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“That’s all well and good,” Gran said, “except everyone has their own concerns and responsibilities to keep them busy, and I’m merely an afterthought. Except with Katrina, of course,” she grumbled, giving the young woman an arch look. “But I pay her to be here.”
“Oh, Lady Tesh,” Miss Denby exclaimed in her exuberant way, her pixie face alight with emotion. “I assure you, I would not want to be anywhere else. And neither would Mouse.” She finished with a fond smile for her dog, who had wormed his way free of Miss Denby’s grip and was prostrate once more before Freya, his eyes glazed with adoration. Freya, for her part, merely sniffed imperiously and turned away.
As Miss Denby continued to fuss over Gran—and Mouse continued to sigh in raptures over Freya—Margery tried and failed to stem her hurt from her grandmother’s speech. The irascible Lady Tesh was deemed “irascible” for a reason, after all. She was outspoken on anything that vexed her. And there was plenty that vexed her.
Yet Margery could not seem to let it go. Though she had vehemently refused any monetary help—her pride would not allow her to do any less—Gran had given her unfailing emotional support. And not only during the falling-out with her father and throughout her short marriage, but also when she’d been left heartbroken and in reduced circumstances, as Lord Tesh had predicted. Margery had always tried to make certain Gran knew how much she was loved and appreciated. But mayhap, in the chaos of the past months with Charlotte’s birth and Clara and Quincy’s arrival—and, more recently, with the arrival of the blackmail letter—the dowager viscountess had become something of an afterthought for her.
As Miss Denby hurried away on some errand, pulling Mouse along with her to prevent the beast from smothering Freya, Margery leaned toward her grandmother and laid a hand over hers. “I’m sorry for deserting you, Gran,” she said quietly.
The older woman sighed and patted Margery’s hand. “I know you’ve been kept busy. And I would not have you any other way than the kind, generous person you are.”
A sudden sting of tears had Margery blinking. Gran was brusque and blunt, and quite the most opinionated person Margery knew, speaking her thoughts often without regard for the feelings of others. Though she loved her family fiercely, affectionate words were not often offered up. Which made that little speech all the more dear.
She gave her grandmother a watery smile. “Thank you, Gran.”
For a shining moment the viscountess appeared completely overcome, her brown eyes, so like Margery’s in color if not in temperament, shining bright with tears. But she was not one for the softer emotions. She straightened, clearing her throat, and the moment was gone, the stern lady back in place.
“That does not mean I am not vexed with you.”
“Of course,” Margery murmured contritely, fighting a fond smile. “And I shall endeavor to make myself indispensable to you now that Phoebe is here for Clara.”
A sudden crafty expression came over the older woman’s lined features. “Is that a promise, my girl?”
Why, Margery thought in sudden panic, did she feel like a chicken being stalked by a fox? She cast a desperate, confused glance Lenora’s way. Her friend stared back in a kind of surprised dread but could only shrug, seeming as bewildered and taken aback as Margery.
“Well?” her grandmother demanded.
“Er, very well, Gran,” Margery said. “I promise.”
The older woman grinned and thumped her cane on the ground. “Splendid.”
As Margery managed a sickly smile, wondering just what she had inadvertently entangled herself in, Phoebe asked, “When is Her Grace expected to arrive, Aunt Olivia?”
Gran opened her mouth to answer. Just then, however, the front bell rang, echoing its sonorous tones through the house. Her face broke into a smug smile that seemed to hold a wealth of knowledge. “They’re set to arrive now.”
They all turned their attention to the sitting room door like a flock of…sheep? Truly, she was getting tired of feeling like a barnyard animal. Not one of them made a sound, their curiosity over this unknown friend of the viscountess a potent thing. Even wee Charlotte, who had continued to fuss despite her mother’s rocking, fell silent. A low murmur of voices sounded, followed by several sets of footsteps coming closer, one with—an uneven gait?
Curiosity was palpable in the air. But for Margery it was more, a strange anticipation sizzling along her nerves. She clenched her hands tightly in her lap, trying to understand her baffling reaction. It could only be because of her grandmother’s peculiar demand for a promise that Margery make herself indispensable to her. It had thrown her off completely. Though it must surely be innocent, merely the older woman wanting to make certain she was not abandoned. As if Margery could ever abandon her, as dear as she was to her.
That did not lessen the sudden unease in Margery’s gut, however. It increased as the footsteps grew closer and she felt a churning in her belly. And then the butler was entering the room, a painfully thin, pale woman at his heels.
But Margery hardly saw her. Her entire attention had been snagged by the behemoth of a man that followed.
Tall and stocky, with harsh features that appeared chiseled from stone, his eyes swept over them all as if taking stock of a battlefield before a charge. He stood ramrod straight, his broad shoulders a tense line under the snug fit of his stark black jacket. There was nothing remotely soft or welcoming about him.
Yet, for the life of her, she could not tear her eyes from him.
Just then his gaze shifted to her. If Margery had looked up to see the ceiling opened to the sky and storm clouds raining electric jolts of lightning down on her she would not have been the least surprised.
“Goodness,” she whispered, quite without meaning to.
Blessedly Gran didn’t hear her. She was too busy rising to her feet. Flustered, Margery sprang up and assisted her.
“My dear Helen,” Gran said with a broad smile. “I vow, you look just as you did all those years ago when you took London by storm and snagged yourself a duke.”
“Olivia,” the duchess said with a trembling smile, rushing forward to embrace the dowager viscountess. “I’ve missed you these past years. How is it that time flies so swiftly?”
“I wish I knew.” Gran’s eyes shifted to the large man who had accompanied the duchess, still standing in the doorway. “And this must be your son. I vow, Helen, I did not expect such a giant. Well, then, my boy, come here so I might have a better look at you.”
