Page 88 of The Tartan Trap

“I quite think she knows her own mind,” Beatrice snapped. “If she wants to have it, who are you to tell her no?”

Lord Shaw released the plate. Beatrice apparently had been tugging at it—she nearly dumped the pudding into her lap. At the last moment, she righted the plate and scowled at Lord Shaw. He smiled serenely in return.

After dinner, they all converged in the drawing room for cards. There, they divided into two tables of whist. Lord Shaw proved to be an excellent partner; he won no matter who he was paired with. Beatrice was very nearly as good, but far too competitive. Lily and Lord Lawrence were similarly untalented and therefore claimed each other as permanent partners to avoid the embarrassment of bringing anyone else down with them.

Hours passed with much laughter, though Rachel eventually frowned and pressed a hand to her stomach.

Lord Shaw leaned toward Beatrice and murmured, “You see? I warned her about the second serving.”

“Being right is hardly the point,” she whispered.

“Are you sure you’re right about that?” he asked lightly.

Lord Shaw was the first to make his excuses for the evening, and the party was quickly broken up after that. Such was the nature of things—once the first person left, everyone mimicked them, so as not to be the guest who overstayed their welcome.

After accepting many compliments for the dinner and the company, the three Preston sisters and Rachel Warrington sprawled on the couches, divesting themselves of chafing shoes and poking hairpins. As both Rachel’s chaperone and her sister had a different engagement, Rachel had arranged to spend the night with the Prestons.

“That was a lovely evening,” Lily said. “I only wish Claire could have joined us.”

“I’m sure she’s happier at her own dinner party; William, too,” Margaret said, unthreading the corkscrew hairpins from her updo.

She meant to compliment Callum on them tomorrow—they’d held her coiffure perfectly all evening. She’d rarely felt her hair so secure as it was that night.

“What a boorish man, though,” Beatrice said.

“Who?” Margaret unclipped her pearl barrette and rubbed at her scalp.

“Lord Shaw, of course.”

“Oh, really? You think so? I rather liked him,” Lily said.

“You like everyone.”

“He was funny,” Margaret said. “He possesses a dry wit, don’t you think?”

“He possesses no manners whatsoever.” Beatrice sniffed. “I was happy to see him leave.”

“I thought he was a welcome addition. He certainly is very handsome,” Rachel said.

“Is that how you choose your dinner partners?” Beatrice said. “I thought you didn’t wish to be married.”

“I hardly see the connection.” Rachel frowned. “Just because I enjoy attending art museums doesn’t mean I’m going to attempt to run off with one of the paintings.”

Margaret laughed.

Beatrice shook her head and stoutly said, “Well, I didn’t like him. Regardless of how handsome he is, his visage cannot make up for his poor company. As far as I’m concerned, I hope never to see the gentleman again.”

Margaret pressed her lips together and frowned. She thought this a poor time to inform Beatrice that William might be going into business with the man.

“I enjoyed Mr. Buckley’s and Lord Lawrence’s company immensely,” Lily said, obviously trying to steer the conversational ship to more pleasant waters.

“Yes,” Beatrice said. “Though the evening would have been far more fun if Lord Shaw had played the corpse.”

CHAPTER 30- MARGARET

If Margaret had thought that coming to an understanding with Callum regarding courtship would remove the playful element from their interactions, she was happy to be proved wrong.

It had now been several weeks since he’d started courting her in earnest. Or rather, it had been several weeks since she had welcomed it. Though Margaret had felt nervous at the outset, she was surprised to find that their relationship now felt much like a close friendship.