feelings, if he had any, were the least of her concern. Miss Turnbull would not be pleased, but she would easily garner a score of other offers by the end of the season. Aunt Agnes would be fine as well, as she only wanted Margaret gone.
As Margaret made her way down the stairs to join her aunt, the sound of a male voice met her ears. Her slipper halted on the next step, refusing to move forward.
“There you are.” Aunt Agnes looked up at her. “We’ve been waiting for nearly half an hour, though I see the time has been well spent.” Her thin lips pulled back to show her teeth in a facsimile of an indulgent smile. “Doesn’t she look appealing tonight, Lord Winthrop?”
I’m not a bloody iced biscuit.
Margaret pasted a polite look on her face and a shy smile on her lips. She only had to endure him a bit longer. “Lord Winthrop. I didn’t realize you were joining us this evening.”
This was an unexpected fly in the ointment or rather, in the case of Winthrop, a giant pear. She hadn’t planned for Winthrop to be present for her little tableau tonight, but maybe it was for the best. Still, enduring his company when she was already so anxious didn’t make Margaret happy.
Her stomach pitched and she pressed a hand to her midsection.
Winthrop held out a gloved hand. “We’re to be married. Your aunt assured me it was proper for me to escort you both this evening.”
Of course she did. Margaret had to keep herself from knocking the blood-red turban from her aunt’s head. Devious Aunt Agnes. Why did she find Winthrop to be so suitable?
“How kind of you.” She kept her eyes downcast lest Winthrop see her distaste in them. Lately, Margaret was finding it harder to maintain her docile, timid manner.
Winthrop took her hand.
She swallowed in disgust at his moist touch.
“Margaret is quite recovered from her earlier illness. I believe it was the excitement over becoming your wife which led to her earlier distress,” Aunt Agnes assured him.
“I’m certain of it.” Winthrop flashed Margaret a bland smile, but anger tightened the lines around his mouth and eyes. She’d been correct. He was stupid and cruel, a combination found most often in wild pigs. He considered Margaret to have committed a grave offense by puking during his marriage proposal.
It was intended as an insult. So is the assumption he thinks I’d be pleased to marry him.
Winthrop waddled, girlish shoes turned outward so that he resembled more a duck than the pear he was, down the steps to his waiting carriage. He’d taken her aunt’s arm, pointedly ignoring Margaret, leaving her to trail a few steps behind. She took in the bottle-green coat and matching trousers Winthrop wore along with the feminine shoes and wondered if his valet didn’t burst into laughter when dressing his master. She thought the unknown valet’s care of Winthrop to be a much greater sin than Margaret tossing up her breakfast at his marriage proposal.
Entering the carriage, Margaret seated herself next to her aunt while Winthrop settled opposite them. He mopped at his brow, pushing the stained handkerchief into an unseen pocket and plopped down, rocking the carriage with his weight. He stretched out his legs in her direction, crushing the edge of her gown. Purposefully.
Margaret dared a glance in his direction.
Winthrop’s eyes ran over Margaret with unconcealed dislike, promising future punishment for all the ways she’d offended him. He couldn’t wait to make her miserable; she could see the truth of it in every line of his sweating body.
He detests me.
She looked away, pretending to observe the view outside the window.
“I don’t think a long engagement is necessary do you, Lord Winthrop? Given the age of the bride?”
Must Aunt Agnes sound so hopeful?
Winthrop gave a soft chuckle. “Margaret and I are mature adults. I’m sure a short engagement would suit us both.” He shot her a pointed look, daring her to object.
He is already calculating how to spend my dowry.
“And I would like an heir before the end of the year.”
The mere thought of Winthrop bedding her after she’d been with Welles was so repulsive Margaret’s hand fell to her stomach to stop the sudden roll of nausea. She cautioned herself to remain perfectly still and keep her features composed.
“As well you should.” Aunt Agnes concurred, searching Margaret’s face for any reaction she might take issue with.
Margaret’s eyes fell to her lap, reminding herself not to flinch as they continued to speak