for any attention from him beforehand to make her uncomfortable.
Snow was falling outside as the congregation made their way toward the door with its recessed porch and out to the churchyard. The vicar was there holding court with Lady Strangeways, as if she was his wife and not the frail looking woman at Margaret’s side.
It was time, he told himself. He had matters to discuss with her and the sooner the better. Dominic made his way over to them.
Margaret watched him come and her expression turned uneasy. He’d been right to avoid her in the church. She’d decided he was a dangerous rake and she was going to do all in her power to send him back to London. Well, he’d just have to persuade her otherwise.
He bowed politely. “Miss Willoughby.”
“Mother, this is the Earl of Monkstead,” she said, not meeting his eyes.
Mrs Willoughby smiled up at him, at the same time looking a little startled. “The earl? Margaret did mention you in her letters. She mentioned you rather a lot.”
“Mother,” Margaret murmured a warning.
Dominic felt his lips twitch. “Did she? How gratifying.”
Mrs Willoughby continued with her stream of thought as if he hadn’t spoken. “Though I did not know you were here in Denwick.” She looked to her daughter as if for an explanation, and then seemed to decide it didn’t matter. “You have come a long way from London.”
“A very long way,” he agreed.
Rumour had it that Mrs Willoughby wasn’t well but he wasn’t sure exactly what the matter was—apart from a certain vagueness in her thoughts she appeared well. Her eyes were the same green as Margaret’s, and there were other facial similarities that made him think she had been a very pretty woman when she was young.
She turned to her daughter again and spoke in a tentative voice. “I wonder … Margaret, do you think we could invite his lordship to luncheon today?”
Finally Margaret met his eyes and he read the sadness in them. “I think we can do that, mother.” She stared at him harder and he understood she was giving him a warning to play along with her mother’s lapse in memory. “Will you come to luncheon today, my lord?” she issued the polite invitation as if for the first time.
“Thank you, I will.”
From her smile he knew he had pleased her. Mrs Willoughby beamed up at him as well. “I’m so glad,” she said. “We so rarely meet Margaret’s friends and you made a great hit with her.”
Margaret didn’t bother to reprimand her this time. The colour in her cheeks deepened and Dominic longed to tease her and fluster her even more. But before he could decide what to say, the vicar had joined them.
His wife turned to him with a smile, excited to share the good news. “The earl is sitting down with us for luncheon!”
Mr Willoughby’s frown was impatient, his voice long suffering. “Of course he is. You knew that already, my dear. Why do you think cook has been busy all morning and yesterday you helped polish the silver? Now come along, let’s get back to the vicarage. I fancy a glass of sherry.”
Her face fell and she looked about her, as if to corroborate the truth. “I already knew that?” she whispered. Dominic saw her deflate, all of her pleasure leaking out of her. Margaret reached to squeeze her hand. “It’s quite all right, Mother. I had forgotten too.”
The vicar shot his daughter a look, as if deeming her kindness futile, then clasped his wife’s arm. “Come along, come along,” he said, and hurried her off toward the vicarage, scattering the onlookers as he went.
The churchyard was emptying, and Dominic and Margaret were left standing in the sheltered alcove which led to the church door. He imagined the Denwick weather made such an architectural device essential.
“My mother is unwell.”
