her belly. ‘Since the first moment I met you, I have been yours to command.’
To test him, she spread her legs and guided his lips to where she most wished to be kissed. And as he promised, he worshipped her. Tomorrow, she would hold him to his promise and command that they keep her business. But tomorrow was a long time away. For the moment, she was lost in the present.
The next day, Margot glanced around the shop, as if she had never seen it before, trying to memorise every last inch of it. She meant to broach the subject of its future tonight, at dinner. But if Stephen was adamant that it was just a brief diversion to be cast aside at the end of summer, she must savour every moment here.
She smiled grimly. Of course, if he thought such nonsense, he did not know her as well as he thought. With the servants she had been firm. With Arthur she had been violent. But with her dear Lord Fanworth there was a much more pleasurable way to work him ’round to seeing things her way.
She had no intention of closing, now that business was increasing again. After the previous evening’s party, she’d had a steady stream of customers interested in seeing the source of the jewels that had been worn by the notorious Marchioness of Fanworth.
To ease their minds about a titled lady in trade, she had retired to the private salon and plied them with tea and cakes, before selling stock and taking orders. By mid-afternoon, she had rough sketches for several custom projects to give to Miss Ross so that the girl might practise carving wax for the moulds. The front counter had sold so many buckles, hairpins and snuffboxes that it had needed restocking twice. It was the most profitable day she’d had all season.
Fanworth would be appalled.
She smiled. It was good that she had not followed her first instinct and flatly refused to obey. After an hour in her gauze-draped bed, he showed no interest in discussing the demise of her life’s dream. After a week, it was possible that he would not even remember having suggested it. And after a month, she would convince him that it had been his own idea to relocate permanently to Bath.
Such a complete victory was unlikely. But two months ago, she’d not have believed that a marquess would fall in love with her. The world was a strange and miraculous place.
There was a sharp clang from the brass bell as another customer entered the shop. ‘I wish to speak with Lady Fanworth.’ The gentleman at the front counter spoke in a voice so commanding that it carried all the way to the back of the shop. Margot did not need to see him to know that he was used to being obeyed. She got up from the divan, smoothed her skirts and went back to the main room.
But once she had seen him, there could be no doubt as to the identity of the man at the counter. The Duke of Larchmont was an older version of her husband. He had more than a touch of grey at his temples and leaned on an ivory-handled walking stick as he glared down into the cabinet of her best work as though it were nothing but tin and paste.
It would have been a lie to say he looked welcoming. But she doubted that he was as bad as the world seemed to think. After all, everyone had been quite wrong about Stephen. It was proof that she must meet the man before forming an opinion of him.
She suspected Arthur was wrong as well. If the Duke of Larchmont did not mean to accept her as daughter, he would not have troubled himself to come to the shop. He had but to ignore her to make his feelings known. If he had come to make the first move of welcome, she would be sure to give no objection. ‘Your Grace.’ She swept down into her lowest curtsy, averting her eyes.
‘Get up, girl, and let me have a look at you. Do not think you can win my favour by bowing and scraping.’ When she raised her head to look at him, he was examining her through a quizzing glass as she might look at a stone with her loupe. She remained still as he walked around her in a slow circle, continuing to treat her as if she were an unfeeling, inanimate object.
When he reached the front of her again, he gave a resigned nod. ‘I can see why Fanworth took it into his head to marry you. At least the children will be attractive. It does not matter for a boy. But there is little reason to have a girl, if she is not pretty.’
She bit her tongue to keep from explaining that the gender and appearance of her unborn children were not things that could be planned or predicted. Even if they were, it would not be left to him.
He sighed. ‘I suppose it is too much to hope that you have wits.’
‘I like to think so, your Grace,’ she said, struggling to be polite.
‘You have learning? Languages?’
‘French, of course,’ she said. ‘My mother spoke it.’
‘Immigrants.’ His lip curled. ‘And manners. Did she teach you those?’
She tried not to think of the blow she had struck when last trying to prove her worth and gave a polite nod in response.
He nodded back. ‘Better to remain silent, as Fanworth does. Especially when you are lying.’
‘I assume you are referring to last night’s altercation with Lord Arthur,’ she said, as calmly as possible. ‘He was not behaving as a gentleman.’
‘We are discussing your behaviour, not his,’ the duke replied.
If he expected her to apologise, he was about to be disappointed. ‘If such rudeness is customary from him, next time I will be prepared for it and refuse to acknowledge him, should he speak to me.’
The duke laughed. ‘Just as my son does to me. The two of you are very well suited.’
‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘It was not meant as a compliment.’ He set his stick across the glass of the counter beside them and leaned forward, glaring into her eyes. ‘It is too late to be rid of you, short of bundling you into a sack and throwing you into the river like the mongrel you are. But the least you can do is to refrain from embarrassing the family further than you already have.’
‘I have no wish to bring shame upon my husband,’ she said. It fell short of allegiance to the Larchmont name, but it was the best she could manage.
‘That is more than he can manage for himself,’ the duke said, with a sneer. ‘And not nearly what is required, if you are to be the future Duchess of Larchmont. I expect you to deport yourself as a lady and not behave like some common tradeswoman.’
She hoped that he meant something simple, like being dressed by the right modiste or not slapping members of the immediate family in public. ‘I will do my best to behave in a way that honours your name, your Grace. Last night was an aberration and it will not be repeated. Give me time and I will prove to you that the manners of a common tradeswoman are no different from those of a well-born lady.’
‘I have no desire to learn anything of the manners of your class,’ he said with the sour frown of someone who has seen something awful in the gutter. ‘For as long as there has been a Larchmont, there has been no such creature in this family. There will not be one now.’
He put his full weight upon the counter and leaned forward until his face was inches from hers. ‘You will close this shop, immediately. Then you will retire to Derbyshire for as long as it takes for your past to be forgotten.’
