Regency Surrender: Scandal And Deception. Marguerite Kaye

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.’

      Was she really so repellent a choice that she must be hidden away from society? Even her husband did not demand such extreme measures when planning for the future. She took a breath, being careful to control her temper. ‘I am sorry that our marriage displeases you, your Grace. But I cannot simply close the shop with no notice. There are employees to be provided for, creditors to pay, stock to liquidate... Even if I wished to, it is more complicated than just closing the doors and walking away.’

      ‘I beg to differ.’ Without warning, he shifted his weight and pushed down, hard, on the cane resting on the countertop. The glass under it cracked from end to end with a musical clink.

      One of the shop girls let out a frightened shriek and Jasper took a step forward, as if fearing he might need to protect her from further violence.

      Margot held a hand up to stay him and calm the girl.

      The duke ignored them all and picked up the cane. Then, he stared down at the ruined glass. ‘This is only my first visit to your little shop. But it is obviously a very dangerous place. There is no telling what might happen to the staff, or the customers, should it remain open. As I said earlier, you must close it immediately.’

      She stared down at the glass as well. When she had imagined incurring the displeasure of the peer, she had thought it would be a genteel punishment: a direct cut or a few harsh words. She would never have imagined vandalism and direct, physical threats.

      It had been naïve of her to think that anything good would result from this meeting. The Duke of Larchmont punished her husband for an imagined weakness and doted on Arthur, who had not thought twice about sending an innocent woman to the gallows for a theft he’d committed. To find that such a man was warped by pride and the need to control others should not have been a surprise.

      And now, he cupped his hand to his ear. ‘Perhaps I am going a trifle deaf with age. I did not hear an answer.’

      She had not answered, because there was no point in reasoning with a madman. For now, she needed to do what she could to get him from the shop. Then, she needed time to think. Once again, she bit back the things she really wanted to say, and managed, ‘I understand, your Grace.’

      ‘See that you do.’ With that, he gave a single, sharp tap at the centre of the crack. The ruined glass plate shattered, the shards falling to cover the diamonds on display beneath.

       Chapter Nineteen

      Something had changed.

      After the previous evening, Stephen assumed that almost all the difficulties between them had been sorted. She knew the truth about the rubies. He had been able to speak freely again. They had shared her bed. And that had been after he’d mentioned his plans to take her away at