“I do not believe he was ever yours,” Marguerite spoke firmly.
“You should have seen him a year ago. He followed me most ardently. I was quite overcome by his attentions.”
Marguerite wanted to discount the words, but there was a ring of truth to them. She did not say anything.
Lady Harburton continued, “He was always asking what I was doing. I hardly had time for my correspondence.”
“Your letters to the soldiers?”
“Yes, those poor boys needed me. How could I let them down? It was my duty, my part for the cause.” Lady Harburton glowed with pride. “I refused to let them down and they never let me down.”
Marguerite hesitated to think how it would have been possible for the young men far away on those bloody fields to let Lady Harburton down. If they had died and failed to answer Lady Harburton’s letters, would that have been a disappointment? She dismissed the thought. She was being catty.
“I know that you did great good with your constant support. I even heard Lady Smythe-Burke remark on it.” That was better. Lady Harburton had done an important service. It was not fitting to poke fun at it, even in her thoughts.
“She is such a lovely lady. And so kind. She helped me pull through when the war was over.”
Marguerite had never heard Lady Smythe-Burke described as kind, nor such a lack of joy at Napoleon’s final defeat. “I had thought the end of the fighting was a cause for celebration.”
“Oh, of course. It was only that all my young men went back to their lives and none of them had time for me any longer. And then everybody could get Belgium lace and French furnishings. It wasn’t until I found my flowers that I felt quite myself again. I’ve always been fond of gardens, you know? Even as a girl I had such an eye for beauty. Everyone said so.” Lady Harburton turned to face Marguerite. She picked up Marguerite’s gloved hand and placed it gently between her own. “Of course, that is why Huismans is mine.” She squeezed Marguerite’s hand, not gently. “I almost had to fight Lady Langdon for him. It was such a pity that those horrible rumors about her began to spread. Who would possibly believe that she was having an affair with a footman. It was so unbelievable. Still you never do know what people will believe do you? Why some might even believe that you were ruined before you came to London. I’ve heard your mother wasn’t as vigilant as she should have been, it wouldn’t have been difficult for you to get into trouble at some party or another.” She released her grip on Marguerite’s hand. “That would be nonsense though wouldn’t it? Still, you never know what people choose to listen to.” She patted Marguerite on the leg and stood. She turned and walked over to the gentlemen without looking back.
How on earth could Lady Harburton have known? Had one of the servants overheard and talked? It was certainly possible. Was there another way? She watched as Lady Harburton combed her fingers through her son’s hair.
Simon had been there that night. He’d brought her several glasses of lemonade. Could he have seen more than he let on? It would put a different light on some of his later comments.
Bitter acid burned in Marguerite’s belly. Tristan glanced over at her and she attempted a smile. There was nothing to worry about. Why would people listen or even care? She was a nobody.
Only she was not a nobody anymore. She had heard her share of the gossip surrounding her hurried marriage to Tristan. So far nobody had guessed at the truth and the stories had been replaced by other scandal, but she knew how quickly that could turn about.
She inhaled deeply. Exhaled. There was nothing she could do about it. She had never been after Huismans, so there was no way she could desist or change her behavior. And besides, she thrust her shoulders back, she refused to do anything just because Minerva Harburton desired it.
She placed her hand on the edge of the settee, took another breath, and stood. She walked over to her husband and leaned over his shoulder peaking at his cards. Lady Harburton was directly across from her. She tilted up her chin and set Lady Harburton a cutting glare.
Lady Harburton looked back. The duel had begun.
Chapter Sixteen
Two months of perfect bliss. Marguerite rolled over and caressed the indent in