Page 13

CHAPTER EIGHT

“ I cannot get over that dress,” Catherine said for what was the fifth time that night. “It is just so unlike you, Margaret.”

“And what daes that mean?”

Catherine laughed. “Exactly what it sounds like–and do not purposefully misunderstand me. I am not saying that you are known to dress as a slob. Just that, well…” Her eyes roamed over Margaret, a glimmer behind them as if the dress itself was reflecting in her eyes. “You look bonnie, is all.”

Despite herself, Margaret felt her face flush red.

She had always been close with Catherine, but in that way sisters so often were.

Friends, but somehow also enemies at the same time.

To hear her pay such a compliment as this, Margaret knew it to be true.

And although she liked to hear it, all it did was make the situation she had found herself in that much more complex.

“Personally, I am surprised Lysander had it commissioned,” Sampson said. “Very unlike him.”

“Not just the one either,” Catherine made sure to remind him. “He hired Miss Pinpoint herself to fashion an entire wardrobe. Very thoughtful…” She raised an eyebrow at her husband.

He scoffed. “Is that look supposed to imply something?”

“If you cannot see the implication, I will say it outright.” She raised her second eyebrow. “We have been married for over a year, and still I have never returned from my morning bath to find a modiste in my rooms, there to fashion me a wardrobe for the Season. I cannot help but wonder why.”

Sampson sighed and shook his head before turning to Margaret. “See what your husband has done? He is making me look bad.”

“You do that yourself,” Catherine chided him.

He laughed and took her hand, giving it a kiss. They were bickering, but there was a clear sense of love behind it, and Margaret could see it in Sampson’s eyes as he gazed upon his wife.

The dress which Margaret wore tonight was far bolder than that which she had worn to supper three nights earlier.

It was a lavish gown of multiple colors and layers, not dissimilar to how a peacock might look with its tail blooming.

A design specifically made to turn heads and have people staring in shock and awe.

A design which could only be counted as a success, considering the reception the dress had received this evening.

I am caught in two minds. One wants to radiate the beauty this dress demands, for I do so like how people stare and gape as I walk past. I have nae felt more bonnie. The other mind wishes to spurn it, for I do nae want to give my husband the satisfaction.

Even now, over an hour after arriving at the Irovale Ball, Margaret could still feel people looking at her.

It had been that way since she’d arrived on the duke’s arm.

A part of it, she was certain, was surprise brought by the newly married couple, dashing those pesky rumors into oblivion before they had a chance to gain momentum.

But the other part was how good she looked wearing it. Of that she had no doubt.

“Speaking of your husband, where is he?” Sampson asked, looking about.

“I saw him just a moment ago…” Catherine turned too and searched through the crowds.

It was a bustling event, as these balls so often were.

Hundreds of lords and ladies were sweeping through the ballroom, drinks in hand, laughter on their lips, smiles in their eyes, and minds set toward socializing and proliferating their own sense of worth and value in the eyes of their contemporaries.

That’s all these balls were, a chance to remind others of one’s own existence and importance, and to remind oneself, for that matter.

Margaret had found it strange arriving on the arm of a duke, as a duchess herself. She had known that her husband was an important man. Respected. Revered. Even worshipped, it seemed, the way that men and women both flocked to him. But even she’d had no idea just how much.

“Ah, there he is,” Sampson said, indicating across the busy ballroom. “Oh, he looks to be having a bad time, doesn’t he?” he chuckled. “Shall I rescue him?”

“Maybe…” Catherine said, keeping hold of her husband’s hand.

Lysander was surrounded by at least a half dozen lords, all eager to get a word in and make sure the popular duke saw them.

It had been that way all evening, the desperation others found in their desire to speak with Lysander.

They swarmed on him like bees on honey, and every single one was over-the-top in their praise of him, and of Margaret, for in their eyes, she was perfect.

She’d have to be, to be married to Lysander.

It made Margaret chuckle to see from afar her husband dealing with the masses. She knew for a fact he was not a social type, and she had no doubt he was loathing the attention.

Guid. He was the one who wished to come here tonight. Let him suffer the consequences.

“He does seem to be struggling, doesn’t he?” Catherine said. “Margaret, perhaps you should intervene?”

