Page 49 of The Maid of Fairbourne Hall

Carrying in courses and handing them off to Mr. Arnold or Thomas, Margaret heard snatches of dinner conversation.

Most of it vague pleasantries—the weather, upcoming shoots and hunts, various house parties attended.

But then Margaret heard her own name mentioned and nearly spilled a platter of poached pigeon.

“...scouring all of London and beyond, but still no sign of the missing Miss Macy.” Saxby swallowed a bite, then continued, “At first, the gossips predicted an elopement.”

Margaret’s cheeks burned. She felt someone’s eyes on her and glanced over to find Helen looking her way.

Thomas stepped near and took the pigeon from her, whispering for her to next bring in the sweetbreads. In the servery she could still hear the humiliating conversation.

“But if that were the case, the family would have heard from her by now,” Lavinia Saxby insisted. “And we would have heard of a missing gentleman as well.”

Saxby considered. “Then perhaps she has been abducted. Or worse.”

“Never say so,” Lavinia protested.

Margaret returned from the servery and stood at the rear of the dining room, holding a silver serving dish of sweetbreads at the ready.

Lewis leaned back, all elegant nonchalance. “Be careful what you say about Miss Macy,” he warned. “Nathaniel here was quite besotted with her once upon a time.”

“Were you indeed?” Miss Lyons asked, brows arched high.

Nathaniel fidgeted. “That was a long time ago. Before I sailed for Barbados.”

Saxby smirked. “Some say that was why you left the country.”

“I left because my father asked me to, Mr. Saxby.”

“Nate here is the dutiful son.” Lewis winked. “Or was.”

“I don’t imagine Margaret was very happy when her mother married Sterling Benton so soon after Mr. Macy’s death,” Helen mused. “And even less so when Benton sold their family home.”

“To give up some rural cottage for a chance to live in Berkeley Square with Sterling Benton?” Miss Lyons scoffed. “I’d say she had not a thing to complain about.”

Nathaniel’s expression hardened. “Then you did not know Stephen Macy, nor Lime Tree Lodge, if you think Sterling Benton or Berkeley Square could compare favorably with either of them.”

Margaret’s throat tightened to hear Nathaniel say so.

“So what do you say, Nate,” Saxby asked. “Has some harm befallen Miss Macy, or has she gone off on a lark?”

Nathaniel flicked a glance across the room—toward her? “Miss Macy was headstrong and impulsive when I knew her years ago. And I imagine she is headstrong and impulsive now.”

Embarrassment flushed through Margaret.

Saxby goaded, “Impulsive, as in throwing you over for a chance at Lover Boy Lewie here?”

Margaret’s vision blurred and she felt herself sway.

“Piers, really,” Miss Lyons murmured disapprovingly.

Likely hoping to bring the subject to less volatile ground, Lavinia said quickly, “I wonder if there is any truth to the rumor that Margaret will inherit a great—”

Crash. The silver serving dish slipped from Margaret’s fingers.

All heads turned her way. She swiftly turned and bent to begin picking up the mess, self-conscious at having her backside taken in by so many pairs of eyes.

In a moment, Fiona was on her haunches beside her, scooping up the sweetbreads and sending her an empathetic grimace.

Mr. Arnold spoke up. “I’m terribly sorry, sir.”

“No matter, Arnold,” Nathaniel said. “These things happen.”

Face burning, Margaret retreated belowstairs.

———

Nathaniel glanced toward the servery door. The uncomfortable conversation continued, though its subject had disappeared from sight.

“I only met Miss Macy once,” Barbara Lyons said. “At the Valmores’ ball. And she did seem desperate enough to elope. For she all but begged a partner. I nearly felt sorry for her.”

“If she wanted a partner,” Saxby said, “she had only to turn to Marcus Benton, who was at her heel all night, like a besotted hound.”

Barbara shook her head. “It was obvious to me she did not care for young Mr. Benton.” She fluttered her lashes at Lewis. “She only had eyes for you, Mr. Upchurch.”

Lewis leaned near the brunette beside him. “While I only had eyes for you, Miss Lyons.”

“As did I,” Saxby said, glaring at him.

Lewis shook his head and confessed, “I am afraid I was less than gallant with Miss Macy. For the truth was, I was smitten with another lady.” He looked meaningfully at Miss Lyons. “One as far from my reach as Miss Macy is from Nate’s.”

Nathaniel inhaled slowly, willing anger to remain at bay.

Saxby huffed. “Oh, you are never heartbroken for long, Lewis. I seem to recall you flirting with a whole succession of females since then.”

“None seriously.” Lewis kept his gaze on Miss Lyons’s face, coyly dipped though it was.

“I wonder you find yourself at Fairbourne Hall so much more often lately,” Saxby persisted, reptilian eyes sliding to Miss Lyons before returning to Lewis.

“It’s Nate here,” Lewis quipped. “Has me on a short tether these days.”

“Has he? I thought it might have more to do with a certain ginger-haired girl in Maidstone.”

Lewis’s grin faded. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Oh, come, Lewie ,” Saxby sneered. “You forget Lavinia and I still have friends and family nearby. Local gossip does not fail to reach us.”

Lewis said through clenched teeth, “The gossips have it wrong.”

“Do they indeed?”

Nathaniel wondered if Saxby manufactured such a claim to put a wedge between Lewis and Miss Lyons. It was obvious both men were vying for the woman’s affections.

While the question, the challenge, hung in the air, Lewis flicked a look across the room, as if checking his reflection in the window. Connor, his valet, stood behind his chair, ramrod straight.

Lewis then riveted Saxby with an icy glare. “Indeed.”

“Then I stand corrected.” Saxby met his glare, then relaxed back against his chair. “Or should I say, sit corrected.” He raised his glass in a mock toast.

Nathaniel glanced at his brother’s valet.

Noticed Connor’s jaw tighten. He supposed the young man was privy to most of Lewis’s comings and goings, clandestine or otherwise.

He likely knew whether Lewis—or the gossips Saxby quoted—spoke the truth.

But Nathaniel knew a good valet was nothing if not discreet. Lewis’s secrets would be safe.

Just as Margaret’s secrets were safe with him.