Page 26 of My Viscount’s Madness

Chapter 26

Coming Home

M arguerite sat with her aunt in the morning room at Berkeley Square, pretending to be interested in her embroidery while her mind wandered to Tristan’s last note. His message mentioned meeting with the magistrate again, and she counted the hours until his next visit.

The butler’s rapid entrance broke through her thoughts, his usual dignity cracking around the edges. “Your Ladyship, Lady Morton requests an immediate audience. She comes directly from White’s, where her husband has witnessed…” He paused, clearly struggling with the magnitude of his news. “A rather significant incident involving Lord Edgecombe.”

Marguerite set aside her embroidery as Lady Morton swept in before the butler finished speaking, her bonnet ribbons trailing behind her. “My dear girls, you cannot imagine the scene! Edward came straight home to tell me—the magistrate arrived at White’s while half the Ton breakfasted there. The evidence laid out before everyone, Lord Edgecombe’s face white as chalk when they began reading from his private papers!”

“The magistrate went to White’s?” Lady Elizabeth leaned forward, her dark eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Directly to the gentleman’s club?”

“With officers of the law beside him.” Lady Morton sank onto the nearest settee, her voice pitched low as though sharing state secrets. “The timing was perfect—Edgecombe couldn’t escape as they read every detail. The false investments, the manufactured debts—even records of payments made to silence compromised young ladies. My own nephew’s accounts were among those examined.”

Marguerite’s fingers pressed against her palms. “And his reaction?”

“Fled the club like a cur with its tail between its legs. Though not before Lord Hampton called him out for his treatment of Miss Blackwood. Sir Richard stood in the club and detailed every scheme and threat used against his daughter. I haven’t seen such a spectacular fall since the Duke of Cumberland’s disgrace in ‘89.”

The door opened again to admit Mrs. Fairfax and her daughter, their faces practically bursting with curiosity. Word of what had happened to Lord Edgecombe at the club spread quickly.

“Is it true?” Miss Fairfax pressed forward eagerly. “About the Cheapside office? Thompson’s footman swears Lord Edgecombe maintained an entire network of false businesses.”

“All exposed.” Lady Morton blurted, unable to keep in her excitement. “The magistrate’s men seized his papers this morning. Every fraudulent transaction, every forged signature laid bare for society to judge.”

Marguerite remained quiet as more callers arrived, each bearing fresh details of Lord Edgecombe’s downfall. Her aunt fielded their questions, fulfilling their curiosity while watching her niece with knowing eyes.

“Your father showed remarkable courage,” Mrs. Fairfax said, addressing Marguerite directly. “His testimony proved crucial to the investigation. Though I imagine such public revelation cannot have been easy.”

“The Marquess chose truth over pride,” Lady Elizabeth replied when Marguerite remained silent. “A choice that speaks to his character, I think.”

Before anyone could respond, the butler appeared once more. “The Marquess and Marchioness of Ash, Your Ladyship. And Lady Langston.”

The assembled ladies exchanged glances as Marguerite’s family entered. Her father’s shoulders, usually so proud, had lost their rigid set. The Marchioness clutched Dinah’s arm as though requiring physical support, while her sister, though relieved as she looked, could also not hide her concern.

“Ladies.” The Marquess bowed courteously, though his complexion had gone rather grey. “I trust we do not interrupt?”

“Not at all.” Lady Elizabeth rang for fresh tea as their visitors quickly bid farewell, leaving the family to discuss their private matters. Even Lady Morton’s usual fondness for lingering over scandal gave way before the problematic interaction between father and daughter.

Silence descended upon the morning room when the door closed behind the last caller. Marguerite’s father crossed to the window, his reflection fragmenting in the glass as he stared at Berkeley Square.

“The magistrate has concluded his initial investigation,” he said without turning. “Lord Edgecombe’s schemes could not survive such scrutiny.”

“So I gather.” Marguerite’s voice sounded steadier than she felt. “Perhaps you might explain why you chose to face him so publicly?”

