a viscount. A noble title that was tainted by your father. After their marriage your mother was not received, did you know that? She was shunned by all her former friends and acquaintances. My own prospects were dimmed by her selfish decision to marry Lainscott. Our mother’s heart was broken. My father was devastated that she would elope with such a man. But I will not allow the same to happen to you.” Spittle had formed at the corners of her aunt’s mouth as she hissed her venom at Margaret.
“Aunt Agnes, please.” This was why her aunt disparaged Margaret’s passion for music. This was why Margaret’s talent was only trotted out for special recitals when Aunt Agnes was pressured by her friends to do so. Or when she wished to impress someone. No wonder her aunt detested her. She blamed Margaret for all of Clara’s mistakes. “I am not Clara. Please give me a chance to find another suitor.”
“You cannot be trusted, Margaret. One day you will be carried away by music and find yourself seduced. I won’t stand for such a thing.” Her aunt’s eyes had become wild, her breathing ragged and full of rage. “I will not suffer the humiliation of another scandal.”
“Please don’t marry me to Winthrop,” Margaret pleaded, cringing at having to debase herself before her aunt. “Please.” Margaret sat up, hands reaching toward her aunt. “I find him to be repulsive, Aunt. He disgusts me. I would have some affection in my marriage.”
“Affection? I had none in my marriage. Your mother’s impetuous decision saw to that. But in hindsight, wedding Lord Dobson was all for the best. We were partners, combining our contacts and wealth to improve our status. A much more logical way to determine one’s future spouse than affection. Look where love got your mother. Your father wished for something better for you. A title.” Aunt Agnes shook her head in disbelief at what she clearly considered to be Margaret’s idiocy.
“You’ll be the wife of an earl, a countess, and will rise above your mother’s station in life. You’ll have a place in the ton. I know what is best for you, Margaret. And it’s Winthrop.” The turban nodded at Margaret. “He is in agreement that music will be a waste of your time as Lady Winthrop. You won’t even have so much as an out-of-tune piano in his household to take your attention away from your husband and children. Or the care of his sickly mother.” A thin, ugly smile crossed her lips. “One day you’ll thank me.” With a final look, Aunt Agnes disappeared from the room in a swirl of indignant skirts, slamming the door behind her.
“I’ll never thank you,” Margaret whispered as she stared into the canopy above her bed, wishing a hole would appear to swallow her up. After seeing her aunt rage about the bedroom, spitting out her vitriol against Margaret’s parents, Margaret knew there wouldn’t be any swaying her aunt’s decision. Her mind was set. If her aunt had her way, Margaret would never have her music, nor would she be able to help her fellow musicians.
Both situations were intolerable. Winthrop was intolerable.
She allowed herself exactly two hours to wallow in a horrific bout of self-pity, sobbing out her fear and anger into her pillow before resolving to find a way out of this mess. There was absolutely no way she could marry Winthrop. She would flee from this house and live on the streets before she did so.
Several hours later, Eliza brought a dinner tray to her room. Broth and two slices of bread. Apparently, her aunt didn’t care for Margaret’s outburst earlier and meant to starve her into obedience. It didn’t matter. Margaret wasn’t hungry.
“Is there anything else, miss?” Eliza set down the tray.
“No.” Margaret had held suspicions earlier about trusting Eliza, but in light of her aunt’s comments about Mrs. Anderson, she knew she’d been correct in hiding her composition book beneath the bed. Mrs. Anderson had sent Margaret several notes, as had the duchess, all of which she’d stupidly left on her desk. Eliza couldn’t read, but that hadn’t stopped her from sharing the contents with someone who could. Probably Oakes, her aunt’s maid.
Bloody traitor.
“My stomach is still unsettled.” Margaret made a great show of rubbing her stomach and appearing weak as she flopped back against the bed. “I’ll try a bit of the bread to see if it suits me. But I really wish to sleep. I won’t need you again