8

MARGARET did not invite the Earl of Sheringford to stay for tea even though all her family was assembled in the drawing room above, anxiously awaiting the outcome of her meeting with him.

She was far more breathless than she ought to have been by the time she had climbed the stairs. Even so, she would gladly have climbed another flight to take refuge in her room. It could not be done, however. She squared her shoulders and opened the door.

Stephen was standing at the window, facing into the room, his hands clasped behind his back, his booted feet slightly apart, an unusually grim expression on his face.

Elliott was standing behind Vanessa's chair beside the fireplace, one hand on her shoulder. She was looking agitated; he was looking like a dark, brooding Greek god. Jasper was sitting on a love seat beside Katherine, Baby Hal asleep in the crook of his arm. Katherine was perched on the edge of her seat, her hands clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles showed white.

All of them, with the exception of Hal, turned toward the door, glanced beyond Margaret's shoulder, and almost visibly relaxed when they saw that Lord Sheringford was not with her. "Well, Meg?" Stephen asked tensely, and it occurred to her that at some time during the past couple of years, when she had not been paying particular attention, he had grown fully and admirably into his role as head of the family. He was no longer simply the carefree, sometimes careless, always charming youth she remembered. "Well," she said cheerfully, "here I am, and I have given directions for the tea tray to be brought up without further delay. You must all be as parched as I am. There will be an additional guest in your box at the theater this evening, Elliott. I hope you do not mind. I have invited the Earl of Sheringford to join us there." /Of course/ he minded. It showed in the further darkening of his expression.

They /all/ minded. /She/ would have minded, very much indeed, if she had been sitting there and one of her sisters had been standing here. She would have wondered if the sister concerned had windmills in her head instead of a functioning brain. "Oh, Meg," Kate said, "you have accepted him." "I am /not/ betrothed to the earl," Margaret said. "If I had been, I would have brought him up here with me to present to you all." Stephen's shoulders sagged with relief. "I /knew/ you would not accept him in a million years, Meg," Vanessa said, smiling warmly at her. "You have always been by far the most sensible of us all, and it would be decidedly /un/-sensible to marry a man like the Earl of Sheringford merely because of a little silly gossip." Vanessa was right, Margaret thought. She /was/ sensible. She was all sorts of very proper, very reasonable, very /dull/ things. But since last evening, and more especially since this morning, she had conceived the startlingly irrational urge to do something that was not sensible at all. She wanted to… Well, she wanted to /live/. "But you have nonetheless invited Sherry to join you at the theater this evening, Meg?" Jasper said. "A consolation prize for the poor man, perhaps?" The tea tray must have been all ready to bring when she had given the word. It was carried into the room almost on Margaret's heels, and they all fell silent while it was set on a low table that had been placed before her usual chair, which everyone had left empty.

It was a chair that would probably be left empty for her use all her life if she did not marry, Margaret thought. No one must sit in it because it was Aunt Margaret's chair – or /Great/-Aunt Margaret's – and she needed to be close to the fire to keep the chill out of her aged bones and close enough to the mantel to prop her cane against it.

It was a horrifying glimpse into the future.

She seated herself and picked up the teapot. "I have not accepted the Earl of Sheringford's marriage offer," she said as the door closed behind the footman and Vanessa came to distribute the teacups. "Neither have I rejected it." She set the teapot down and looked up. They were all waiting for an explanation. The atmosphere was tense again. "He must be married before the Marquess of Claverbrook's eightieth birthday, which is in a little less than two weeks' time," she said. "If he is not, he will lose his childhood home and the income he has always derived from it. He will be forced to seek employment until his grandfather dies, which may be shortly in the future or a long time away – it is impossible to know. He will /not/ lose his home if he marries even one day before the birthday. With a special license it can be done almost at a moment's notice." "But you are not – " Katherine began. "I have told Lord Sheringford," Margaret said, "that it is possible I will marry him in two weeks' time, but that it is equally possible I will /not/. I informed him that it is up to him in the meanwhile to woo me, to convince me that marriage to him is what I want for the rest of my life. It was extremely risky for him to accept the challenge, but he did. If I say no, it will be too late for him to find someone else." "No one would have him, anyway," Stephen said, lowering himself into the nearest chair, "especially after last night and this morning." "I am not so sure of that, Stephen," Elliott said. "His future prospects are dazzling enough to tempt any father with some ambition, few scruples, and a marriageable daughter. And Woodbine Park itself is a not inconsiderable property." "But /why/?" Katherine asked, gazing at Margaret. "Why would you even /consider/ such a marriage, Meg? You must realize as well as we do that apart from a little embarrassment, your reputation will not suffer any real damage if you simply say no. Why did you even /see/ him today when Stephen was very willing to turn him away on your behalf?" They were questions they all wanted answered, though she had answered some of them this morning. Not one of them had touched their tea.

Vanessa had not even handed around the plate of cakes. "I behaved badly last evening," Margaret said. "I wanted Crispin to know that I was not eagerly waiting for him to pay attention to me and perhaps even pay court to me. And I was annoyed – no, /angered/ – when he came to rescue me from the earl's wicked clutches after talking with Nessie and Elliott. As if he were my keeper. As if I needed his protection. As if I had not been forced to protect myself /and/ my brother and sisters in all the years after he went off to join his regiment. And so I said something very rash and very foolish. I told him that the Earl of Sheringford was my betrothed. None of what happened for the rest of the evening or today has been his fault. Indeed, he has been the soul of honor." "Except that by your own admission he is desperate for a bride," Stephen said. "And you also told us last evening that he /suggested/ what you said to Dew. You appear to have played right into his hands, Meg." She felt humiliated at the confession she had just made about Crispin.

She had never spoken to anyone of her relationship with him or her terrible heartache and resentment after his betrayal. She had kept it all strictly to herself. /Had she really just come perilously close to admitting to the Earl of Sheringford that they had been lovers before Crispin went off to join his regiment/? "I believe," she said, "I owed Lord Sheringford the courtesy of receiving him this afternoon." "And the courtesy of marrying him?" Elliott asked. "He will be very persuasive during the next two weeks, Margaret. You may depend upon that. His livelihood hangs upon your saying yes. And he must be extraordinarily good at persuasion. Not so very long ago he talked a married lady into ruining herself and running off with him." "Though to be fair, Elliott," Katherine said, "it ought to be said that no one has ever accused him of taking Mrs. Turner against her will. I daresay she was at least partly to blame." "If he can be persuasive enough," Margaret said quietly, picking up her own saucer and carrying her cup to her lips with hands that were almost steady, "I will marry him. If he cannot, then I will not. It is as simple as that. The decision will be mine." There was an uncomfortable silence. "Perhaps," Stephen said, "we should all take the man to our collective bosom and encourage the match with all the enthusiasm we can muster.