“Miss Ninian!”
As Marguerite put her foot on the bottom step of the staircase, Twoomey hailed her.
“Lord John was looking for you. Your mother is waiting for you in the small drawing room, Miss.”
Her mother? Ah, this would be about the letter she had written. “Thank you, Twoomey.”
Her stomach trembled. The next half-hour promised to be one of the worst in her life. If only Papa had not been such a muddler. He had left them in a dreadful fix.
She checked her appearance in the hall mirror. Several tendrils of hair hung loose and she took off her bonnet and placed it on the hall table along with her gloves. Her mother had never approved of her enjoyment of the outdoors, and it wouldn’t do on such an important day to meet her with windblown hair and a smudge of dirt on her cheek. Marguerite did not want to embarrass or antagonize her mother, but bigamy and illegitimacy were not topics one could discuss without embarrassing someone. She re-pinned the loose tendrils and smoothed down her skirts before hurrying to the small drawing room.
“Good day, Mama.”
But her mother was not the only person in the room. The marchioness sat on a settle, looking as if she wished to be anywhere but here. John stood beside her mother holding—was that the barn cat?
“Tiggy!” she exclaimed, taking the cat from him. “Where did you find her?”
John grinned. “I knew you were anxious about her so I asked the stableboys to find her. She was lying low. She—”
“Ahem!”
Marguerite turned, still holding on to Tiggy. Lord, she had almost forgotten her mother. “Sorry, Mama. How are you?”
“I am well, thank you, D-Marguerite. Put that dratted cat down, girl. The drawing room is no place for a cat.”
Marguerite clung to Tiggy. “She has been through a fire, Mama. She deserves to be cherished.” Her voice broke.
The marchioness stood up. “My dear—”
But John took control. He plucked Tiggy out of Marguerite’s arms and dumped her on the floor where she sat on the Aubusson rug, looking surprised.
“Come and sit down, my love.” He led Marguerite over to a sofa and handed her a handkerchief. She buried her face in it, thankful to hide in its folds.
John’s voice spoke above her head. “Tell her what you told me, Mrs. Ninian.”
“Daisy, there is no cause for such a display. I’m sure the marchioness is horrified. I have some news for you.”
Old habits died hard. Marguerite raised her head. “Sorry.”
The marchioness smiled but her mother frowned. “That letter you wrote me,” she said. “You have everything all wrong. Your father once said a similar thing, that he was unsure about the legality of our marriage under English law. And I am telling you the same thing I told him. Our marriage was perfectly legal. Only a few weeks after their divorce, his first wife died.”
Mrs. Ninian sat down on a chair near Marguerite, her skirts rustling. “Marguerite, I had a privileged childhood. My father was a businessman of some substance. He was not going to throw away his only daughter on a nobleman of doubtful lineage without making inquiries first. He liked your father, but he didn’t think your Papa had much backbone. Once he learned the first wife had died of typhus, he told me I had his permission to marry. But he advised me that the settlements would be just enough to sustain us and no more. And they were,” she ended bitterly.
Marguerite cringed inside. She had never given any thought to her mother’s background. She had made assumptions that were incorrect. She had always presumed Mama had set out to trap Papa into marriage. Instead it looked as though it was Papa who had had an eye to the main chance.
Marguerite forgot about their audience. She laid a hand over her mother’s. She had never voluntarily touched her mother before. “Why did Papa not believe you when you told him his first wife had died before your marriage, Mama?”
Mrs. Ninian shrugged. “He enjoyed playing the martyr and he thought me an ignorant ninnyhammer,” she said, her lips gripped together. “When I explained that it was my father who had discovered the truth, he insulted my Papa.” She took a deep breath. “He said: “Your father? My dear, he is a businessman, a man who takes the expedient course. Naturally he told you that. He wants you to marry well’”. Mrs. Ninian laughed sardonically. “It wasn’t my father who was adept at taking the expedient course.”
Marguerite’s heart ached for her parents. What a tangled mess. No wonder her Mama had railed against her restricted life and about how she’d had to penny pinch. But at least she now had the kind of life she craved.
“Your mama and I are joining forces to introduce your sisters to Society,” Lady Trewbridge said unexpectedly.
Marguerite blinked. “You are?” She couldn’t help smiling at the bewildered expression on the marchioness’s face.
“Yes. John thinks it would be a good idea.”
Marguerite swivelled in her seat. John had twisted his mother’s arm to do this? But John just smiled blandly and leaned over to stroke Tiggy. “I thought that if we are seen to support your family, then no-one will even dream of spreading any more baseless rumours. Mama agrees.” He stood up. “Come. We will leave the ladies to their plans.” He held out his hand to Marguerite. “We have some plans of our own to sort out.”