she knew to her cost, good looks and wealth did not guarantee happiness.
When the following Friday rolled around, Jack found himself glancing at the clock repeatedly. The hands seemed to move so slowly, he had actually checked to see if it needed winding. It did not.
He glanced out of the window. The storm from the previous evening had passed through and, while the sky remained overcast, the rain had ceased and the clouds were slowly moving off to the west. The weather should not be an impediment to his daughters’ drawing teacher.
When the clock rang out the hour of two o’clock and then fifteen minutes past the hour and then the half-hour and Lady Marguerite had still not arrived, he began to worry. A cold dark place opened up in his chest. A sense of impending doom.
He fought it off. The woman was late, that was all. Ladies were often late. They made a point of it. And it wasn’t as if she was travelling alone.
The butler poked his head around the door. ‘My lord?’
‘What is it, Laughton?’
‘Nanny James, my lord. She asked if you would visit the nursery. It seems there is a bit of a contretemps.’
Nanny had promised to once more have Lizzie and Janey in their best bibs and tuckers to await the arrival of Lady Marguerite. They would be getting restless. And when they were restless, they got up to mischief. With a sigh, he headed upstairs.
His oldest child knelt on the window seat, looking out. Janey was crying with her face in Nanny’s lap. Nanny gave him a look of appeal.
‘Ladies,’ he said.
Lizzie jumped down. Her hair was a mess, flopping around her face, her expression held defiance and there were tear stains on her face. He frowned. ‘What happened to you, Lizzie?’
‘Janey said it was my fault Lady Marguerite isn’t coming today. I said it was her fault. She pulled my hair, so I slapped her.’
Janey looked up. ‘I punched her back.’ She buried her face.
‘This will not do,’ he said. ‘Ladies do not brawl, they, they—’
Lizzie folded her arms across her chest. ‘They turn the other cheek. That’s what Nanny said. Well, that is not fair. And it’s not my fault Lady Marguerite didn’t come today, just because I said I didn’t want to draw silly circles and squares...’
He frowned. ‘Is that what you said?’
Lizzie shrugged. ‘I wanted to draw a horse.’
‘Circles and squares make a horsey,’ Janey said, though her voice was muffled by Nanny’s ample skirts. ‘Lady Marguerite showed us.’
‘Lizzie, if you were rude to Lady Marguerite, you will apologise,’ Jack said in his fiercest Father voice.
Lizzie’s shoulders drooped. ‘I want to draw a real horse.’
Perhaps this drawing-teacher notion of his was not such a good idea after all. Indeed, it had thoroughly disrupted his household.
‘She said she would come today,’ Lizzie said. ‘So, it cannot be my fault she is not here.’
Jack recalled the rather stiff words he had had with Lady Marguerite last evening. Was it possible that was what had made her decide not to come? If so, it was rather unfair on the children.
‘Did you say something rude to her, Papa?’ Lizzie asked.
Jack winced. The child was far too observant. ‘I don’t believe so.’
‘You did,’ Lizzie said. She poked her tongue out at Janey. ‘See. It wasn’t me. Now you need to apologise.’
Dash it all. Hoist by his own petard. ‘If I said something Lady Marguerite did not find appropriate, I will certainly apologise. However, I don’t believe—’
‘My lord,’ Laughton said, ‘a note from Lady Marguerite. Peter brought it, just now.’
Jack opened the note. ‘She is not feeling well. She has a headache. She will come next week.’
Neither of them needed to apologise.
‘People say they have a headache when they do not wish to speak to someone.’
Heaven help him. ‘Where did you learn such a thing?’
Lizzie frowned. ‘Mama used to say it all the time. When people came to call who she did not like.’
He recoiled. His wife had said that to him on a couple of occasions, also. He had always taken her at her word. Did this mean that also had been a lie?
With difficulty, he controlled his rising temper. ‘Nonsense. If Lady Marguerite did not have a headache, she would be here,’ he said with more confidence than he felt.
‘What if she never comes again?’ Janey said, looking up from her refuge, her lower lip trembling.
Dash it all, he had paid the woman in advance. She ought to be here. And if she was ill, she was now alone.
The note did not indicate the extent of her illness. Well, he would damned well see for himself. He marched off to the stables. Having instructed Peter to return to Westram when he had eaten and rested from his long walk, Jack set off to discover the truth for himself.
* * *
Since the pain in her head was gradually abating, Marguerite made her way to the kitchen. Why she had headaches when it stormed she did not know, but they hurt so badly sometimes she could barely see. It was at times like this that she really missed Petra. Her sister always knew when she had a headache coming and provided the tea and the cool cloths for her forehead.
Well, now she just had to manage alone.
She poured water into the basin from the jug Peter had filled before he went to present her apologies to Lord Compton. She dipped a handkerchief in the water and wrung it out. With the storm long gone and the curtains in the parlour closed against daylight, she should feel better in an hour or two.
Would Lord Compton accept her excuse? Or would he dismiss her out of hand and ask for his money back? Her head throbbed a warning. She forced herself not to think. Thinking only made things worse. She took her cold compress back to the living room, placed the compress over her eyes and gratefully dozed.
* * *
A loud rapping sound jerked her awake. She removed the compress. What was the time? She sat up slowly. Her head no longer hurt, thank heavens.
The rapping noise came again. It was not in her head or her dreams. Someone was at the door. Slowly she got to her feet. Yes, she did indeed feel better. She parted the curtains to see who was at her front door.
Lord Compton?
She
