A ring.
“My nephew was considerate enough to travel all this way with this very valuable family heirloom, at my express request. He has encouraged me heartily for years now, insisting I am too old to remain a bachelor.” George winked at a person across the room.
Sebastian.
“I could not wait to share our joy and, as it is your birthday, I deemed it the perfect occasion to present you, my future bride, with this valuable token of our betrothal.”
Oohs and ahs rolled through the room.
Stunned, Margaret stared down at the ring as George slipped it onto her finger. It stuck on her knuckle, but George was not to be dissuaded and persisted until it circled her finger tightly at the base.
It doesn’t fit.
“But, George—“
“Congratulations, Kirkley.” Lord Riverton stepped forward with an outreached hand. “Felicitations to you both.”
“Oh, Lady Asherton! You didn’t give away a thing! We were all in the dark!” This from Mrs. Spencer, and then Mrs. Drake and her daughter. Abigail met her eyes from across the room and just before a smile stretched her lips, concern seemed to flicker for an instant.
“What wonderful news, my dear!” Lady Riverton’s voice demanded her attention. Suddenly swarmed with congratulations, Margaret put forth her best effort to smile and thank everyone.
Inside, she burned with silent rage. At George. At Hugh. And at Lord Rockingham, who she’d thought was her friend. He had brought the ring to George? He’d had a hand in all of this? Had he known that his uncle was going to ambush her tonight? You cannot marry him, he’d said! Had it all been a joke?
She twisted the cool metal band on her finger and experienced more than a twinge of discomfort. It didn’t fit.
The stone was red, garish. After tonight, she would hate the color red forever.
Margaret touched her cheeks. They were hot. but her anger was even hotter. And yet she could not keep herself from murmuring, “Thank you. It is beautiful, yes.” She held out her hand. She hated how it looked. The skin on her finger swelled on both sides of the band. Her finger looked trapped.
Much as she was feeling in that moment.
“But now we must go to dinner! And later we will play parlor games!” Penelope announced from across the room. Margaret met her gaze for a moment but there was no time for the two of them to speak. Penelope would not have been a part of this. Likely she believed that Margaret had resolved her questions and given George permission to make the announcement.
George tucked her hand in his arm. “You have made me the happiest of men,” he murmured down to her, just loud enough so that others might hear.
She would speak to him later.
Her heart skipped a beat. He’d made the announcement in front of nearly forty members of the ton. And although they were miles and miles away from London, the mail traveled quickly, and it traveled regularly. Many ladies present would want nothing more than to deliver the news to their dearest friends, who could not help but share it with their dearest friends and so forth.
Without realizing that they had managed to arrive at the table, Margaret took her seat beside George.
Naturally, Penelope had arranged the dinner to be an extravagant one.
Margaret watched the others as they took their seats around the long table. She was no longer the center of attention, and George was making conversation with the person seated on his other side.
Then a cool gray gaze met hers from the far end, seated just a few settings down from her brother. Was that disappointment in his eyes?
How dare he!
Margaret swallowed hard and glared back at him. If only she could read his mind in that moment. If only he could read hers!
But first, she must endure polite conversation punctuated with several courses of heavy foods. Margaret pasted a smile on her face. She would conduct herself with all decorum this evening. She might not, in truth, be the dignified widow she pretended to be, but she would damn well play the part. And afterward, she would appear to all the world as though she enjoyed every minute of the parlor games.
She would speak with George tomorrow.
Could she break off the betrothal without disgrace raining down around her? Because, as uneventful of a life as Margaret had led since Lawrence’s death, she had gotten caught up in a bit of scandal last spring. She’d presented Rose, who had once worked as Penelope’s lady’s maid, to the ton. In all fairness, Rose was a gently born lady but when the omission was exposed, an uproar had resulted.
All had ended well enough, but Margaret’s part had left a stain on her reputation.
But would she meet with difficulties when she returned to London if she broke off an engagement that barely took place? People’s opinions mattered a good deal in Mayfair.
She glanced down at her hand. She would worry about London later. First, she must make it through tonight.
And so, she smiled whenever it seemed appropriate and took one or two bites of each course until she felt as though her face was going to crack into a thousand pieces.
“Ladies.” Penelope had risen. “While the gentlemen share their port, shall we excuse ourselves to the drawing room?” But Margaret did not miss the look that her sister-in-law sent to Hugh, imploring him not to take overly long with the gentlemen guests.
Once in the foyer, Penelope sidled up beside her. “Please tell me you expected this. Do assure me that he had your consent to make the announcement. Otherwise, I’m afraid Hugh is going to have to thrash him!”
Margaret did not want to make trouble for her brother. Nor her… fiancé! Because, yes, until Margaret took action, George was presently her fiancé. If she decided to go through with the marriage, it would be most uncomfortable for her husband and her brother to be at odds with one another.
“He, er, did make the announcement prematurely.”
“You did not know. I knew it! I saw it on your face the moment he jammed that tasteless piece of jewelry on your finger.”
“It is a family heirloom,” Margaret defended it.
Penelope must never know that Margaret had decided beforehand to withdraw her consent. Margaret couldn’t trust her sister-in-law not to have Hugh meeting George on the field of honor.
This was Margaret’s fault for acting complacently. If she had made her decision earlier than thirty seconds before George announced their engagement, then she would not be in this predicament.
“The ring is too small.” Margaret held out her hand. “It will have to be sized.”
“So, you are approving then?” More than a trace of doubt laced Penelope’s voice. “Did you speak with him about the other matter? About his ability—”
“Not here, Pen.” Margaret shushed her as a few of the younger ladies caught up with them.
“Lady Danbury.” It was Miss Drake. “What parlor games do you have planned?
“I absolutely love parlor games. Charades is my favorite,” said another of the debutantes who’d only just come out the year before. With light brown hair and smiling brown eyes, Miss Crouch seemed to be liked by almost all the other young people.
“It is to be a surprise!” Penelope responded in a manner in which Margaret knew meant she was somewhat irritated.
Margaret forced her smile again. “We must wait for the gentlemen anyway,” she reminded the girls, who then giggled and proceeded along the corridor.