hour.” And then to Maggie: “You must use my blue silk parasol as well. The color will suit you far better than it does me.”
“That’s very good of you. Though I expect your motives are somewhat less than altruistic. After all, it would do you no credit to be seen out shopping with—what did you call me upon my arrival? An unfashionable dowd?”
“No, did I?” Jane stifled another laugh. “But really, Margaret, you were used to look as neat as a pin. And now, well, it seems to me that since your dear papa died, you’re past all caring. I fear that between your illness, Fred’s tyranny, and the circumstances of your papa’s will, your spirit has been broken altogether. I hope you’ll tell me that I’m wrong.”
Maggie reached for the silver pot of chocolate and silently refilled her cup. When she was finished pouring, she looked up at Jane with a taut smile. “You’re quite wrong.”
“My dear, I know that you’ve been blue deviled. Who on earth could blame you? But you mustn’t allow any of these things to weigh on you. Not Fred or Beasley Park or even your poor health. You must put yourself into my hands. I have plans for everything, you see.”
Maggie sipped her chocolate, regarding her friend with interest over the rim of her cup. “Oh, do you?”
“Of course! Firstly, I’ve been thinking that that horrid country doctor down in Somerset isn’t at all the thing. He’s Sir Roderick Burton-Smythe’s creature, is he not? While you’re here in town, you must see a proper physician. Mama consults a very competent fellow in Harley Street. Dr. Hart. He isn’t particularly fashionable, for he’s rather young and doesn’t cater to old women’s fancies, but all of his methods are the absolute newest thing, and for real illness, Mama says he’s the very best.”
Maggie lowered her cup. “Has Lady Trumble been ill?”
“Heavens no. It’s only her megrims. And they’ve been much better under Dr. Hart’s care. Indeed, it was Dr. Hart who recommended she remove to the country for the season. You must consult him, Margaret. At least, say you will consider it.”
Maggie thought about it only a moment before saying, almost defiantly, “I don’t see why I shouldn’t receive a second opinion.”
“Exactly so!”
“But I’d prefer it were done discreetly. And without Fred’s knowledge. I wouldn’t like him badgering me or…or influencing the doctor in any way.”
“How could he? He’s not your husband! Which brings me to another idea of mine.” Jane waited until the maidservant who was clearing away the dishes had left the room. “One of my cousins is married to a solicitor, Mr. Wroxham. Do you suppose that, if you were to consult him about your father’s will—”
Jane broke off abruptly as the doors to the breakfast room were unceremoniously pushed opened and her elder brother sauntered in.
George Trumble was a thin gentleman of medium height, with an amiable countenance and the same fair hair and closely set brown eyes as his sister. He’d been a sort of admirer of Maggie’s during her come-out season, and though he hadn’t waged a vigorous campaign for her heart—as Jane often said, George was no Wellington—he’d trailed after her quite loyally and had always been happy to be of service. When it had finally occurred to him that Maggie didn’t return his, or anyone else’s affections, his lukewarm ardor had cooled, quite naturally, into brotherly regard.
Now, as he greeted her, a slight reddening of his cheeks was the only indication that she’d ever been anything more to him than just another of his sister’s many friends.
“What are you doing here so early, George?” Jane asked as he kissed her cheek. “I didn’t expect we’d see you until much later in the evening.”
George leaned around his sister to help himself to a large slice of plum cake. “I’ve been out riding and—”
Jane slapped his outstretched hand. “If you’re going to eat that, pray sit down.”
With a sheepish grin, George joined them at the breakfast table. He dropped his plum cake onto a plate and allowed his sister to pour him out a cup of coffee.
“You have the worst timing, George,” Jane told him. “We’re just on our way out. Indeed, I’ve already ordered the carriage.”
“Out? Out where? And where is Aunt Harriet? Isn’t she supposed to be chaperoning the pair of you?”
“Aunt Harriet’s in her room with a breakfast tray. And Margaret and I are only going shopping, not to promenade along the Dark Walk at Vauxhall. We