Page 9 of The Duke's Sister's Absolutely Excellent Engagement (The Notorious Briarwoods Book 11)

“I cannot believe you have convinced me to come to the opera on my night off,” trilled Estella, the dowager duchess’s sister.

“Do you not like the opera?” blurted Margery.

Estella arched her elegant brow, adjusted herself in the golden chair, whipped open her fan, and began to wave it oh so slowly, which caused her elaborate curls to drift about her stunning face. “The opera is full of ridiculous nonsense. I can appreciate the genius of Mozart and his sense of humor, but it is nothing like Shakespeare, my dear. Nothing like plays.”

Margery smiled, trying to make sense of Estella’s world. “I have had so little occasion to go to the opera that I shall have to take you at your word.”

Estella tsked and gestured down to the stage where an elaborate set awaited the start. “All those singers and dancers, prancing about in silly costumes, singing silly words to silly songs. There’s nothing of the emotional depth of the great playwrights, my dear, which I would assume you know now, since you have seen so many plays in my own beloved theater.”

The dowager duchess was watching both of them, amused.

Margery nodded. She had seen more plays in the last three months than she had seen in her lifetime. And she loved the theater, the magic that unfolded, and the people that came to fill the space. “I do adore the theater now and especially your excellent interpretations, which seem to have particular intensity. So often I shiver with anticipation, on the edge of my chair, desperate to know how it shall unfold, even though I have read the plays before!”

Estella inclined her head, pleased. “Well said. You do know how to praise. A characteristic every duchess should have.”

Margery folded her hands over her silk skirts and replied honestly, “If I had been born to another life, I would have been an actress, I think.”

“Ah, are you certain?” cut in the dowager duchess. She turned to her sister and gave her a knowing look. “Our dear Margery here wishes she was a dancer, in truth.”

Estella’s eyes widened, shining with intrigue. Their glimmer matched the flash of her emeralds. “Indeed? Do we have someone who wishes they could tread the boards?” Estella patted her sister’s hand. “You keep collecting such interesting family, my dear. Are you trying to convert them all into thespians or performers?”

The dowager duchess threw back her head and laughed. “Why ever shouldn’t I? It’s the best life. I only left it for my darling husband and his wealth and his lands.”

Margery’s mouth dropped open, then she swiftly shut it when she realized the dowager duchess was teasing. She was such a fascinating woman, who loved to speak grandly, dramatically, but then sincerely.

Then the dowager grew more serious. “No, I would not go back. My beautiful, wonderful family that keeps increasing is better than any stage.”

The dowager duchess reached out and took Margery’s hand. “Estella has recommended a ballet instructor for you.”

“You have?” Margery asked, astonished. It had sounded just a moment before as if Estella did not know of her interest in dance. The sisters were quite interesting, and she realized that they, like most of the Briarwoods, enjoyed playing with situations rather than being boring or drab about them.

“Thank you,” she exclaimed.

Estella inclined her head. “I know a very good fellow, absolutely entertaining, and he will have you twirling about in no time, my dear. He’s a bit of a taskmaster as all great artists are. And if you wish to take to the stage—”

“I won’t,” Margery rushed, shocked that such a thing could even be said. “I won’t. I don’t think a duchess dancing in a ballet would be…”

“You are right, of course. Perhaps a home performance?” Estella suggested as the orchestra began to pluck strings, warming up. “While you might not wish to perform at the opera… Yes, that would cause quite a scandal, but I don’t see why you couldn’t do so in the privacy of your home among select guests. After all, half of Versailles did. Marie Antoinette herself adored singing and performing—”

“And look where that got her,” the dowager duchess groaned. “Though our family still does private performance for our friends, I do feel as if we are on a fast road to Puritanism again.”

“How awful.” Estella shuddered, causing the rich rose of her gown to catch the light of the chandeliers hanging overhead. “I don’t disagree with you, my dear. People seem to be growing more boring every day. I fear for the future of your grandchildren. They’re all going to have to put up with a great deal of silliness and terrible ramifications if the dowdies get their way.”

Margery swung her gaze between the two women. “Whatever do you mean?” she inquired.

Estella drew in a long-suffering breath. “Well, my dear, as society grows more and more serious, there are usually more problems, but they are papered over and no one speaks of them out of fear.”

“Truly?” she asked, astonished. She’d never heard such a thing. Her father and mother had been most strict in their beliefs.

“Oh yes. Alas, I think you shall see it.”

The dowager nodded. “Shakespeare wrote quite scathingly of the approaching Puritan wave in his own plays. And then what did you see? Within fifty years? Revolution and austerity. You know they banned Christmas celebrations when Cromwell was in control, don’t you?”

“What?” Margery gasped. “That isn’t something our governess taught!”

Estella snorted. “Yes, well, people do like to leave out how nonsensical such fellows can be, my dear, and Cromwell really did wish to control everyone.”

