Page 61 of His Mad Duchess
The Dowager’s smile sharpened, as though she had been waiting for precisely such a reply. She leaned back, the candlelight glinting off the diamond at her throat. “Ah, but that is thedifficulty, is it not? When the whispers concern not what one does but what one is.”
She tapped one finger sharply on her glass. “Yet I have heard whispers already. That grief left its mark… that your long nights alone bred fancies, tremors, even fits. Harmless, perhaps, in a country girl. But in a duchess?”
Every nerve in Margaret screamed to deny it, to cry out that it was false, but she sat frozen, her hand trapped against the napkin in her lap, as if one movement might confirm the charge.
Honoria let the pause linger, her voice softening to a mockery of pity. “Such delicacy begins to look like fragility. And fragility, my dear, is so often mistaken for madness.”
“That is enough.” Sebastian’s voice cracked like a whip across the table, steel-hard.
But Honoria did not so much as flinch. Her gaze slid to Sebastian, cool and deliberate. “You know, my son, such things are rarely confined to one generation. A tendency of the mind, they call it—running through blood as surely as any inheritance. How cruel it would be if such instability… passed on.”
Sebastian’s jaw went rigid, his knuckles whitening around the stem of his glass.
The Dowager’s smile curved wider, satisfied at the flicker of storm in his eyes. “But pray God it is only rumor,” shemurmured, her tone feather-light with steel. “The Ravenscourt name has survived much, but it is not endlessly forgiving. One more whisper, one more… stain, and even the strongest reputations can crumble. No household, no duchy, can bear repeated scandal.”
Sebastian half-rose from his chair, his fury unmistakable.
Sebastian’s eyes darkened, his voice clipped with restrained fury. “There will be no scandal. I will answer for my household, and I require no reminders.” The words dropped into the air like a stone into still water, rippling through the silence.
The Dowager’s gaze lingered on him, then shifted back to Margaret; her smile returned but hollow as porcelain. “I am certain you will, Sebastian. I speak only as one who has seen what careless choices may cost. The duchy cannot—must not—weather another storm.”
Margaret’s breath caught, her composure stretched taut as she forced her smile to remain. The warning was unmistakable, as though the Dowager had placed a burden upon her shoulders in full view of the candlelit room.
“An agreeable supper,” Honoria declared, her voice carrying no warmth, though the words could not be faulted.
A servant entered with quiet precision, signaling the close of the meal. The footmen moved swiftly to clear the last of the glasses, their motions as practiced as a minuet. The DowagerDuchess dabbed delicately at her lips with her napkin, regal in her deliberation, preparing to speak again.
But Sebastian did not give her the chance.
He pushed back his chair with a sharp scrape that startled the nearest footman. “We are done here,” he said, rising with a finality that left no room for argument. His cold steel eyes fixed upon his mother, daring her to gainsay him.
Margaret blinked hard, but a tear slid treacherously down her cheek all the same. Miss Fortune stirred against her skirts as if sensing the moment.
Sebastian bent, offering Margaret his arm, his voice pitched low for her alone. “Come.”
She let him draw her up, grateful for the strength in his hand as her own wavered. His arm came firm about her shoulders, steadying her as he led her toward the door. The hush of the dining room followed them, heavy as thunder waiting to break, but Sebastian did not look back.
Miss Fortune padded after them, tail high.
CHAPTER 20
“Margaret!”
Cecily all but flew across the room, her heavy skirts swishing as she seized her cousin in an embrace that nearly knocked the basket from Margaret’s hands.
“You are here at last!” Cecily cried, her voice bubbling with such delight that Margaret could not help but smile. “I have been positively languishing. Do you know how dreadfully dull it has been without you? Mama has had nothing but sermons on posture and deportment to offer me, and Beatrice… well, Beatrice has perfected the art of sighing reproachfully whenever I so much as breathe too loudly.”
Margaret laughed, though her voice trembled with affection as Cecily seized her hands. “I have only been away a short while, Cecily. Surely London did not suffer so greatly. And if it had, I would not believe you capable of languishing. You look far too well-fed and bright-eyed for such a trial.”
“You wicked creature,” Cecily cried, drawing back only far enough to study her cousin’s face, her own expression turning mock-severe. “Do not tease. You have no notion of my torment. How could you leave me to face London without you? Every ball, every musicale, every tea party… I was compelled to endure without my dearest conspirator. Do you know how intolerable it has been to suffer such tedium alone?”
“You did not perish,” came a dry voice from the doorway.
Both young ladies turned as Aunt Agnes swept into the room, her silver-gray silk rustling like waves on a pebbled shore. She gave Cecily a look half fond, half scolding, though her eyes softened at the sight of her niece. “You declared it an outrage, flung your gloves at poor Simmons, and demanded an extra slice of cake to steady your nerves. Hardly a deathbed performance.”
Cecily gasped, clasping a hand to her heart as though struck. “Mama! You wound me most cruelly. Must you always drag forth my less dignified moments? I was distressed, I assure you, and the cake was a necessity of survival.”
She leaned toward Margaret with a conspiratorial whisper, though loud enough for her mother to hear. “You see how she paints me as some greedy child when in truth I was wasting away from sisterly anguish.”
