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MARGARET HADN’T MADE a mistake.
That was impossible.
Margaret excelled at all her lessons and she was not one to make a miscalculation. No one would say Margaret acted impulsively this time. The impulsive act Margaret had made was to reject Mr. Owens’ proposal in the first place.
Obviously, fleeing from the charming, dashing duke who’d had such regret that when he’d first kissed her, he’d fled, was not a mistake. No doubt the duke thought her parents had been following him the entire time, waiting for a moment to force him to take her as his duchess, even though no one could be less qualified.
Other women might become duchesses, but not Margaret.
She was more suited to become a Mrs. Owens. Her betrothed enjoyed reading, and she would let him. Perhaps occasionally he would offer her condescending suggestions, and she would merely smile and listen. In some cases, a smile would not even be required, depending on the gravity of the information Mr. Owens was imparting.
No, this plan was going well, just as all of Margaret’s plans went.
Perhaps her heart ached, and perhaps she might always wonder what might have happened had she stayed, but this was for the best.
She’d been lucky Mr. Owens had expressed an interest in marrying her.
Perhaps their married life would be more pleasant if she’d accepted straight away, but one couldn’t change the past. She would simply have to make certain Mr. Owens was content.
Still, as the carriage continued away from the castle, Margaret’s confidence wavered.
“Do you prefer going to Gretna Green or Guernsey to elope?” Mr. Owens asked.
“Oh.” Margaret straightened. “Guernsey is a possibility? I’ve never sailed on the ocean.”
Mr. Owens gave an exasperated sigh. “The question was meant to be rhetorical. Obviously, Gretna Green is the only proper choice.”
“It is?” she squeaked.
Mr. Owens nodded gravely. “It’s the traditional choice. When in doubt, always choose tradition.”
“Oh. I see.”
He smiled. “You do have potential, dear lady.”
Margaret’s lips tightened. “You do not find it dispiriting to marry in a blacksmith’s shop?”
“There is nothing about this journey that is not dispiriting. But at least visiting Scotland will not put us in danger of drowning in the channel.”
Margaret nodded, but for the first time she considered that this journey was dangerous. Perhaps they might not be shipwrecked, but they still risked their carriage crashing or being accosted by highwaymen. Not to speak of the unsavory men who might be rampant in posting inns.
Mr. Owens glanced at Juliet. “I did not anticipate a woman of your importance would be on this journey.”
“Here I am,” Juliet said, flashing him a bland smile.
“And you’re certain you want to accompany us on the entire journey?” Mr. Owens asked. “Perhaps you would prefer us to drop you in London.”
“Nonsense,” Juliet said.
Mr. Owens paled. “It will be an—er—pleasure to have you here. But your father—”
“—will be upset when I return,” Lady Juliet said.
“So you must make the journey quick.” Margaret settled back into her seat, not exactly content but grateful she’d insisted on those things. She refused to remain the timid woman that she’d always been.
The coach continued on its journey, and the spaces between the houses gradually narrowed, until they were in the city, and the coach slowed, inching along.
*
JASPER RETREATED FROM the worried looks of his friends.
They pitied him.
They weren’t supposed to pity him.
The worst thing was that he didn’t care. Though he’d always considered himself to possess abundant resources of pride, he wasn’t thinking of it now. He wasn’t going to continue this house party as normal. He wouldn’t feign indifference toward Margaret.
He turned to the musicians. “Play sad music.”
“Not quadrilles?”
He shook his head furiously. “Something distressing. Something Germanic.”
The musicians conferred shortly, then played something with an appropriate amount of melodrama. Jasper listened satisfactorily as the music leaped from high to low notes, making full use of the violinists’ capabilities.
“Good,” Jasper said. This might be his moment of utmost sadness, but he was not going to refrain from encouraging his staff, even if they were the temporary sort.
He looked around the corridor at the shocked faces of his friends. He cleared his throat. “The castle and grounds are at your disposal. Perhaps you would care to hunt or—er—play pall mall.”
“We’re not going to play pall mall,” Ainsworth said.
Jasper shrugged. “Naturally. Choose something less childlike. Perhaps you’d prefer to fence. My ancestors’ swords are hanging in the dining room.”
Ainsworth and the others exchanged glances, and Jasper withheld a groan.
He turned to the musicians. “Come.”
The musicians followed him as he marched from the corridor into the library. He didn’t want to imagine Mr. Owens and Margaret meeting here, but this whole castle would now be filled with memories of Margaret. Perhaps in a few months he’d meet her at a ball.
If she decided to attend balls.
No doubt Mr. Owens would ensconce her in the country somewhere. He settled himself into the darkest corner of the already dim library.
Yes. This felt appropriately dispiriting.
“Jevington,” Ainsworth said gently.
He turned toward his friend’s voice and glared when he saw everyone standing there.
“You followed me?” Jasper employed his most outraged tone and raised his eyebrow.
His friends didn’t flinch.
Blast them.
“Jevington,” Ainsworth said again. “I didn’t know that you—er—cared for this woman.”
“It is a novel experience for me as well,” Jasper admitted.
“Yes, I did think even you would know that the best way to court a woman is not to throw her at other men,” Ainsworth said.
“I was not throwing her at anyone,” Jasper said, retaining his outraged tone easily.
“Perhaps not literally,” Brightling said.
“But you did scatter rose petals about when she entered with me,” Ainsworth said.
“And I believe you just had one dance with her last night,” Hammett said. “All of us had more.”
“Do you have a point? Are you calling in question my courtship abilities?”
“On the contrary,” Ainsworth said.
“Well, she didn’t have to run away,” Jasper said. “And she didn’t have to run away with that man.” He grimaced.
“Mr. Owens is hardly the ideal man,” Hammett admitted.
“Well, I tried telling that to her. I thought she’d listened. She’d just rejected his proposal.”
“So, you were celebrating in the maze?” Brightling asked.
Jasper frowned. “Something like that.”
“What was the true reason that you invited her here?” Ainsworth asked.
Jasper sighed. “It’s not important.”
“Are you certain?”
Jasper shook his head. Everything about Margaret was important. If he didn’t speak about her now, perhaps he’d never speak about her.
“Her mother attempted to stage a compromising,” Jasper said.
“I’m not familiar with that phrase,” Ainsworth said, obviously perturbed. Ainsworth was familiar with most phrases, even those in foreign languages.
“Mrs. Carberry tied her daughter to my bed during my most recent ball. Fortunately, she escaped. And because I was grateful, I thought I might make certain to find her another husband.”
Hammett blinked. “Mr. Owens?”
Jasper sighed. “I was hoping for one of you. She is wonderful. She’d make someone a wonderful wife.”
She was supposed to make him a wonderful wife.
“So, Miss Carberry knew you were so desperate not to marry her that you arranged a whole house party to find her a husband?” Ainsworth asked.
“Er—yes.”
“Is it possible she does not know you might not be entirely horrified at the thought of marrying her?”
Jasper shifted his legs, and Ainsworth got that triumphal look that had been so irritating at Eton.
“Perhaps,” Jasper said softly.
“Then you must go after her,” Ainsworth said.