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Marta arched her brow. Confusedly, she glanced at first Baldwin, then Aunt Margaret, demanding some sort of conclusion. Was this yet another rule about English society that she hadn’t learned? Was it possible that Lord Remington could ruin them, all of them, all due to some misunderstanding?
“What on earth are you talking about?” Baldwin shouted. He stepped towards Lord Remington again, his fists high.
“I know only this, Baldwin,” Lord Remington said. A peculiar smirk worked its way across his face. “I know only that I have the Regent’s ear. Perhaps it is legal for you to go about your business once you reach the age of 26, and I dare say you’re telling the truth there. But beyond this, know that I have information outside of your particular bounds. I have this very information that would ruin your family. And you had best understand that I’m more like a weapon than anything else.”
“Explain yourself, Lord Remington,” Baldwin said. “Stop dangling whatever it is you think you know before us as though we’re merely children. We can handle whatever it is. We…”
“But Baldwin, wouldn’t that muck up the secret?” Lord Remington said. “I must keep it until the very last moment. It’s my treasure. It’s the single thing that will unite me again with my dear Marta.” He stepped again towards Marta and lifted his fingers so that they fluttered across her cheek.
Marta grabbed his hand and threw it back towards him, so swiftly that he hardly had a chance to react. Lord Remington’s face changed. His mouth fell open. His opposite hand gripped the one she’d thrown, as though it was actually injured, and he needed to sustain it.
“A spitfire,” he muttered. “How wonderful.”
He said it as though he was on the verge of murdering her.
Suddenly, Ewan tore up from his chair, an act that made it crash back behind him and shudder across the hardwood. Everyone turned towards him, their eyes enormous.
“Ewan? You’re white as a sheet,” Marta whispered.
Laura, too, stood. Marta marvelled at the incredible way she looked at Ewan: as though she feared for his life. A single tear crested from Laura’s right eye and fell towards her chin.
Was it possible that there was something amiss right before Marta’s eyes?
Was it possible that Ewan and Laura had kept this a secret from her all this time?
Yet—hadn’t Ewan been in love with Baldwin? Hadn’t he been unable to fight through his affection, something that had turned him towards Penelope, and then on to the next woman, whoever might have him?
But Laura wasn’t the sort of creature to just be “taken.” Rather, she looked at him beadily, as though she’d coveted him all this time.
Perhaps Marta only read into this. Perhaps it had nothing to do with reality.
“What is it, Ewan?” Aunt Margaret finally asked, her voice bright and strange.
“I cannot take it anymore,” Ewan blurted.
“I dare say none of us can,” Aunt Margaret returned.
“No. That’s not what I mean,” Ewan said. Sweat bolted down his forehead and cheeks. “The secret that Lord Remington refers to involves me. It involves my life.”
Aunt Margaret pressed her lips together hard, her eyes shimmering with confusion. Lord Remington smacked his fists against his thighs and said, “Ewan, don’t give the game away so quickly! You don’t know a thing about the art of building a scene.”
Ewan’s jaw clenched. He seemed to refuse to look at Lord Remington. Suddenly, Laura raced from her chair and rushed to his side. Her thin arms wrapped around his torso, and her cheek fell across his chest.
“Laura! What on earth has got into you?” Aunt Margaret blared. “Sit back in your chair this instant.”
“Aunt Margaret, I’m sorry, but I cannot!” Laura returned in perfect English.
Marta felt her cheeks burn red. Baldwin stepped towards her and placed his hand behind her back. His black eyes remained centred on Ewan, as though he wanted to ensure the strange man didn’t move from his position.
“Ewan, my boy,” Lord Remington said. His voice seemed honeylike, soft and fluid. “You really should sit down. Think about what you’re about to say. Think about what it could do to your poor mother.”
“But that’s the thing, isn’t it? You’re thinking of what it might do to my poor mother,” Ewan blared. “You’re using it as a weapon against my nearest and dearest family and friends, and I cannot have it. I must be stronger than that.”
“Will someone just say what’s happened?” Aunt Margaret said. Her voice wavered, as though she was on the verge of mental collapse.
“Mother. Father. Tatiana. Everyone,” Ewan said. He lifted his chin. He looked far more regal than any king Marta had seen up close. She supposed this had everything to do with the fact that one had to be respectful and kind and simply bigger than one’s self when one fell in love.
In fact, Marta had recognised this in herself in recent weeks, as she’d grown deeper in love for Baldwin.
