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“What is it?” Aunt Margaret demanded again. Her eyes were genuinely lost, as though she gazed into an impossible mist.
Even Laura’s arms wrapped around Ewan’s stomach hadn’t given her a clue.
“That which Lord Remington refers to involves myself, my affair,” Ewan continued.
Everyone’s eyes swung towards him. Beside him, Laura bit down hard on her lower lip, her blue eyes beaming towards the floor. Marta remembered the day she’d asked Laura to go to England with her; she’d leapt up and down as though this were the biggest opportunity of her life.
She’d never envisioned anything like this.
“Affair?” Aunt Margaret demanded.
“Yes, Mother. I’ve fallen in love. In love with this beautiful woman, Laura. It’s clear to me that she’s brought more love and life into my life in the previous weeks than any creature I’ve met on this earth,” Ewan continued. His voice rose and became more violent. “And not only that, she’s pregnant. With my child.”
Aunt Margaret gasped and whipped her hand across her lips. Marta’s heart thudded. Finally, Laura turned her blue eyes to meet Marta’s. She gave a funny, lacklustre shrug, then added, “It’s true. I’m pregnant.”
Immediately, Lord Remington smashed his fist onto the centre of the table. One of the platters fell and crashed across the floor, scattering shards across and into the various corners.
“Don’t you see?” Lord Remington cried. “He’s wronged your family. He’s run off with the maid and got her pregnant. A more dire situation, I could hardly imagine myself. Marta? You must see it. You must see the shame he’s brought onto your family.”
Then, Lord Remington spun towards Baldwin, his eyes expectant. “You’re the man of incredible allegiance to propriety, Baldwin. I know this more than I know anything else. Tell the man that he’s wronged not only the Thompsons and Marta but also yourself, as you have such a close connection to him. Tell him that …”
“That’s enough,” Baldwin said simply. His hand remained pressed at Marta’s back.
Lord Remington sputtered with genuine shock. “Whatever do you mean? Have you not just heard the man’s confession? He’s chosen his lineage through the little German maid. He’s…”
“She’s Austrian,” Marta interjected. Rage throttled through her and made her cheeks burn red.
“Why on earth did you have this information in the first place?” Baldwin demanded. Instead of rage, he seemed flabbergasted, apt to stand there and demand comprehension rather than any sort of continued confession or punishment for Ewan.
Lord Remington sputtered again. Across the table, Ewan drew his arms tighter around Laura, so much so that Marta worried about the baby inside. Goodness--was it possible that Laura would remain in England, that she would be allowed to have Ewan’s baby?
But her eyes traced down to find Aunt Margaret’s face, completely drained of blood. She lifted a glass of water to her lips, sipped it, then dropped the glass, casting it to the ground. This was an accident, but it added to the shock of the room, the strange and simmering tension.
“You’ve killed her, Ewan,” Lord Remington said. He rubbed his palms together conspiratorially. “You’ve ruined your mother forever. She won’t be able to look at you, not now that you’ve taken to the maid…”
“Won’t you stop calling her a maid?” Aunt Margaret barked then.
Lord Remington’s smile waned. It was clear that his initial scheme had lost its way. “Whatever do you mean, Auntie Margaret?”
Slowly, Aunt Margaret gripped the table and shrugged herself up. Her legs quaked beneath her. “Lord Remington, I must ask you to leave this house this moment. You’re no longer welcome here.”
“Aunt Margaret, we’ve been through so much together,” Lord Remington said. He staggered towards her, reaching for her elbow, but she ripped it away just in time. “Aunt Margaret, you must know how deeply I care for you, for Marta…”
“I know one thing to be true,” Aunt Margaret returned. “You want only to win, Lord Remington. You probably have very little love in your heart for Marta at all.”
A shadow passed over Lord Remington’s face. He stormed back towards the doorway, his eyes scanning past every single face. Finally, he brought a finger out before him and pointed at every person in the room.
“Mark my words, you absolute collection of imbeciles,” he muttered. “I will spread this gossip, regardless. You will be scorned. All of you. I will make sure of it. Unless…”
His eyes found Marta’s once more. Marta’s heart pattered about in her throat. He gave her a nearly-syrupy-sweet smile, then said, “There’s one condition through which you can avoid all this heartache. Marta, I will give you one day to decide. One day. And if you agree to proceed with me, none of this will get out into the open.” He bowed his head, his face a brooding masterpiece.
Seconds later, he was gone.