Now, he did turn, and the anguish in his expression caught at her throat. “Because I owed you that much, at least. To face my own cowardice before society rather than hide behind false pride while he threatened your happiness.”

“Papa…” But the word stuck in her throat as he made his way to her, his eyes heavy.

“I failed you.” His voice roughened. “Failed all of you. I let my weakness for gaming blind me to what truly mattered until I nearly lost everything worth preserving.”

The Marchioness pressed her handkerchief to her lips. Dinah’s arm settled around their mother’s shoulders, though her gaze remained fixed on their father.

“I cannot undo my mistakes,” he continued. “I cannot erase the debt or scandal that drove me to consider such desperate measures. But I can acknowledge my guilt, can face the consequences of my actions rather than sacrifice my daughter’s future to hide my shame.”

Marguerite rose slowly, her legs trembling beneath her. “And what of Lord Guildford? Do you still regard our engagement as merely… convenient?”

“I regard it…” He hesitated, carefully weighing his words. “As a far better match than my own stubborn pride initially allowed me to see. Perhaps now you might permit me to make amends? To welcome you home, not out of obligation, but as the daughter whose strength I have been blind to for far too long.”

“Home?” Marguerite repeated, her voice barely above a whisper, wavering despite her efforts to steady it.

“If you wish it,” he said, stepping closer and extending his hands, his fingers trembling ever so slightly. “Though I would understand if you prefer to remain distant. God knows I’ve given you little cause to trust my judgment or my heart.”

Marguerite’s gaze lingered on his face, noting the faint lines that had deepened around his eyes and the grey at his temples that seemed to have multiplied in mere weeks. When had her proud, imposing father transformed into the uncertain, humbled man standing before her now?

“I want…” She hesitated, her voice gaining strength. “I need to know this change is genuine—that you truly see me as more than a pawn in society’s games.”

“I see you,” he replied softly, “as the woman who had the courage to defy me. Who carved her own path when I sought to force her down another. Who showed me what real strength looks like in the face of adversity.”

“I cannot pretend these past months haven’t changed me,” Marguerite said, holding his gaze steadily. “Nor can I return home as if nothing has happened between us.”

“I would not ask it of you,” the Marquess said, his voice low as he released her hands and stepped back. “Your independence and your right to choose your own path are not privileges I can rescind, even if I wished to.”

“Which you don’t,” Dinah interjected with a knowing tone, more statement than question.

“No,” he admitted, his mouth twisting in a wry smile. “I believe I have learned that lesson thoroughly.”

The Marchioness dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “Then you’ll come home? The house feels so empty without you, my dear.”

“On my terms,” Marguerite replied firmly, her resolve clear. “No more discussions of suitable matches or family obligations. My engagement to Lord Guildford stands as it is—unchanged and uncompromised.”

Her father inclined his head, a hint of uncertainty softening his usual stern demeanor. “I would not presume to interfere. Yet perhaps…” He paused, choosing his words with care. “Perhaps you might allow me the opportunity to know him better? To see for myself what you see in him—beyond the convenient shield he once seemed to be?”

Something in Marguerite’s chest tightened at his words. How could she explain what existed between herself and Tristan? How he made her pulse race with a single glance, how his presence brought comfort and excitement. Even now, she longed to share this moment with him, to have his hand to hold as she handled all this.

“He is more than convenience,” she said at last. “Though I think you begin to see that for yourself.”

“I see a man who defended your honor when I would have bartered it away,” he admitted,“who gives you the courage to stand firm in your convictions while I…” He broke off, swallowing hard.

“While you learn to do the same?” Dinah suggested gently.

Lady Elizabeth rang for her butler. “Perhaps some refreshment before you depart? The journey to Fitzroy Manor need not begin immediately.”

“No.” Marguerite straightened her spine. “I believe it should. Some things are best faced directly, are they not, Papa?”

