Page 1 of Indecent Desires of a Proper Lady
Prologue
Lady Margaret Whitfield was watching eagerly from her window as her brother Leonard, the Marquess of Cunningham, and his friends played in the sprawling yard of Bartley Manor.
“Miss Joan!” she called out, kicking her legs against the divan she was sitting on, her dress brushing against her shins. “He is here! The boy I keep telling you about!”
Miss Joan, the governess, sighed loudly, to prove that she had long suffered at the hand of such nonsense. She lifted the gauze curtain by the window and peered out.
“So I see, Lady Margaret. But you know, you should focus on your studies while you are with me. Boys will not elevate your mind. They are distracting you already.”
Margaret scrunched up her nose as she was wont to do when upset or confused. “Is there not plenty of time for lessons? There are only some days when Lord Durby comes around.”
Margaret had a book open on her lap, and she closed it loudly. Pushing herself off of the divan she ran to the door. Miss Joan clutched at her chest, her eyes wide with horror.
“Child! Where are you going?”
Margaret pointed a thumb at her chest. “I am going outside to play. I am tired of sitting in here watching him and reading stuffy old books. Why do the boys get to play and I do not?”
Miss Joan’s strangled cry of disapproval did nothing to stop young Margaret leaping from the study room into the hall and out the door to her garden. There, she spied her brother, Leonard, her brother’s friend Philip Winston, and Charles, her dearest love.
At eight years old, she did not entirely know what love was. All she knew was that it was all she could think about. Charles Hitchcock, the Lord of Durby, was exactly what she thought a boy ought to be. He was tall, had good hair and teeth, and he could run fast. She wanted to race him to show him that she could run fast too!
She rushed outside and crept against the side of the house, watching the three boys in their game. It looked like the green-eyed boy, Philip Winston, the Earl of Camden’s younger son, was trying to show his best friends Leonard and Charles the latest moves he’d learned from his fencing instructor. Leonard had told her once that Philip was very skilled at fencing. She thought it sounded like a magical word but didn’t understand how it worked.
It looked even stranger, for the boys were plunging their arms forward into the air and spinning about.
“This is ridiculous!” Charles cried, and Philip frowned.
Margaret’s eyes widened. Perhaps it was not so nice a game after all, if Charles thought it was stupid. She wanted to think whatever he thought. Charles was the wisest boy she had ever known, better than her brother.
Philip said, “Are we too old to use our imaginations? Come on, you will be jealous unless you know the latest move. The other boys at school will knock you down during fencing instruction.”
With a frown, Charles leaned forward and pushed Philip on the shoulders.
“Hey!” Philip yelled out and pushed back.
Her brother rushed forward and pushed the two of them hard in the chest.
“Come, you two. Let us just find some sticks or something. Why does it matter? Or we can find something else to play.”
“Yes, you could!” Margaret called out to them in her best, most adorable voice. No one could resist Margaret when she used her best voice. All three boys turned, and she grinned widely. Her brother narrowed his eyes at her and crossed his arms.
“Margaret, what are you doing out here? Are you not supposed to be with your governess?”
Margaret made a yawning motion with her hand. She preferred to be as dramatic as possible. “I was too bored. I thought it would be much more exciting watching you out here. Come, race me!”
“We cannot race you! You are a girl!” her brother pointed at her, and it made her angry. When she got angry, her face turned the color of a beet. She didn’t know why it happened, but it always made her mother sigh and scold. She kept telling Margaret that ladies did not resemble vegetables.
“You will see. Charles, race me!”
She rushed forward to him and pulled on his arm, jumping up and down. She wanted him to see just how well she could jump too. Wasn’t she marvelous? She hoped Charles thought so. Her brother was always spoiling everything with his mean words, and Philip often just looked at her with a strange look on his face. She didn’t like to talk to him.
Charles frowned. “No, I cannot race you. Like your brother said, you are just a girl. No one would want to run against you. Especially notboys.” The three boys laughed at Charles’ comment, and Margaret felt her anger and humiliation expand and grow.
She kept becoming more like a beet when Leonard said, “I think my sister likes you, Charles.”
He laughed loudly.
Philip chimed in, “A little girl likes you, Charles!”
