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Authors: Mary Balogh
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me as your betrothed. It will be far more satisfying for you than admitting the abject truth would be.”
“But you are not—” she said.
“I can be,” he said, interrupting, “if you wish and if you are prepared to marry me within the next fourteen days. But we can discuss the details at our leisure later.”
Was he serious ? It was not possible. This was all quite bizarre. But there was no opportunity to question him. There was no time to think or consider. There was no time at all. His eyes had moved beyond her, and he was raising his eyebrows and looking like a man who was none too delighted at having his tête-à-tête interrupted. It was a haughty, cold look.
Margaret turned her head.
“Crispin,” she said.
“Meg.” He made her a bow. “I trust I am not interrupting anything important?”
“Not at all.” Her heart was thumping so hard in her chest that it deafened her despite the loudness of the music and of voices raised to converse above it. “My lord, do you have an acquaintance with Major Dew? May I present the Earl of Sheringford, Crispin?”
Crispin bowed again, and Lord Sheringford regarded him with raised eyebrows.
“And this is the same Major Dew,” he said, “with whom you once had an acquaintance, Maggie?”
Maggie?
Oh, goodness! Margaret's vision was beginning to darken about the edges. At the other extreme, she felt a quite inappropriate urge to burst into laughter. She must be on the verge of hysteria again.
“We were neighbors,” she said. “We grew up together.”
“Ah, yes,” Lord Sheringford said. “That was it. I knew I had heard the name before. A pleasure, Major. I hope you have not come to solicit Maggie's hand for the next dance, though. I am not finished with that hand myself yet, and the present set, you will observe, is not quite over.”
“Meg?” Crispin said, virtually ignoring the earl apart from the fact that his nostrils flared slightly. “Are you ready to be escorted back to your family ? I shall certainly claim a dance later in the evening if I may.”
There were certain moments upon which the whole of the future course of one's life might turn. And almost inevitably they popped out at one without any warning at all, leaving one with no time to consider or engage in a reasoned debate with oneself. One had to make a split-second decision, and much depended upon it. Perhaps everything.
This was such a moment, and Margaret knew it with agonized clarity as she closed her fan. She could get to her feet now and go with Crispin, or she could stay and tell Crispin the truth, or she could stay and do what the earl had suggested—and deal with the consequences tomorrow.
Margaret was never rash, even when forced to act upon the spur of the moment. But this was a different type of moment altogether.
“Thank you, Crispin,” she said. “I will be delighted to dance with you later. For now, though, I will remain with Lord Sheringford. The Marquess of Allingham will be along soon, I daresay, to claim me for the next set.” And then a deep breath and the rest of the decision was made. “Lord Sheringford is my betrothed.”
The ballroom suddenly seemed unnaturally hot and airless. But she doubted she had enough control over her hands to open her fan again.
Crispin looked from her to the earl, poker-faced, and it seemed to Margaret that he knew the man or at least knew of him, and did not like what he knew. He had offered to escort her back to her family , with emphasis upon the one word.
“Your betrothed , Meg?” he said. “But Nessie and the Duke of Moreland do not know anything of it.”
He had just been talking with them. They had all seen her with the Earl of Sheringford. Perhaps Crispin had volunteered to come and wrest her away from him and escort her to safety. What did they all know of the earl that she did not? It must be something quite unsavory.
“I told you yesterday, Crispin, that the betrothal has not yet been
“But you are not—” she said.
“I can be,” he said, interrupting, “if you wish and if you are prepared to marry me within the next fourteen days. But we can discuss the details at our leisure later.”
Was he serious ? It was not possible. This was all quite bizarre. But there was no opportunity to question him. There was no time to think or consider. There was no time at all. His eyes had moved beyond her, and he was raising his eyebrows and looking like a man who was none too delighted at having his tête-à-tête interrupted. It was a haughty, cold look.
Margaret turned her head.
“Crispin,” she said.
“Meg.” He made her a bow. “I trust I am not interrupting anything important?”
“Not at all.” Her heart was thumping so hard in her chest that it deafened her despite the loudness of the music and of voices raised to converse above it. “My lord, do you have an acquaintance with Major Dew? May I present the Earl of Sheringford, Crispin?”
Crispin bowed again, and Lord Sheringford regarded him with raised eyebrows.
“And this is the same Major Dew,” he said, “with whom you once had an acquaintance, Maggie?”
Maggie?
Oh, goodness! Margaret's vision was beginning to darken about the edges. At the other extreme, she felt a quite inappropriate urge to burst into laughter. She must be on the verge of hysteria again.
“We were neighbors,” she said. “We grew up together.”
“Ah, yes,” Lord Sheringford said. “That was it. I knew I had heard the name before. A pleasure, Major. I hope you have not come to solicit Maggie's hand for the next dance, though. I am not finished with that hand myself yet, and the present set, you will observe, is not quite over.”
“Meg?” Crispin said, virtually ignoring the earl apart from the fact that his nostrils flared slightly. “Are you ready to be escorted back to your family ? I shall certainly claim a dance later in the evening if I may.”
There were certain moments upon which the whole of the future course of one's life might turn. And almost inevitably they popped out at one without any warning at all, leaving one with no time to consider or engage in a reasoned debate with oneself. One had to make a split-second decision, and much depended upon it. Perhaps everything.
This was such a moment, and Margaret knew it with agonized clarity as she closed her fan. She could get to her feet now and go with Crispin, or she could stay and tell Crispin the truth, or she could stay and do what the earl had suggested—and deal with the consequences tomorrow.
Margaret was never rash, even when forced to act upon the spur of the moment. But this was a different type of moment altogether.
“Thank you, Crispin,” she said. “I will be delighted to dance with you later. For now, though, I will remain with Lord Sheringford. The Marquess of Allingham will be along soon, I daresay, to claim me for the next set.” And then a deep breath and the rest of the decision was made. “Lord Sheringford is my betrothed.”
The ballroom suddenly seemed unnaturally hot and airless. But she doubted she had enough control over her hands to open her fan again.
Crispin looked from her to the earl, poker-faced, and it seemed to Margaret that he knew the man or at least knew of him, and did not like what he knew. He had offered to escort her back to her family , with emphasis upon the one word.
“Your betrothed , Meg?” he said. “But Nessie and the Duke of Moreland do not know anything of it.”
He had just been talking with them. They had all seen her with the Earl of Sheringford. Perhaps Crispin had volunteered to come and wrest her away from him and escort her to safety. What did they all know of the earl that she did not? It must be something quite unsavory.
“I told you yesterday, Crispin, that the betrothal has not yet been
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