warming her cheeks. “We have much to speak about because he has been gone for some time fighting a very ferocious war. I am glad to know that he has returned safely.”
She couldn’t tell Amanda more, because she didn’t know what she thought herself. Margaret had been unprepared for the sight of Nigel in the ballroom, and further unprepared for how handsome and self-possessed he seemed to be. His eyes as he watched her, as they talked, and as they danced had observed her every movement with a frank intensity that stole her breath away.
She wondered if he’d always been like that – he seemed so different, and yet when he looked at her like that it was as though they were children again. She didn’t know what exactly she thought of all that had transpired, but she knew with certainty that she was eager to see him again and hoped that he would honour his promise to call on her.
The two girls were passing the punch table when Margaret heard her father’s voice quite suddenly and near at hand. “Margaret.”
She turned and saw him standing a little away from his gathering of gentlemen and intellects, a cup of punch in one hand, his cane in another. He had a curious expression on his drawn features and was looking not only at her but beyond her as well into the rest of the room.
“Who was that gentleman you were dancing with?” he asked.
There was an edge in his voice, and Amanda must have heard it to for she excused herself at once and let Margaret and Lord Somerville speak in the illusion of privacy.
“That was Nigel Bateson, Father.” Margaret smiled. “You remember the gamekeeper’s son? We used to be such good friends, as you well know, but after you paid for Nigel’s commission he did quite well for himself. He is a captain now in the Army, and has some very loyal and powerful friends in the House of Lords.”
She wasn’t sure why she was defending Nigel to her father. He had always been enough for her, gamekeeper’s son or not. Her father seemed unimpressed.
“I should hope that a young man could find some opportunity for promotion when fortune had favoured him with a commission,” he said curtly, very near snapping. “But though this lad may have taken on the title of captain, he will always be the gamekeeper’s son in my memory and he ought to be the same in yours. I am surprised that you would allow one of your precious dances to go to one such as he.”
Margaret blinked. “Father, are you saying you don’t approve of Nigel? See what marvellous things he has done with his life! You should have heard his friend speak about him. He saved Major Moorhouse’s life.”
“It is not that I disapprove of this Nigel Bateson,” Lord Somerville said curtly. “I disapprove of your attachment to him. I was tolerant of your fanaticism over the woman Molly Smith, but my tolerance has a limit when you sabotage your first night out in the London season by dancing with someone lowborn and completely devoid of proper manners.”
Margaret opened her mouth to retort, her cheeks burning, but before she could do so a gentleman was at her elbow, bowing and asking her out onto the dance floor for another spin. Everything in her wanted to turn to the man and tell him that she was unavailable, that she was clearly in a disagreement with her father, that she needed a moment alone. But such were not the luxuries afforded to a lady of high society, and Margaret saw her father incline his head ever so slightly towards the new gentleman, encouraging her to leave their conversation until later.
She sucked in her breath in frustration and turned with a forced smile. “A Scottish reel?” she answered him. “Of course, I would be delighted.”
She took the strange man’s arm and moved with him to the dance floor, noting the satisfied look on her father’s face as she began the familiar steps. She wondered if he would be so satisfied if he knew her thoughts were not resting on the stranger across from her, but on the memory of Nigel’s kind dark eyes staring into hers, and the promise of seeing him the next day.
Chapter 8
The next day, Margaret woke early to find Poppy curled up at the foot of her bed. She stood up and drew the child up under the covers, putting a blanket around