“Na,” she said, her tone a little sharper than she meant for it to be. “I da nae think so.”

“Ah, there it is,” Catherine chuckled.

“There what is?”

She shared a look with Sampson. “The real you,” Catherine laughed. “All evening, I have found myself wondering, who is this woman, and what has she done with my sister. I thought perhaps marriage had changed you.”

“What does that mean?”

“Oh, come now,” Catherine said rightly. “This is the first time I have seen you since your wedding day, and the truth is, I was expecting a vastly different version of you. Or perhaps a better way of saying it is that I was expecting my sister,” she chuckled.

“The two of you do seem rather happy,” Sampson noted. “Catherine assured me that it would be as if a cat and dog were forced to wed…” He laughed at the joke. “I was quite looking forward to it.”

“So, I am nae allowed to be happy?” Margaret said defensively.

“Are you?” Catherine asked. “My eyes say yes, but my ears are suggesting that they are lying to me.” She looked at Margaret. “So, come now, tell us true. How is married life really?”

Margaret wasn’t overly surprised by her sister and brother-in-law’s initial assessment of her marriage to Lysander.

That they were happy and had found peace with one another.

That was the entire point of tonight, after all.

To make it seem that we are blissfully in love.

That there is nae ill will shared between us.

A scandal that was never such a thing because we both wanted this marriage…

And Margaret had done her best to promulgate this lie, as she had promised to.

They had arrived arm in arm, smiles and well wishes for those who stopped to talk to them.

Margaret laughed at his jokes. She stayed close by his side.

She did as he had ordered her, behaving, because if she did not…

well, she wasn’t sure what the duke would do, but she did not wish to find out.

Besides, she told herself that to do so was to her own benefit also. If this Season continued without any drama, she would be allowed to return to Scotland at its end. And wasn’t that what she wanted?

A shame that it was all a lie. That she and the duke had not spoken properly since their first supper together. That she had been avoiding him, and he her. And for guid reason!

“It is fine,” she said to her sister. “A marriage like any other.”

“It sure sounds like it,” Catherine laughed.

“It is!” Margaret insisted. “The duke is… kind. And he is a good father to his daughters.” Perhaps his only positive trait. “And where I thought this marriage would be a burden, it is…” She considered as she watched her husband across the ball room. “Nae nearly as bad as I was expectin’.”

Again, Catherine and Sampson shared a look between one another, neither appearing to believe what she said. But she refused to give them an inch, needing them to believe as everyone else did that this marriage was going along perfectly and wonderfully and happily to boot.

I almost thought it would too. For a short time there, I had dared to wonder if there might be more to this marriage than whit was promised. Only, the duke made sure to dismiss such hopes. And then some.

She still could not get past the conversation they’d had at supper.

The signals he had been sending her until that conversation were mixed, but he had been sure to clear them up for her.

This marriage was a convenience only; it had an end date attached, and all she needed to do was behave herself until it arrived.

Behave meself and avoid him as much as possible. Me feeling is he will be more than happy that I do.

“I suppose we will learn the truth soon enough,” Sampson said with a knowing smirk. “For here comes the man himself.”

Margaret looked over to see her husband moving through the crowd toward them.

Even though he vexed her beyond belief, she still felt a tremor in her chest every time she looked at him.

How handsome he was. How powerful and in command.

The crowd seemed to part for him as he walked, as if the world itself moved at his beck and call.

She swallowed and forced a smile, ignoring the way her heart began to race… and how his kiss still lingered on her lips.

“There you are,” Lysander said with a warm smile as he reached them. “I was looking for you, dear wife.”

“And ye have found me.”

“Lysander…” Sampson patted his friend on the back. “Enjoying yourself, I see. I know how much you love to socialize.”

Lysander curled his lip. “I am glad you are having fun at my expense. Far more than I am, for that matter.”

Sampson laughed. “Your wife was just telling us the details of your marriage.”

“Oh?” He looked at Margaret as if expecting the worst. She looked right back at him, refusing to back down.

“How happy the two of you are,” Sampson assured him, although there was a hint of sarcasm in his tone. “She says that married life with you is bliss beyond her reckoning.”

“Did she now?”