Page 99 of Not a Fine Gentleman
“I was gratified to learn you had been cleared by the law,” he said.
She glanced at him. How bold and refreshing of him to address the proverbial elephant in the room. She lifted her chin and allowed her approval to show. “Yes, Bow Street was very thorough and efficient.”
“As expected.” He nodded.
“Although most don’t seem to believe my innocence.”
“Your friends do.” A wry smile touched his mouth, and true kindness shone in his eyes.
“Thank you for your faith in our family. In me.”
He inclined his head in an elegant acknowledgment and pulled out a chair for her at Cole’s right. Dinner began like any other, with a first course of trout au Corbullion, asparagus in the Italian way, filet of Sole, and pea soup.
Then everything changed.
A commotion in the great hall brought a halt to the conversation. A man stormed his way into the room, his face twisted in fury. Her brother-in-law, Francis, the new Lord Hennessy, stood glaring at her with open hatred.
She went cold down to her toes.
Francis pointed his finger at Margaret. “You! You have no right to live, you murdering trollop!”
A collective gasp came in response. Margaret sat rooted in her chair while a stifled scream built in her chest. He’d humiliated her in front of her family, all of society’s finest people, and her only supporters.
Her brothers leaped to their feet. With his fists curled, Grant took a menacing step toward Francis. “Silence, cur!”
A corner of her heart warmed at her brothers’ loyalty and show of strength.
Margaret said with forced tranquility, “Calm yourself, Francis. No one here is impressed with your theatrics.”
He drew himself up. “I am Lord Hennessy now, no thanks to you. You should be burned at the stake.”
Margaret leveled a cold stare on him. “I heard you moved into the marquis’ home almost immediately. Perhaps you’re happy he’s gone, too, so you can have his title.”
His face went purple. “Why you—!”
Cole said in a deadly calm voice, “Leave this moment, Lord Hennessy, or I will have you forcibly removed.”
All the other gentlemen at the table stood. Her brothers, bless them, surrounded Francis.
Margaret refused to allow them to fight her battles. With courtly grace, she stood and approached him. Her brothers parted to allow her through. She stopped mere inches away from her brother-in-law, or whatever one called the brother of a dead husband, may he forever burn in hellfire and brimstone.
She angled her head to take on a queenly pose. “If you wish to have a private discussion with me, Francis, I might consider sitting down with you—but only if you promise to keep it civil. Since civility does not seem to be within your power at present—not to mention we’re in the middle of a dinner party as you can see—now is not the time. Kindly leave.”
The veins in Francis’s neck pulsed. “I will not rest until I see you punished for murdering my brother.”
Margaret gave him the kind of look she once gave people in drawing rooms who’d just committed a blatant social faux pas. “I daresay you will be quite fatigued for the rest of your life. Good evening.”
She returned to her seat on shaking legs. Though the middle of her stomach quaked, she refused to show her unrest. Instead, she kept her chin up and arranged a serene expression with the same skill that had seen her through years of a humiliating marriage.
The men in the room hustled Francis out with a few murmured threats of their own toward the intruder. Rachel moved to her side and took her hand under the table, comforting, yet always aware of Margaret’s need to appear strong.
Several pairs of shocked eyes turned toward Margaret. She lifted her chin. “We’ve started a new trend—having a bit of entertainment during the first course.”
Nervous laughter came in response to her quip.
As the gentlemen filed back in, Alicia, from her end of the table, added wryly, “Just wait until you see what we have planned for dessert.”
More laughter warmed the room and thawed the ice in Margaret’s heart. Rachel resumed her seat, and everyone resumed eating, or at least pretending to do so.
