The Lie and the Lady by Kate Noble Page B

you’re going?” she called out.
    Both Babcocks made identical turns.
    â€œI need a cushion for my foot, and to dig out the cribbage board.” Sir Barty toddled over and kissed the top of her head. “I’m sure you and Mrs. Dillon will take care of everything, m’dear.”
    As he wandered off, Leticia turned her attention to Margaret.
    â€œI need to attend to some pruning in the greenhouse,” the girl replied with a shrug. “It cannot wait.”
    Sir Barty she might not be able to argue with, but Margaret was another matter entirely.
    â€œIt will have to wait. You have invited guests for tea and you must be in charge of their comforts.”
    â€œI . . . I am?” Margaret looked vaguely panicked. “Usually, my mother . . . that is to say, I usually have far too much work to do in my greenhouse to be entertaining.”
    Thankfully, Mrs. Dillon stepped in. “My lady, if I may—who is going to be visiting?”
    Leticia tried to keep her face impassive. “Mr. John Turner, and his mother, Mrs. Turner.”
    â€œMiss Helen—you’ll forgive me, Mrs. Turner—would probably prefer the sitting room, it being a bit on the warm side today.”
    â€œThen the sitting room it is,” Leticia replied. And with a pointed glance to Margaret, had that girl nodding in approval as well.
    Mrs. Dillon nodded to a footman, who moved quickly off, a silent order given.
    â€œNow, I know you must be thinking that Mrs. Turner and I will get to know each other while you and Mr. Turner go off to view the violets, but I have to tell you I don’t think that would be the best idea. As your friend, that is.” Leticia would be run through with a serving fork before she allowed Turner to be alone with Margaret.
    And it had nothing to do with the silly notion that he and Margaret were meant for each other, as his mother seemed to desire. Of course not. She simply did not trust Turner with her secrets.
    He would not have the chance to tell Margaret—or Sir Barty, for that matter—anything in confidence. He wouldn’t have the opportunity to ruin her life. Again.
    God help her if he’d told his mother anything. Although, while he seemed to esteem her greatly, she just couldn’t imagine John Turner telling his mother much about his love life.
    â€œOh, but . . . I never thought . . . that is, I’m sure Mr. Turner will be fine touring the violets on his own.” Margaret, for once, met Leticia’s eyes—and in them was stark horror.
    Leticia froze midstep. On the one hand, she was extremely glad that Margaret had no plans to be alone with Turner. On the other hand, she did not want to be left alone with the Turners either.
    â€œNo, Margaret. They are your violets. Your gardening. I am sure Mrs. Turner and her son are expecting that you would want to show them off proudly.”
    Margaret looked panic-stricken. “Why?”
    Because this entire afternoon is a theatrical farce. “Because you invited them over specifically to see them,” Leticia replied through clenched teeth.
    â€œOh no,” Margaret said. “I should much rather be in my greenhouse.”
    â€œMargaret—” At this point Letitia’s patience was wearing a bit thin. “How much time have you spent with Mr. Turner? Alone?”
    â€œNone,” she replied.
    None. Well, at least that meant that John Turner was perhaps not as interested in Margaret as she was in him. It was a laughable notion that he’d be interested in her at all. Wasn’t it? But still . . .
    â€œIf you haven’t spent any time with Mr. Turner, how is it that you know you like him?”
    Margaret’s eyes whipped up, blazing. “I just do.”
    â€œI know, but—”
    â€œI don’t have to explain my feelings to you.”
    â€œI never thought that—”
    â€œBecause if I didn’t like