Daughter of Mystery by Heather Rose Jones

abductions. You are more familiar with this place than I am.”
    She could tell that the image had hit home. The sardonic look had left his face and he leaned toward her. “You have begun to persuade me that Margerit should be guarded. You have yet to persuade me that I should trust you to guard her. That…scene this afternoon.”
    Barbara could feel the heat rising in her face. There was no answer she could give—that she would give. She had abased herself to Margerit; she would not do so to this man. “My honor lies in keeping your niece safe. But all I can promise is that I shall do what she commands.”
    His frown deepened. “What she commands.”
    She nodded ever so slightly, acknowledging the unspoken addendum: not what I command . Would it help to explain to him about Estefen? But not before she had warned Margerit. That felt too much like disloyalty.
    He sighed. “We shall see. But for the moment, I’ll inform Margerit that she is not to leave the house unless you accompany her. You may go.”
    Barbara noticed that the subject of her clothing had become unimportant.
    As she opened the door to the hallway, she nearly collided with Margerit, hovering indecisively by the door.
    “Is…is there a problem?” Margerit asked anxiously.
    Barbara closed the door behind her. “No, I think we’ve come to an understanding for the moment. But Maisetra, I need to speak with you. There are,” she waved her hand vaguely, “matters to arrange.”
    Margerit nodded vigorously. “Come to me in my room. I’ll send for you after I’ve spoken to my uncle.”

Chapter Eleven
    Margerit
    Dinner had, as always, been calm, dignified and formal. It gave her no reassurance that her defiance of the afternoon had been forgiven. Hiding in her room could only provide a temporary respite and she had long ago discovered that it was better to face her uncle immediately and take the consequences. Aunt Honurat could never steel herself to do so and would spend a month in slowly grinding anxiety rather than face ten minutes of her husband’s direct disapproval. Aunt Bertrut was free of any direct obligation to him and on those occasions when she found it unpleasant to live under his roof, she was quite content to visit friends about the countryside until the growing disorder in the household forced him to send his wife as an unacknowledged ambassadress to beg her return.
    But Margerit had no such haven nor was her happiness essential to the smooth operation of her uncle’s house. And so she slipped into the room and made a vague and general apology for the events of the afternoon that she hoped would cover all possible transgressions.
    He received it with a mild frown but said merely, “I would expect a girl of your age to know how to control servants properly. Maisetra Fulpi seems to have been remiss in that part of your education. You will be mistress of your own household soon enough and then you will learn what lax standards can lead to.” He shifted back in his chair and put on a more friendly expression. “I’m glad you came to speak with me. I imagine you’re feeling quite dizzy with today’s change of fortune.”
    A change indeed if it absolved her of her sins! But she was grateful for the respite. “I had no idea. I didn’t think—that is, when he spoke to me at the ball, it seemed as if he’d almost forgotten me. And when I visited, there was no hint.” She hesitated, recalling the curious stare from LeFevre. He must have known. No doubt that was what they’d spent the morning arranging.
    “Well, it seems that you must have impressed him favorably in that last week.” He tented his hands together and spoke with the fatherly tone that had always unsettled her for its rarity. “This will mean a great many changes in your life, naturally. It’s fortunate that you haven’t been out long enough to have formed any attachment yet. You’ll be able to look much higher for a husband than you might have dreamed. I