“Lady Danchester has said that she’s received bulbs,” Lady Harburton continued, “and she plans to have them forced before her gathering next month. She’s invited half the ton to her next soiree and now she’s going to have new flowers. It’s a disaster.”
Lady Smythe-Burke nodded again. “I see.”
Lady Harburton was quivering with vehemence. “I always have the best flowers. Dorchester has a chef that can’t be matched. Nobody does musicales like the Langdons and I have the most superior flowers. The only time I’ve even been threatened was when Felicity brought that new gardener up from the country – not that he lasted long. But, now Lady Danchester is promising to have the most incredible arrangements.”
“Have you considered adding peacock feathers to yours? You could add whole tails full.” Lady Smythe-Burke did not seem at all perturbed.
Lady Harburton slumped back into the chair. Never had Marguerite seen the starch go out of a spine in such a fashion. Was she even wearing stays? “If I don’t have the flowers, what do I have? During the war I had my correspondence with our heroic men at arms. I could always talk about their brave doings in whatever field they were at, but now I have nothing. Harburton is always off hunting or fishing or some such and I – I have my flowers. Everybody knows my flowers can’t be touched.”
“I do understand the seriousness of the situation, Minerva, and I will have a discussion with Jessica. I am sure she doesn’t mean to offend you.”
“I am sure she did. She’s always been jealous of my gardens. She even tried to hire Higgins away from me. Everybody knows that nobody can prune a rose like Higgins. It’s a plot I tell you. A plot. Why if she’s not careful I’ll . . .”
Marguerite peeked at the clock out of the corner of her eye. It was getting late. If she was going to attempt to visit Tristan’s mother she must take her leave. “Lady Smyth-Burke, Lady Harburton, forgive me, but I must depart. I am still hoping to catch Lady Wimberley.”
“Lady Wimberley? But –” For a moment doubt clouded Lady Harburton’s face, then a smile. “You mean the dowager marchioness, Wimberley’s mother. You plan to visit Felicity?”
Her laugh filled the room. It was not a pleasant sound.
Marguerite sat in the upper south parlor and stared forlornly into her tea. She had been staring for quite awhile and not a single waft of steam remained. She blew across it anyway just to see the ripples scoot across the top.
“I hear you’ve visited Felicity.”
She did not even glance up at her husband’s voice, she had felt the tension of his presence before he even spoke. It was remarkable that he appeared before dinner. He had not returned until she slept the night before, and had been gone before she rose this morning. She should take comfort in his company.
“Yes, or rather no.” She shifted in her chair and turned to face him. “I paid a call, but she was not receiving. Perhaps she was unwell.” She did not comment on the laughter she had heard waft down the stairs. It had been too reminiscent of her first call on Tristan and all that had ensued. Besides, it was likely that she had only heard the maids giggling. Surely no lady would deny entrance to her brand new daughter-in-law.
“I wish you had informed me of your intent. The time is not yet right for you to meet.” He raked his fingers through his hair upsetting the perfect waves.
“I beg your pardon. I was not aware there was a correct time to visit one’s family.” She raised her glance up to him with the slightest hint of challenge, while returning the cold tea to the table. She placed it beside the small vase of buds she had requested. The room needed something to give it life.
“Nonetheless, I wish you had consulted me. I will introduce you to my mother in my own time. Does that present a difficulty to you?” The late afternoon sun broke through the clouds as he spoke, turning his fair locks into a fiery halo. He stood before her proud, magnificent, and utterly cold.
She felt her own power start to fade beneath his gray stare. No. She was done being cowed. “Perhaps, you would care to explain your reasoning, Lord Wimberley.”