The dowager added, “I can’t like or forgive anyone who closed down the theaters. Thank goodness his son was such a fool.”

Estella hesitated, then held her painted fan in such a way as to hide what she is saying. “Everyone is staring at us, and I don’t think it is for the usual reasons.”

Margery, who was not accustomed to having people staring at her at all, was astonished by Estella’s correct observation. Surely, the lady was used to everyone looking at her as one of the most famous actresses in London. And, of course, the dowager duchess had to be accustomed to it as well.

But Margery dared to look out toward the boxes across from theirs. They were beautiful, lined with gold and velvet, and filled with the wealthiest members of the ton.

And she realized that Estella was quite correct. There were many, many ladies, and even a few gentlemen, staring at them behind their fans or with spyglasses. They did not look pleasant.

As a matter of fact, some of them looked as if they wished to tear her apart.

Her.

Their animosity was definitely homed in on Margery. But why? For they were not looking at Estella or the dowager.

“Whatever is going on?” she asked, suddenly feeling quite apprehensive. She snapped her own fan open as her palms began to sweat.

“They all must’ve had a bad bit of beef. Or they’ve drunk bad champagne. One must never drink bad champagne. It is horrible for the constitution,” the dowager duchess said softly, giving her sister a warning stare. Then she looked back to Margery. “Pay no mind.”

“That’s not at all true, and you shouldn’t say such things to Margery. She’s a very capable young lady, and you should tell her the truth.”

“Tell me what?” Margery asked, her throat tightening.

“Margery has had to contend with a great deal all her life. She doesn’t need any—”

“I do,” Margery cut in. “I don’t wish to be lied to. Has something happened? What is amiss?”

“Well, my dear,” Estella began with surprising firmness, “if my dear sister doesn’t have the courage to tell you, I shall. I have been hearing the gossip now for days, ever since your marriage announcement. By the way, a full announcement in all the newssheets? Simply splendid, my dear. I am personally delighted that Nestor is telling the whole world how eager he is to be your husband. It shall be a grand wedding, of course. St. Paul’s, is it?”

The dowager duchess nodded. “Yes. We’ve secured it because the families are so equally powerful.”

“Oh, yes, everyone will come,” Estella agreed, but then she lowered her voice and added, “to throw tomatoes.”

“Why would they throw tomatoes at me?” Margery exclaimed.

“Because, my dear,” Estella explained, leaning forward, her eyes gleaming and her lips pursing as if she had the greatest bit of information possible, “you have landed the greatest marriage like a coup. You came in, you conquered, and no one even knew there was something to conquer.”

“What do you mean?” Margery asked, blinking, not following and feeling quite at loss that she was seemingly so out of her depth.

“No one even thought that Nestor was on the marriage mart. So, no one bothered to pursue him. Not really. That’s what all the great ladies are saying.”

“Well, there was that one lady,” Margery said, frowning. “Her daughter is Lady Magnolia.”

“Oh. Yes. Hortensia,” the dowager duchess said. “Despite her lack of conversation, she is quite the optimist. I must admire her for it, for attempting to rouse my darling grandson’s interests. But the truth is,” the dowager confessed with a sigh, “not everyone is pleased about the union.”

“Why?” Margery said, her spirits sinking.

Was she to be so disliked? Could she never be admired? She’d never had attention before, and now the attention she was gaining was going to be negative. Her heart. Oh, her heart sank.

Maybe all of this was a terrible mistake. Maybe she should not be marrying Nestor at all if the response was so negative.

But then she stopped herself and squared her shoulders. No. She would not let such preposterous thoughts into her head.

Nestor wanted her, and she wanted him. That had to be enough, didn’t it? She’d never been liked by society. She would not allow that to upset her now, would she? But as she again dared to look at the faces staring at her, as if they could somehow make daggers pierce her bosom with their furious gazes, she found herself growing a bit reticent.

This was not good.

This was not at all what she wanted for Nestor. Or herself. Surely, he wished to be praised for his decisions, and he should have been. He had picked a girl from a family that had a dukedom. Their collective anger was utter madness.

Estella gave her a sympathetic cluck. “Do not give them another moment of your attention.”

Margery pulled her gaze back to the enigmatic ladies beside her, though it was no easy thing, and quite frankly, a part of her wished to flee.

“I think, my dear, everyone is a bit upset that you caught them all unprepared,” the dowager said. “I think they all assumed that my grandson would be a great prize to catch in some years to come. Many of them likely had their strategies to get him when their daughters came on the market at that time.”

Estella’s face lit up with glee and she said merrily, “And you have taken him off the market before he was even on it.”

“He asked me,” Margery pointed out.

The dowager gave her a kind look, a defiant look, as though she cared not a whit for society’s sour grapes. “Yes, my dear. And we’re so very thrilled.”