His answering smile showed more pain than joy, but she also read genuine affection there. “As you wish, my dear. Though your mother would never forgive me if we didn’t send properly for your things.”

“I’ll see to the arrangements,” Lady Elizabeth said, rising to pull the bell cord. “And I’ll ring for some tea while you wait for the carriages. We have fresh scones in the kitchen, and they simply cannot go to waste.”

The family arranged themselves in a way that felt both familiar and oddly foreign—her parents seated together on the settee, Dinah poised gracefully in an armchair, and Marguerite settled beside her aunt. Sharing tea after all that had transpired carried an undercurrent of awkwardness, yet a tentative sense of ease began to weave its way through the room.

“Lord Guildford called yesterday,” Lady Elizabeth remarked as she passed the sugar. “To discuss certain arrangements regarding young Miss Hoffman’s riding lessons.”

Marguerite leaned forward as she accepted her cup. “Did he mention when they might begin?”

“Next week, I believe. Though he seemed more interested in when you might return to society.” Her aunt gave her a sly smile. “Something about finding certain drawing rooms remarkably empty of late.”

Marguerite couldn’t control how her heart pounded. She hadn’t dared voice her own longing for Tristan’s company, for those moments when their hands might brush or their eyes meet across a crowded room. Even now, propriety demanded she keep such feelings private.

“The Season continues despite the scandal,” Dinah observed. “Though I imagine certain drawing rooms will prove notably emptier without Lord Edgecombe’s presence.”

“His sister has already retreated to their estate in Surrey.” The Marchioness set her cup aside. “That said, let us focus on happier matters! Your return home brings such joy, my dear.”

“Joy earned through difficult lessons,” their father said quietly. “Perhaps the price was worth paying if it brought us to a better understanding.”

Marguerite met his gaze across the tea table. “Understanding goes both ways, Papa. I am no longer the dutiful daughter who accepted your decisions without question.”

“No.” His smile grew more genuine. “You are something far better—a woman who knows her mind and stands firm in her convictions. Would that I had recognized such strength sooner.”

The butler’s arrival announced that the carriages stood ready. Marguerite rose to embrace her aunt, grief suddenly taking over her. She knew she would miss her aunt dearly.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything.”

“Be happy, my dear.” Lady Elizabeth’s arms tightened around her. “Though I advise that you invite Lord Guildford to call more regularly now that you’ve returned home. The poor man is clearly quite lost without your presence.”

Marguerite withdrew, grateful that her family’s preparations for departure hid her flushed cheeks. She hadn’t dared hope that Tristan might feel her absence as keenly as she felt his, yet her aunt’s words suggested…

But no. She must not let such thoughts distract her from her reconciliation with her family. There would be enough time to consider her feelings for Tristan and wonder if their arrangement might evolve into something greater than either had initially planned.

Before that, she had a homecoming to get through—one that signified physical return and emotional growth. As she followed her family to the waiting carriages, Marguerite lifted her chin. She felt braver than ever, knowing she could deal with her problems on her own terms, through courage rather than compromise.

Her mind kept returning to Lady Elizabeth’s words as they said farewell: “Remember, my dear—sometimes the best victories come disguised as moments of surrender.”

Marguerite entered the carriage to sit beside Dinah, watching Berkeley Square recede behind them. Her sister’s smile suggested she read more in Marguerite’s expression than she would have wished.

“You’re thinking of him,” Dinah murmured, her voice low so only Marguerite could hear it. “How convenient that Fitzroy Manor lies so near his estate.”

“Convenience has nothing to do with it,” Marguerite replied, though she couldn’t entirely suppress her smile. “At least, not anymore.”

The carriage rolled steadily toward home, the rhythmic clatter of wheels a soothing counterpoint to her thoughts. Her fingers brushed the pocket where Tristan’s final note rested, a small but tangible promise of better days to come. As she gazed out at the passing countryside, she allowed herself a glimmer of hope—that when she reentered society, her life might hold more joy than the shadows of the past had ever permitted.