gathering the pins that had fallen from Margaret’s hair. “I worried he saw you as a challenge of some sort. Thank goodness Carstairs caught me and asked the way to the library, else there is no telling what would have occurred. Welles had promised Carstairs and Miss Turnbull a look at a stuffed trout mounted on the wall.”
Margaret’s breath caught. The last remnants of hope this debacle had been accidental fled with her words. Welles had told her he would leave Carstairs in the library. Alone.
Her knees buckled suddenly.
Oh, God. Winthrop.
The duchess caught her elbow.
“Now you musn’t despair. We may yet be able to brave this out. We’ll go down together. You’ve been with me this entire time,” she instructed. “And I will ensure that this is made right.” The duchess was steely-eyed. “You can count on my discretion but unfortunately not that of Miss Turnbull.”
Margaret barely heard her.
Welles had lied. He’d never meant to help her at all.
25
The duchess had been right about one thing. Miss Turnbull’s discretion could not be counted on because it didn’t exist.
The whispers began the moment they returned to the ball. At first, the looks were discreet, merely quiet hisses behind fans that snapped shut in her direction. But as the hour grew late, more scandalized faces looked Margaret’s way in pity and thinly veiled malice. Everyone in the ton adored good gossip and the ruination of plain Miss Lainscott by the rakish Lord Welles was simply too juicy not to repeat. All of London would know by tomorrow morning, if not sooner.
Romy, loyal to a fault, stood next to Margaret chattering away on a variety of topics, none of which Margaret really listened to. Discreetly, Romy leaned over and tugged a bit of hair out of Margaret’s coiffure.
“To cover the bite mark,” she whispered, her cheeks pinking.
Margaret nodded, horrified down to the tips of her slippered toes. Bad enough her lips were swollen and her coiffure a tangled mess, but there was also proof of Welles’ ruination on her neck, for the entire room to see. As if he had taken a bite of the spoiled fruit Margaret now was and tossed her back into the bowl.
Carstairs circled the ballroom with Miss Turnbull clinging to his side like a silk-clad barnacle. He avoided eye contact with Margaret, never once turning in her direction. Miss Turnbull shot her a look of sympathy mixed with triumph while twirling her fan about. Every so often she would stop and whisper to another young lady. The listener’s eyes would widen in distaste while listening to Miss Turnbull’s recollection of the events in the conservatory.
Welles did not reappear. Margaret was certain he’d left.
The duchess circled the room, trying her best to contain the gossip, but by the looks thrown Margaret’s way, it became a losing proposition. The duchess finally pulled Aunt Agnes aside and whispered furiously in her ear.
Aunt Agnes nodded grimly at the duchess, her eyes rising to Margaret who stood next to Romy.
Moments later, Winthrop emerged from the card tables, his sweaty face sour and full of muted horror. Aunt Agnes went to his side immediately, clasping his arm and speaking in a soothing tone. When both Winthrop and her aunt glanced in her direction, Romy reached out to take her hand.
“I will have a conversation with Miss Turnbull,” Romy said under her breath. “And I will not desert you. Mother has told me what Tony has done. I am ashamed of my brother’s conduct. I always knew Tony was a rogue. I’d heard the gossip. But intentionally taking advantage of you in order to spite my father?” She bit her lip. “It’s intolerable, Margaret.”
Was that what he’d done? Compromised her to embarrass his father? Margaret’s stomach pitched at the thought.
Another twitter came from the direction of Miss Turnbull and her friends.
Romy’s eyes, so much like her brother’s, narrowed into slits.
“I am the daughter of the Duke of Averell. She won’t dare disparage you in my father’s ballroom.” Romy squeezed her hand and made a beeline for Miss Turnbull.
Miss Turnbull looked around the room, eyes wide, searching for any escape from the angry woman in the blue dress who was striding her way.
Margaret appreciated Romy’s loyalty but knew it would do little good. The damage was done.
Aunt Agnes, chin pointed and sharp, nodded to Winthrop and made her way to Margaret’s side. Curling her spindly fingers around Margaret’s elbow, her aunt steered her out of the ballroom without allowing Margaret the chance to say goodbye to