At Last Comes Love by Mary Balogh Page B

The lady curtsied and regarded Margaret with slightly slanted eyes, which were as green as her dress.

    Margaret inclined her head.

    “We have not met,” the lady said, her voice sweet and breathless,
    “but I felt compelled to call upon you as soon as I heard. You must not marry Lord Sheringford, Miss Huxtable. You really must not. He is the very devil and will bring you nothing but misery and ostracism from society. Do please forgive this impertinence from a complete stranger, but I had to take the risk of coming and warning you.”

    Margaret rejected her first impulse, which was to offer the lady a seat. She clasped her hands at her waist and raised her eyebrows. Yes, this was an impertinence.

    “Mrs. Pennethorne?” she said. “You are a relative of the Earl of Sheringford?”

    “It pains me to have to admit it,” the lady said, flushing, “though fortunately he is a relative only by marriage. He is my dear husband's second cousin.”

    Margaret kept her eyebrows raised. She did not know what to say.

    “You may know of me,” Mrs. Pennethorne said. “My maiden name was Turner. I came within a few hours of making the most dreadful mistake of my life. I almost married the Earl of Sheringford myself five years ago. Instead, I married my dear Mr. Pennethorne shortly after and have been blissfully happy with him ever since.”

    Oh, goodness. This was the abandoned bride, the sister-in-law of the infamous Mrs. Turner, who had run off with the earl.

    “Yes,” Margaret said, “I have heard of you, of course. But—”

    But this was none of her business. She had no wish to listen to the whole sordid story—or any part of it, for that matter.

    “I do not have an acquaintance with you,” Mrs. Pennethorne said.
    Clearly she had come to talk, not to listen. “But I do know you by reputation. You are very well respected as the eldest sister of the Earl of Merton and the Duchess of Moreland and Baroness Montford. I daresay it is irksome to you still to be unmarried when your younger sisters have made such brilliant matches, but believe me, Miss Huxtable, the answer does not lie in marrying Lord Sheringford. My brother was the happiest of men before Laura was seduced away by that monster . He would have taken her back and forgiven her at any time after she left. He would not divorce her, as everyone who knew him advised. He never lost hope that she would return home and beg his forgiveness—which he would freely have given. He was devastated by the news of her death. That man , Miss Huxtable, has ruined my brother's life for all time, and he would have ruined mine too if my dear Mr. Pennethorne had not been kind and honorable enough to marry me himself.”

    Margaret gazed at her in pure astonishment.

    “I must thank you for your visit and your concern,” she said. “Will you forgive me if I do not offer you refreshments? I am about to go out. My sister is expecting me.”

    She had decided very recently, she remembered, that she would never tell a lie again.

    “Of course,” the lady said. “I will not delay you. And I do beg you to forgive me, Miss Huxtable. It has been almost unbearably painful, you must understand, to know that that man has had the effrontery to return toLondon . My brother suffers dreadfully from the knowledge, as do I. My dear Mr. Pennethorne is chagrined beyond words, since he must bear the shame of sharing a name with Lord Sheringford. It has been our fervent hope that we would neither see nor hear from him until we leave town at the end of the Season. We certainly had no wish to be embroiled in his business. But when I learned this morning that he had snared yet another innocent, respectable lady into his net, I found the knowledge truly unbearable.
    I knew I had no choice but to come to warn you, to beg you to break off the betrothal before it is too late. Promise me that you will, Miss Huxtable.”

    “I appreciate your concern for my happiness,” Margaret said, crossing the