Estella nodded. “I’m so pleased it’s you. Stars above. All the silly twits that are out there? The possible duchesses he could have chosen?” Estella pursed her lips and declared, “You will love him and take care of him, and he shall love and take care of you, and it’ll be a tremendous success. But, my dear, you are going to have to grow a very thick skin soon.”

Margery paused, a strange sort of strength suddenly taking root in her. She unfolded her hands and smoothed them over her skirts before she lifted her chin and replied, “I have a very thick skin. It would be a mistake for you to think otherwise. Perhaps I appear soft. Perhaps I am too quiet. But that does not mean that I have not taken many blows.”

Estella mirrored her behavior and lifted her chin, clearly impressed by the reply. “Oh my. Have we unearthed a tigress? How terribly exciting.”

The dowager duchess nodded. “Margery is no simpering miss, nor will she be a pushover. She has known a hard life. Harder than many. I think what astounds me, my dear, is that the world assumes because you grew up with so much abundance, so much wealth, that you should have nothing to complain of, that everything has fallen into your lap. But it is the opposite, isn’t it?”

Margery looked at her soon-to-be grand-aunt-in-law and grandmother-in-law and drew in a long breath. How could she explain it to ladies who had known cruel upbringings in the East End and climbed to power and wealth? She knew they would understand if she could but articulate it correctly.

“Oh, yes,” Margery agreed. “I was surrounded by golden objects, fripperies, and wealth, but it was all held just out of my reach, you see, and I was punished over and over again. All the abundance you speak of? It was kept from me. Despite the grand house I grew up in, I was kept in fairly terrible austerity to make certain that I always fit the mold that my mother and father wished. If I dared to want anything but what they wanted, my life became a terrible one. Not very different from Rufus’s, really. I was punished, scolded, isolated, and shamed. Abundance of every kind was all around me, but I was not allowed to have any of it. My parents believed that an austere life, full of physical discipline, would make me an obedient daughter and eventually the sort of duchess who would make England strong.

“So, when you speak to me of Puritanism, I understand it better than most, even if I didn’t know that Cromwell banned Christmas celebrations. And I can tell you that I agree with you. Control like that is cruel, and it wishes freedom for no one, and joy is stolen in every moment in a life like that.”

Estella snapped her fan shut and applauded. “Well said, my dear. Well said. You would make a fine orator. Rufus is wonderful, but you should have been born the duke. What a speaker you are. You would have changed every mind in the House of Lords.”

She laughed at that. “Rufus might agree with you, actually. He hates speaking in public. He hates being in public at all. He’s so shy. But he is wonderful, and he’s a good man, and he did everything he could to make my life better when my parents were alive. I can still remember the days when I was shut in my room. Rufus would come and sit on the other side of the door. He would talk to me, encourage me, and tell me that I would get through it all, that one day we would be free. God took our parents so much sooner than either of us ever thought possible. It was terrible, of course, but at least Rufus and I no longer suffered daily at their hands. Perhaps that is scandalous to say, but it is also true. And then Rufus did everything he could to make me happy, even though he did not know how to make himself happy.”

Margery was astonished to see that tears shone in both Estella’s and the dowager’s eyes.

This caused tears to prick her own eyes. She blinked rapidly, feeling safe and cared for and supported by these magnificent women.

She sucked in a fortifying breath and announced, “So, I will not be cowed. I refuse.”

“Good,” Estella said, reaching out and taking her hand with her jeweled one. “And we shall teach all of these fools that you are the one who should most certainly be his duchess one day, and there was never going to be a competition to begin with. For none of them could ever compete for Nestor’s heart.”

He had given it so quickly, so easily, and Margery wondered for a brief moment if he would ever regret it. People changed. People grew. Would he one day look back and regret that he had married so young? She would not think on it. She could not.

The curtains of their box swayed, and Nestor strode in, his dark hair perfectly styled, his cravat pressed to perfection, and his dark coat cut to his perfect body like an embrace.

“My God,” he drawled, “the company is dour this night. I’ve just overheard the most ridiculous drivel.”

“And what is that?” Margery asked.

He leaned down and waggled his brows at her as if this was all an absurd game. “Oh, only that if they had known that I was seeking a wife, that Lady Magnolia would’ve had me.”

He snorted. “I can’t stand most people in society,” he said. “Thank God Rufus brought you to us. It saved me a great deal of suffering.”

She tensed but forced herself to say lightly, “Is that what I am? A prop against suffering?”

She hoped to God she wasn’t a scapegoat for him, an escape as she had feared. No. He’d made her feel so, well, special. She would not allow herself to think otherwise. She couldn’t, because if she did, that would be allowing her mother and father to win.

But instead of some grand argument, Nestor gave her a curious stare, took her hand, and then raised it to his lips.

“A prop? Margery, you are the antidote to suffering.”

Then he lowered his mouth to her knuckles as the entire ton watched, and she forced all of her fears to retreat.