“I would not like to refuse a duchess, Aunt. But I will attend only if you give your permission.” Margaret lowered her gaze and remained still.
A noise of displeasure escaped her aunt. The ostrich feather bobbed about her turban in agitation as if guessing Margaret had lied. But Margaret knew she’d won. Aunt Agnes, regardless of her suspicions, would never defy a duchess. Finally, she said, “I would not dream of disappointing the duchess by forbidding you to accompany her. But I am not pleased, Margaret. You are excused.”
Margaret stood and bobbed before her aunt then calmly walked out of the parlor, forcing herself not to skip, though she dearly wanted to. She paused, making sure her aunt hadn’t followed, before continuing to Lord Dobson’s study.
Margaret had never known the man her aunt had been married to, but from references Aunt Agnes made, Lord Dobson had been a sportsman. He had particularly enjoyed fishing. She knew she had her work cut out for her in wooing Carstairs. Her knowledge of outdoor sport was limited to admiring the trees when she took a walk or perhaps throwing bread crust to the birds. But hopefully, Lord Dobson would inadvertently help her cause.
Coughing at the dusty smell as she opened the door, Margaret went to the first bookcase. Her eyes searched the titles, fingers running over the spines, determined to find a book on the basics of hunting.
8
“Oh, do stay still, Miss Lainscott. I only have this last stitch.” Romy looked up at her, voice muffled by a mouth full of pins.
“Stop sticking her, Romy,” Theodosia said, looking up from the tiny miniature she painted with painstaking care. “She isn’t a pincushion. Poor Miss Lainscott will be full of holes by the time you’re finished turning her into…” She looked to Margaret for help. “A tree nymph?”
Margaret knew she was a flower of some sort, though she couldn’t remember which one. The name escaped her, as names often did. And what she was dressed as hadn’t seemed as crucial as Lord Carstairs finding her attractive. She gave Theo a slight, almost invisible shrug.
“Iris,” Romy said in frustration, pulling the pins from her mouth. “Goodness, she’s a flower. Can’t you tell?” She continued to fuss at the hem of the dress. “The gown is green like a flower stem.”
Theo shrugged with an apologetic look in Margaret’s direction and went back to her painting.
The garden party gown, as Margaret thought of it in her head, was exactly the shade of new leaves, the sort that sprouted from tree branches just as spring was beginning. The skirt was cut and sewn to represent the stem while the sleeves, made from a lovely diaphanous lavender, floated about Margaret’s arms in an imitation of petals. Now that she took notice, Margaret could see Romy’s vision.
“I think she looks smashing.” Phaedra strolled in, apple in hand.
“Thank you, Phaedra.” Margaret smiled in her direction.
“You’re welcome. What are you going as, Romy?” Phaedra took a large crunch of the apple, munching away as she crossed the room.
Theo looked up. “Are you a horse? You sound like my mare, Calliope. Pray keep your mouth closed as you chew.”
“I’m the tree nymph,” Romy replied. “There.” She smiled up at Margaret. “Perfect.”
“It’s lovely, Romy. I’ve never felt so beautiful. Nor so floral.” Margaret looked at Theo. “Calliope? Another Greek name?”
Theo looked up from her work, paintbrush hovering in the air. “Mother’s habit extends to all our animals at Cherry Hill. She once had a parrot named Zeus.”
“Zeus was a marvelous bird.” Phaedra darted behind Theo, crunching the apple deliberately in her sister’s ear. “Father taught him how to swear properly. Mama was horrified.”
“Oh, go away, horse.” Theo went back to her work. “Where is Olivia?”
Phaedra sauntered over to a chair, flopped down, and threw one leg over the arm. “Olivia is with Mama. It is their ‘lady’s day’ together.”
Margaret raised a brow.
“My mother insists on spending time with each of us alone so we always feel special,” Romy said as she fussed with the hem.
“How lovely,” Margaret said. In the short time she’d known the duchess, Margaret had received more love and kindness than she ever had at the hands of Aunt Agnes.
“I’m sure Olivia will come home with all sorts of fripperies. She’s a flutist who loves fripperies.” A dramatic sigh followed a crunch and several loud chews. “I wish I could go to Lady Masterson’s party. It sounds positively splendid.”
Theo took off the small spectacles she wore and observed Phaedra’s sprawl across