Chapter 6- Margaret #3
Beatrice leaned forward. “After he ended the engagement, the marquess fled to his country house. She followed him there under the guise of getting sea air, but now apparently she’s returned to London to try her luck with someone else.”
“So let me get this straight,” Rachel said, tapping her pen against her chin. “You saw a gentleman briefly walking with a lady in the street, and you’re ready to write him off so quickly?”
“It wasn’t just any lady,” Margaret said mulishly. “It was Daisy Knope.”
“And what is so wrong with her? Certainly your reaction isn’t simply based upon a broken engagement. Scandalous as it might be, these things do happen.”
“Where to begin?” Beatrice said.
Margaret was grateful that her sister was taking her side. There were many people who couldn’t understand the terror that Daisy had inspired in her youth, many more who would have claimed that it was Margaret’s burden to get over now that they had grown up.
Beatrice said, “She was always a nasty, sharp-faced little thing, and of course that could have been forgiven if she hadn’t spent the intermittent years developing her worst qualities into something truly terrible.”
“What on earth did she do?”
“She once pushed me down into a mud puddle,” Margaret supplied.
She didn’t add that afterward, Daisy had laughed and called her piggy and snorted every time she saw her thereafter, as long as an adult wasn’t close enough to overhear.
“It’s hard to explain if one wasn’t there, but our families mingled together and she was awful,” Beatrice said. “She once put honey in my hair when I wasn’t looking, and then when I cried to our mother, Daisy claimed it was an accident, when it most certainly was not.”
“So normal childhood irritations, then?” Rachel sounded somewhat disappointed.
Margaret could hardly blame her. It all sounded so benign when one tried to put it into words.
“She was always creeping around, looking to involve others in her misery,” Beatrice argued.
Margaret couldn’t even bear to explain the worst thing that Daisy had done to her, but the memory was seared into her mind. Margaret had once seen a burn scar on a tree—a mark left by a lightning strike—and that was precisely what this particular recollection felt like.
“It wasn’t just her,” Margaret said, trying to explain without getting too close to the truth of the matter. “She had a knack for including others and turning them against you.”
Rachel’s eyes narrowed, flicking from Beatrice to Margaret. “That does sound dreadful. For a child. But what has she done to you lately?”
“Not much,” Beatrice admitted, “as we have been long out of the public eye. But there are several rumors going around about our family that I dare say she has a hand in perpetuating.”
“Yet you don’t know for sure. Is that correct?” Rachel said gently.
“You sound just like our mama,” Beatrice grumbled.
“Then your mama sounds like a wise woman. You cannot attribute everything to the lady, not when you don’t have any proof. And though she might have been a veritable terror when you were young, perhaps she’s grown out of it. I myself would hate to be held to account for the things I did as a child.”
“Stop being so terribly reasonable,” Beatrice said, a smile plucking at the edges of her mouth.
“Very well. I detest her on principle,” Rachel said, her tone mild. Her pen still flew over the parchment.
“Much better, thank you,” Beatrice said pertly.
“Believe me, I shall be the first one sharpening Lucien’s claws if this Daisy Knope is still as awful to you now as she was when you were children, but I think we should at least give her the opportunity to change.”
Beatrice turned to Margaret with wide eyes and mouthed, Who’s Lucien?
Margaret gave a wide-eyed shrug in return.
Rachel continued, “Perhaps her recent hardship—for a broken engagement and a public scandal is hardship—has changed her for the better. After all, there are few better instructors than true suffering.”
“Very well,” Beatrice said, slumping back against the cushions with an exaggerated pout. “We will give her the benefit of the doubt.”
Margaret gave a low hum that could have been taken as agreement if one wasn’t paying close attention.
Rachel wasn’t—she was still focused on her list. But privately, Margaret thought she knew Daisy Knope better than Rachel or even Beatrice.
And the day that Daisy Knope changed enough for them to be friends was the day that Margaret fit into one of Claire’s dresses.
“I’m finished,” Rachel said with a grand flourish, leaning back in the desk chair. “Here is Margaret’s list.”
Beatrice sprung from the sofa and went to inspect it.
Margaret stayed put—such an optimistic list was barely worth reading.
The entire thing was embarrassing. She didn’t know which possibility was worse—that Rachel might have made the list so outlandish out of pity or that she actually believed such men within Margaret’s reach.
“Oh, he’s very handsome indeed. And wealthy.” Beatrice tapped the parchment. “And he has a lively, pleasing temperament that would complement Margaret nicely.” She gave a little clap. “Well done. Now do mine.”