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Suddenly he turned to his wife and muttered an aside that nevertheless carried to Margery on the breeze: “Well, our Bronwyn is not plain at any rate. But with such a catch as a duke, beggars cannot be choosers.”
Mrs. Pickering tittered.
Margery froze. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
The man had the decency to look abashed, though only slightly. “Well, you must admit, my dear Mrs. Kitteridge, the man’s scars can be a bit unsettling.”
Outrage rose up in Margery like tidewater. She sat up straighter and leveled a glare on the man. “There is nothing at all unsettling about His Grace’s appearance.”
“Your loyalty is commendable, Mrs. Kitteridge,” Mrs. Pickering said with a small smile that spoke of some secret understanding between them. “But even you in your boundless kindness cannot deny that His Grace’s scars can be difficult to look upon.”
Margery gaped at her. Then, vision turning red, she said, “One wonders how you could entertain the idea of him as a son-in-law if you view him in such a way.”
Again that titter, this time making Margery clench her back teeth until she thought they’d shatter. “One can entertain a good many things if the man in question is a duke,” the other woman quipped. “Isn’t that so, Mr. Pickering?”
The two laughed uproariously, wholly unaware of Margery’s growing fury. Unable to remain in their presence a moment longer, she stood. The couple started, their laughter dying away as they gaped up at her.
“I do hope you’ll forgive me,” she bit out in a tone that belied her pleasant words, “but I just recalled His Grace and I are expected back at Seacliff. I’m afraid I’ll have to cut our afternoon short. If you’ll excuse us?”
Without waiting for them to reply—if they did, they would most likely say something offensive, and Margery could not be responsible for her actions if they did—she stalked down the beach after Daniel and Miss Pickering. They had not gone far; the sand made it difficult for Daniel to maneuver with any speed. But the girl was more animated than Margery had ever seen her. As she approached, she heard Miss Pickering going on about thoraxes and mandibles—whatever in the world those were—in an energetic way.
But in that moment, with fury pounding through her, Margery wasn’t in a mood to appreciate the fact that Daniel had somehow managed to open the girl up, as so few had. Not that Margery would ever appreciate something of that manner, she reflected sourly.
“Your Grace,” she said with a falsely bright smile, “I just recalled that we’re expected back at Seacliff. Miss Pickering, if you’re agreeable, His Grace and I can escort you back to your parents.”
Then, with all the skill of a sheepdog, she herded the two back to the blanket. In no time they had said their hasty farewells and were heading back to their carriage.
Daniel remained quiet through the whole thing. It was only when they were settled within the open carriage, however, that he finally spoke in a low voice.
“What the devil was that about?”
Margery glanced at him before returning her gaze back to the beach. “Nothing at all,” she mumbled.
“It did not seem like nothing,” he replied.
Margery pressed her lips tighter. The carriage started off then, heading down The Promenade toward Seacliff. She focused on the rhythmic sounds of the horses’ hooves on the cobbles, the wheels against the road, the hush of the waves beneath it all. But nothing, it seemed, could take away the fury simmering in her veins.
“Margery—”
“It was nothing.”
He let out an aggravated breath. “I was finally making headway with the young lady. Which was the point of the whole thing. Wasn’t it?”
Still, she refused to look at him. “Perhaps she’s the wrong young lady.”
“She may be a bit odd—”
“It’s not that.”
“What then?”
It was the frustration in his voice that finally broke her resolve to remain silent on the matter. Heartbreak and pain and anger all coalescing into a perfect storm, she turned to face him. “You don’t deserve to be talked about in such a way by your future bride’s family.”
Understanding lit his eyes. He let out a weary laugh. “Ah, I see the way of it. Mr. and Mrs. Pickering were open about their feelings on my appearance, were they?”
“Yes,” she managed.
He merely shrugged, his expression proclaiming he was not the least surprised.
