could take action. Welles could avoid her for significant stretches of time if he chose, and regardless of the reasons for their marriage, she didn’t want to become yet another politely distant marriage of the ton. Margaret had taken Leo’s words to heart as well as the small bit of honesty Welles had afforded her before the ceremony uniting them. He had compromised her intentionally. And as absurd as the idea was, Welles was jealous of Carstairs. Over her.
If what Leo had told her was true, Welles desired her and might even care for her. But Margaret would need to be careful with him. First, she had to find him.
She assumed Welles had retreated to his rooms at Elysium to brood, and that was where she was most likely to find him. Opening the armoire, Margaret brushed aside the row of dresses Daisy had neatly organized and gave a sigh of relief at the sight of her old cloak. She took it out, inhaling the moth-eaten smell, and wrapped it tightly around her shoulders. Margaret would march down the stairs and ask Fenwick to have the carriage brought around. There would be no hailing a hack or sneaking out the servants’ entrance.
She was Lady Welles now.
31
Half an hour later, Margaret stood before Fenwick, who only gave a cursory glance at the ratty cloak the lady of the house was wearing. He was far too well-trained and had likely seen much worse as Welles’s butler.
“May I be of service, my lady?” He bowed to her.
“Can you have the carriage brought around? I’m meeting Lord Welles.” She lifted her chin in case the butler should deny her.
Fenwick’s brows knit in confusion. “Of course, my lady. I shall call for the carriage immediately, but his lordship is in the study.”
Margaret’s hands stilled against her skirts at the information. “I see. He must have decided to return home after all. I’ll join him.” How absolutely mortifying, especially since she assumed Fenwick knew she’d dined upstairs alone. Nonetheless, she gave him a bright smile. “Where would I find the study?”
“Two doors down, my lady.” Fenwick inclined his head. “Please ring, should you need anything.”
“I will. Thank you, Fenwick.”
How long has he been here? Margaret fumed. She’d been sitting upstairs, by herself, for hours. Pacing the floor. Wondering at his whereabouts.
Nothing on earth would have forced Tony to marry you if he didn’t truly want to.
Margaret drew the words close to her heart. She needed every bit of hope she could muster as she confronted her husband. Lifting her chin, she swung open the study door.
Only the fire was lit. No lamps. At first glance, Margaret wasn’t certain Welles was even in the study. Perhaps Fenwick had been mistaken.
“Hello, wife.” The coldly mocking baritone greeted her. “Looking for something?”
“Yes, my lord. I am in search of my husband. It appears after forcing me before the vicar he has chosen to abandon me, on our wedding night, no less. I’m sure Carstairs wouldn’t have done so.”
A growl came from the direction of a large chair before the fire. “I find your increasing show of stubbornness and your need to be argumentative out of character for Miss Margaret Lainscott. I feel certain you should go back to being timid.”
“I’m just as certain I should not. I am Lady Welles now.”
Another low sound of irritation. “And do not dare mention your longing for Carstairs again to me. You would have ruined him in a matter of weeks. The poor man would have had no idea the type of woman he’d married. Were you going to allow him to make any decisions at all? Or would you have just thrown open his house to invite a horde of destitute musicians to take up residence?”
“I’d allow him to hunt in peace.”
“Though not join him yourself? No hunting for grouse as a married couple?”
“After my lack of aptitude for fishing, despite the help of the book you gifted me, I would probably have taken up firearms. In fact, I’m considering doing so now.” Despite the familiar verbal sparring, Margaret detected the cold bits of sarcasm and anger lingering in his words. And the pain. Steeling herself, Margaret strode confidently into the room, nearly tripping on the carpet as she caught sight of the Broadwood against the wall, the firelight dancing off the polished wood.
Her heart beat in a hopeful rhythm. Welles had brought it here for her.
“I thought you would like to have the instrument,” he emphasized the word, “of your ruination