to be. I’ve yet to hear you’ve failed at a task, Wimberley.”
Lady Smythe-Burke finally stopped her dissertation and turned to face Tristan, hands placed on her narrow hips. Marguerite didn’t know how he held up under that stiff stare; she was sure she would have melted into the carpeting. Perhaps, not a bad thing under the circumstances.
“I don’t know where you picked up that characteristic. Your father certainly was not known for his persuasive powers,” Lady Smythe-Burke began again. “Your mother can show some claws – but she lacks your grace. I will have to consider this carefully.”
“You are not to speak ill of my father.” There was an edge of iron in Tristan’s tone that Marguerite had never heard before. His words usually left a trail of sugar behind that one could only follow. This was different.
“Oh, my dear man, of course not. It is merely that you are more than either of your parents, and it bears some thought. It would be a wonder if society could learn to bring its children up in your mold, rather than the mollycoddled saps that I see in the park each morning.” She turned and raked her gaze over Marguerite. “And you, Miss? Do you think that you’re up to keeping Wimberley in line and assuring that he does right by his lineage? I would not have thought so, but then I would never have thought I’d be dragged from my bed under these circumstances. You may have more life in you than one would have expected.”
Marguerite dropped her glance back to her lap. She knew she should say something, but what? She needed to protest that she could not marry Tristan, but after being found in his lair by the lady dragon, was there really any choice?
“Ah, , Wimberley, you may have found the treasure that all men search for, a beauty of few words.” Lady Smythe-Burke turned back to him. “Is there baggage? No, I suppose not, that would be much too ordinary for this situation. It’s just as well if that’s your idea of fashion, Miss Wilkes. We’ll definitely need to see to your clothes. Well, then come along, girl, let us return to my residence and retire. My bones are not as young as they used to be.” She strode towards the doorway, her stiff posture demanding obedience.
Marguerite rose to follow. She found she didn’t have the strength to argue. Tomorrow, in the morning, she could attempt to dig her way out of this trench.
“Oh, and Wimberley, we will expect your call at a proper hour tomorrow. I wish to know all the details of this foolishness. And don’t think there will be any more improprieties before the ceremony. It will be soon enough for you to be alone again after the wedding. Am I clear, Wimberley?”
“Yes.”
“And I can trust you? I do not take kindly to being made a fool. It causes me to feel my age, something that you would regret, I must assure you.”
“I do not doubt your words.” Formality dripped from Tristan’s lips, as if he had stepped back from the conversation.
“Good. Come along, Miss Wilkes. I have been delayed from my slumbers long enough.”
Marguerite said not a word. As she trailed through the door, she marveled at fate. Not a single word, and her future was decided.
How could the days pass so quickly, and still leave her fastened in the same spot? Marguerite paced the ornate bed chamber, glaring at each sign of how far she had come from her own simple life. Tomorrow was her wedding day, and she still had not said Yes. She did not know whether to throw something or cry. Her life moved on as if her participation mattered not.
She would wake with the morning sun or the tap of the maid and take a tray in her room. At least Lady Smythe-Burke believed a lady only needed tea and bread to start the day. Marguerite’s stomach could handle that much. Then it was time to dress in her one gown and attend Lady Smythe-Burke in the parlor. Marguerite had probably not said more than fifteen sentences in all, but apparently that was acceptable.
Then they ate a light repast – again thankfully only foods that passed her lips easily. Afterwards she sat still and stiff, awaiting Tristan’s arrival.
That was the worst – and yet the best.
“Greetings, Miss Wilkes. And how does this day find you?”
“Well, my lord, and you?”
“Not a trouble to be found. The sun is