Chapter 30
Chapter
“Ever since we met, you’ve felt like a sort of dream to me . . . a reverie. One from which I never wish to awaken.”
Charles choked on his porridge, dropping the spoon into the bowl with a clatter.
He’d said that last night. To Margaret. Out loud!
What in the Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart had he been thinking?
What must she now think of him? As he sputtered and coughed, a strong hand clapped his back with a few stronger-than-strictly-necessary thumps.
“You all right there, son?” Lord Marlow’s eyes narrowed upon him as he continued to pound Charles’ back as though it were a filthy carpet on cleaning day and he, a maid with rage issues, determined to rid said carpet of every particle of dust, dirt, and debris.
Snatching up a cloth napkin, Charles attempted to smother the inferno of embarrassment engulfing his face. “F-fine, sir. Th-thank you, sir.”
“Theodore, really.” Shaking her head, Lady Marlow tutted as she lifted her teacup. “There’s no need to wallop Mr. Noble into next Wednesday. I think he’s quite recovered.”
“Right-oh, darling.” After tossing his wife a wink and giving Charles one last sound wallop for good measure, Lord Marlow resumed his morning repast, though the dignified man continued to watch Charles warily.
He sliced into his scone with a marked air of menace that was rather intimidating, notwithstanding the fact that Lord Marlow was still attired in his nightclothes and tasseled cap.
Charles couldn’t blame the marquess for his vigilance.
After all, the man had awoken in the middle of the night to find his very beautiful, very unchaperoned daughter with a very haggard, very unknown man who’d been leaning.
In hindsight, perhaps Lord and Lady Marlow’s arrival had prevented him from striking a foul note.
After all, Lady Margaret’s stunned response to his declaration had given him pause.
In that moment’s hesitation, he’d been trying to decipher whether his feelings were unrequited or disbelieved.
A lady’s rejection must, of course, be accepted by a gentleman as a finality. But Charles couldn’t help but think the look in her eyes had seemed more like doubt than refusal . . . more like fear than repulsion.
Charles dared to look up from his now-empty porridge bowl.
Lady Margaret was seated across from him at the dining table.
Ever since she’d disclosed the details about last night’s mission, her parents had flanked her protectively.
Shadows rimmed Lady Margaret’s eyes, her face pale and wan.
She slumped against her chair, allowing it to support her completely.
She’d barely made a dent in her breakfast, only exerting herself to eat or drink when prompted by her mother.
An ache gripped Charles’ heart. The tender ministrations that had brought him so much relief last night had left Lady Margaret depleted.
In her condition, such acts of compassion required greater effort, and therefore took a greater toll.
Not many people were willing to sacrifice their comfort for another, and yet Lady Margaret had done so without hesitation.
He could only hope she hadn’t overexerted herself.
He hated the thought of her suffering, especially on his account.
As a maid was clearing the dishes, the butler announced the arrival of Professor Quimby.
The woman soon entered with a brown poodle and a golden beagle prancing at her heels, as though they were quite accustomed to accompanying her everywhere.
Lord Marlow rose and pulled out a chair to his daughter’s left, bidding the professor to make herself comfortable and asking the maid to bring a fresh pot of tea.
Once Professor Quimby was settled betwixt Lady Margaret and an automaton bear cub—which no one had bothered to explain—Lord Marlow rounded the table and pulled out the two chairs on Charles’ right.
Not a single lash in the room was batted as the dogs immediately hopped upon the silk-covered chairs, joining the humans at the table.
Charles’ jaw dropped as he turned to Lady Margaret. A golden sparkle flashed in her green eyes as though she found his astonishment amusing.
The maid returned with a fresh pot of tea and left them.
Then the professor clasped her hands upon the table, addressing Lady Margaret.
“I shall be brief, Inspector Kingsley. I’ve come for three reasons.
Firstly, to place you on compulsory bed rest, pending reevaluation in one week’s time.
Secondly, to inform you that I’ve assigned inspectors and covert assets to follow and observe the movements of Flaversham, Tinkerton, and Harrison in rotating shifts.
And thirdly, to reassure your parents that the man who dared to lay a hand on you at the factory will not go unpunished.
Nobody attacks one of my lady inspectors and gets away with it. ”