Unveiled (Turner, #1)

Margaret bit her lip.

Edmund responded. “The bad news is, it is because everyone wishes to see you and Turner again. Margaret, what could you have been thinking? Talking with him. Introducing him to your friends. Dancing with him.”

“What was I supposed to do? It would have been dreadfully impolite to refuse. It would have created a scene.”

“And it wasn’t a spectacle when he practically kissed you in front of everyone?” Edmund snapped. “At a minimum, you ought not to have appeared so eager to comply. Everyone is talking—absolutely everyone. Have you any idea what could happen if the gossips start marrying you to Ash Turner in their minds?”

“It was a waltz, not a wedding!”

Edmund sighed. “It’s never just a waltz, Margaret. Matters are already touch and go, even without this latest complication. For one, we had thought Forsyth would support our suit.”

The current Lord Forsyth was their mother’s brother. He’d always seemed an indulgent, loving uncle. Indeed, he had doted on his sister, and by extension, his sister’s offspring. He was the last person Margaret could imagine supporting Ash Turner.

“But no,” Edmund continued. “He’s furious at Father for what he did, and he’s all too aware that with the marriage between Mother and Father dissolved as if it had never happened, the sixty thousand pounds that had been set aside for Mama’s lawful female offspring reverts to him. He has convinced a group of five others to vote down the bill. Your sixty thousand pounds means that we need every last one of the undecided votes. We can’t have you squandering a single one out of misguided romanticism.”

“Edmund,” Richard said gently, “she can’t be held to account for the money, at least.”

Margaret shook her head, but in the dark, nobody could see her denial. She shut her eyes, but it didn’t help. Darkness was darkness, and there was no guidance either way. “I don’t want to choose between you and Ash.”

Edmund made an exasperated noise. “Don’t be a naive little goose, Margaret. This is not about what you want. Everyone is choosing between us. That’s what this act in Parliament is about—it’s about the lords choosing either Turner or Richard. And this, now, is about choosing your future. Do you want to be a bastard all your life? Do you want to be ostracized from society for the remainder of your years? Choose out of selfishness, for God’s sake. You know that until you’ve been legitimized, unthinking people will forever be giving you the cut.”

Lady Cosgrove sprang to mind. “Small hardship,” Margaret said with asperity. “If unthinking people won’t talk with me, then I shall make friends with people who think. Which, oddly enough, seems like a good idea to begin with.”

“La-di-da,” Edmund said, his tone reminding her of their father. “Would you listen to that show of logic? If you won’t think of yourself, then think of us.”

Richard sat next to her. At those words, he reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. “He doesn’t mean it,” he whispered. “He is only so rude because he is so very, very worried.”

If it had just been Edmund, she might have been tempted to give in to Ash. Even though he was her brother. Even though she loved him. Even though she knew she would regret such a hasty dismissal later.

But Richard… He didn’t always think about what he did, but when he actually took notice, he stood by her. He had never deserted her. And if she ruined this for him, he would be a bastard. He would have a little money—a few thousand pounds, enough to scrape by, but by no means what he deserved. And while Ash had once offered her father more, she was not sure the offer was still open—or that Richard would accept it if it were made.

But both Ash and Edmund had urged her to think of herself. When she thought of herself, it wasn’t legitimacy or money that came to mind. It wasn’t even Ash himself. It was, instead, the gift that Ash had given her back at Parford Manor: the solid, sure certainty that she was someone worth having. That she was better than her father.

If she did to her brothers what their father had done to them, she could not be so certain any longer. Family didn’t betray family.

She swallowed and shut her eyes. Edmund was right. It was foolish to imagine that she could avoid a choice. “What must I do?” she asked weakly. But she already knew the answer.

“People are talking already. You need to give them something substantially less romantic to discuss. We’ve been invited to the Rutledges’ rout,” Edmund said. “Turner will be there. And the instant he sets eyes on you, you are to give him the cut direct.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE