Jo Beverley by Forbidden Magic Page A

wouldn’t dream of it.”
    Meg was pleased that at least the earl didn’t intend to deny his grandmother a bed for the night.
    Then he continued. “I will have you and your possessions most carefully removed and conveyed to Quiller’s.”
    A hotel? “My lord—” Meg protested.
    â€œDon’t.” His voice was quiet, meant only for her, and his eyes never left the woman in the chair. He seemed strangely like an animal at bay, eyeing growling hounds.
    The duchess did not seem worthy of such rage. After all, this marriage was folly, and Meg would not have agreed to it if her need hadn’t been truly urgent.
    Suddenly, he produced a quizzing glass and raised it. “Cousin Daphne! Imagine you being here.”
    Meg hadn’t noticed the young woman standing beside the old woman’s chair, even though she was dressed in an expensive-looking, full-length spencer trimmed with fur, and a large bonnet frothed with plumes. The clothes overwhelmed her thin, pale form. If the earl seemed tobe always taking up all the available space, this Cousin Daphne took up far less than her share.
    Why, then, did the earl’s voice have such a caustic edge?
    The woman raised her chin, pale mouth trembling. “Why shouldn’t I be here?” She pulled her left hand out of her enormous fur muff to reveal an old-fashioned ring bearing a large emerald. “I wear the Torrance betrothal ring.”
    Meg gasped, but her husband said, “I am not and have never been betrothed to marry her.”
    â€œWe were to marry today!” Cousin Daphne declared.
    â€œYou are mistaken.”
    â€œIt’s been understood forever. The duchess said—”
    â€œOccasionally, even the Dowager Duchess of Daingerfield makes a mistake. Pringle—”
    â€œPhilanderer!” snapped the duchess. “You played with Daphne in the cradle.”
    â€œIf I did anything improper, it was my nursemaid’s fault. Pringle—”
    â€œSaxonhurst!” Daphne shrieked, crimson splotching her cheeks. “You disgusting man.”
    â€œMy goodness, Daphne”—he stared at her again through the quizzing glass—“you’ve turned quite red. What did I do to you in the cradle? I must say, it’s rather a feather in my cap to have been so precocious.”
    â€œYou vile cad!”
    Meg, horrified, silently echoed that. “My lord . . . !”
    â€œBe quiet,” he snapped. “Pringle, I am not accustomed to being ignored.”
    â€œMy lord!” The butler almost snapped to attention. “You wish the duchess removed?”
    â€œI thought I made that clear some time ago.”
    The duchess stared at him as fixedly as he stared back. “I defy you to throw me from the house, Frederick.”
    â€œShe dismissed her carriages, my lord.”
    â€œThen use mine.”
    â€œI will not be moved. Stand your ground!” the duchess ordered her chairmen.
    â€œUse all my carriages if you have to,” the earl ordered. “Get the baggage out of here, and that includes the duchess and Lady Daphne.”
    â€œSaxonhurst!” exclaimed Lady Daphne. “Even you cannot—”
    â€œWatch me.”
    â€œMy lord,” Meg protested. “It’s the Christmas season—”
    â€œHold your tongue.”
    Horrified, Meg dashed over to put her arms around the twins. What had she done to bring her family here?
    The servants sprang into action, positively sweeping the pile of baggage out of the hall. When the staff seemed likely to sweep out the sedan chair, too, the duchess slammed the door and ordered the men to move. Her hand made a claw on the edge of the lowered window. Stiff-necked, Cousin Daphne stalked alongside.
    As the chair passed close, she glared at the earl. “You are beneath contempt, Saxonhurst.”
    â€œThen why the devil do you want to marry me?”
    â€œOnly for the duchess’s sake.