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There was an audible gasp. Dominic was awaking from whatever thoughts had held him silent until now and his dark eyes narrowed. At the same time, Louis began spluttering a defence, while Sibylla sat furious and white faced.
The uncomfortable moment drew on until it was too m
uch for Margaret. She wasn’t sure where the words came from, but her voice rang out sure and true.
“I was myself in London not so long ago, Lady Strangeways, and I assure you there was no gossip. None at all.”
Lady Strangeways turned those cold eyes on her. She gave the vicar a sideways glance, as if for direction, but he was too busy frowning at his daughter.
“I am sure you mean well, Margaret,” her ladyship said in a condescending voice. “You are championing your friends and that is admirable. But I have some advice you should heed: Take care where you place your trust.”
“I am very careful where I place my trust,” she responded instantly.
“Margaret, that is enough!” Her father’s anger was obvious, his face was turning red, but she was tempted to keep talking. She wanted to. She might well have done so.
“Margaret, did you say Lily was coming to spend Christmas with us?” Her mother smiled at her as if there was nothing wrong, and Margaret couldn’t decide whether she really believed that or she was trying to change the subject.
“I did write to her, Mother.”
“Lily is my younger sister.” Mrs Willoughby looked around the table, her gaze never resting very long on any one person, and galloping past her husband. “She lives in Edinburgh.”
Another voice entered the fray. “Lady Sibylla has offered to sing at the Christmas service and I have accepted her offer.”
Margaret turned to Louis, wondering if everyone had gone insane. He looked defiant, his fair hair a little less neat than usual, his kind blue eyes bright with determination.
There was another gasp. “You cannot—” Lady Strangeways began angrily, but the vicar interrupted her.
“Sing?” he said, as if Sibylla had offered to dance a jig with bagpipes. “I did not know you sang, Lady Sibylla.”
“She has the most beautiful voice,” Louis responded, although to Margaret’s knowledge he had never heard it. Then, in a cunning move she would never have expected of him, added, “I’m sure if you let it be known she will be singing Sir Peter would come to hear her.”
Sir Peter Grey was someone whose patronage the vicar had been trying to cultivate for years. A wealthy and important gentleman, he lived in a neighbouring parish, but Mr Willoughby was determined to see him attend Denwick church.
Margaret could see the cogs turning in her father’s brain and bit her lip, trying not to smile. At that moment her gaze met Dominic’s across the table. His mouth tipped up at the corners and he raised his eyebrows at her, almost making her burst out laughing. Oh yes, his feelings were completely in line with hers, but somehow she had known they would be.
“I will send him a note this afternoon,” the vicar announced, returning to his meal.
Lady Strangeways was staring hard at Louis, and Margaret could see she had changed her opinion of him—from a man she could dominate with ease to someone she needed to consider with caution.
Did that make the curate more attractive as a husband or less? Margaret thought more, but it hardly mattered because she knew now she could never love him. Not in the way she loved the earl.
Her eyes found him again. He was watching her, his mouth still tipped at the corners, as though he wanted to smile at her. She tried to imagine seeing his handsome face across the table every day and the idea seemed so wonderful, and knowing it could not happen seemed so awful, that all she wanted to do was put her head down in her hands and weep.
It was best to look away, she decided. Get used to not seeing him. And if she told that to herself often enough she might begin to believe it.
“There are still some bits and pieces that belonged to my great uncle I have yet to find a home for.” That deep, commanding voice would not be ignored. She took a breath and forced a polite expression of interest to her face.
“Oh?”
“I was wondering if you could offer me some advice about them, Miss Willoughby. You were very helpful with regard to his clothing. I’m not sure who else to turn to.”
“I’m sure I could assist you,” Lady Strangeways interrupted.
“That is most kind of you, but—” Dominic’s eyes hadn’t left her face.
Did she really want Lady Strangeways interfering, whispering tales, warning Dominic off? And besides, she wanted to agree. She wanted to spend more time with this man, despite all the reasons she shouldn’t. Margaret found her voice.
“I would be happy to offer my advice, my lord.”
