“Barnabee, if you open those curtains – I shall have you whipped.”
Redmund meant it. Mostly. He would not actually have his dear friend and loyal footman, Barnabee, whipped over something so slight as doing his duties…but the notion was very tempting. He did not think that there had yet been a word invented that was strong enough to describe the sort of fresh hell that was his present migraine.
“As thrilling as it is to be threatened by you this late in the afternoon, my lord, your presence is requested downstairs,” Barnabee answered flatly as he moved to yank open the heavy drapes with little to no deference for the state of his master.
The room went from sullen darkness to the brightness of afternoon in a matter of seconds. Redmund was of half of a mind to hiss and reject the sunlight. It was only the remaining slivers of his pride that stopped him from childishly yanking the covers back up and over his head so that he could hide away.
“You are enjoying this, are you not? I always knew that you were a sadist.” Redmund grumbled mainly to himself as he pinched at the bridge of his nose. He had no intentions of opening his eyes for anything at all. He knew from experience that if he were to attempt to sit up on his own – the dizziness would consume him…or nausea, or both.
Even with his eyes scrunched shut, Redmund could feel the man smirking in satisfaction.
“There is nothing that my parents could possibly require of me that cannot wait until later.” Redmund groaned.
“It is later, my lord….the day is half past already.”
“Truly?” Redmund contemplated for a long moment. “If that is the case, then perhaps it would be best to simply call today a wash and sleep until tomorrow morning. Yes, I think that would be best.”
He was already in the process of burrowing further under his places once more when the footman yanked the heavy blankets off of his person.
“See? Sadist.” Redmund grumbled affectionately. “You had best have something very strong for me as reparations for your insolence.”
“If you allow me to assist you in dressing, you will spare yourself the indignation and punishment of your father coming up here and dragging you out of bed himself. I shall say that his temper is always a magnificent thing to behold…doubly so when it comes to you, my lord.” Barnabee goaded him.
Redmund’s brow rose as he agreed with the sentiment. “None would ever accuse his punishments of lacking in creativity; that is certainly true.”
Barnabee nodded, satisfied that he was correct.
“Actually, I have another idea.”
“Now is hardly the time for your hair-brained schemes, my lord. Now, would you like the green – or the white overcoat for this morning?”
Redmund’s hand pressed into the linen on his chest. It was stretched and wrinkled; he ought to change. Then again, he always did enjoy the look of horror on his father’s face whenever he acted in a way that the man considered to be uncouth. It mattered not that they were in the privacy of their own home. “No schemes. I simply shall order you to leave me at once, return to my father, and tell him that I have a raging fever and my room is covered wall to wall in my sick.”
“As always, I am grateful for your concern for my health and well-being, my lord” Barnabee’s naturally flat cadence seemed to dry further, bordering on sarcasm. Something that very few people would be allowed to get away with in his presence.
“Oh, come off it; father is not going to do anything to you.”
“First…you threatened to have me whipped…now you wish to throw me to the proverbial wolves…why, my lord, it is a wonder that you care for me at all.” Barnabee droned as he tossed the green shirt onto the bed. “Perhaps I shall leave you to dress yourself, then you might learn to value me more properly.”
Redmund gasped and dramatically clutched at his chest before pretending to swoon like a maiden. “Labor? Me? You know, I have suddenly seen the error of my ways.”
“Quite right, my lord.” Barnabee rolled his eyes theatrically and pulled out a pair of trousers for him to don, and tossed those onto the bed as well.
“Fine. but only for you, Barnabee, do not say that I have never done anything for you.” Redmund heaved a long-suffering sigh and hauled himself out of bed. He truly did look worse for the wear. He had forgotten to shave yesterday and had already accumulated a fair amount of scruff on his chin and sharp jawline. He pulled his disheveled shirt off of his person and tossed it to the floor in a pile. Love bites littered his chest as he stretched. No doubt there were already rumors aplenty as to his behavior last night. He had a reputation for being on the wild side; there was certainly no denying that…but he had been in particular form last night.
There were still parts that he could not remember. No amount of lounging around in the dark of his bedroom was going to help him remember. If only his memory did not have alcohol-induced holes in it – he would be better able to defend himself against whatever lecture he was about to receive.
Redmund raked his fingers through his short, wavy brown locks in a vain attempt to make himself look more presentable. Nothing short of a full bath and another twelve hours of sleep was going to accomplish that particular goal.
“Is it truly terrible?” Redmund asked in a voice far more serious than he had been in the entire conversation thus far.
“His temper this morning?” Barnabee answered.
Redmund nodded.
“Rare form,” Barnabee warned gently. For that, he was grateful. At least he had the walk to the drawing room to fully prepare himself for what was to come. As if one could ever fully prepare for something like that.
Barnabee had him dressed and downstairs before he could blink or think up any other reasons to get himself out of this horrible experience. Redmund had neglected to choose a career path post-college, but if he had had to choose a profession – it would be a professional disappointment to his father. He could practically feel the disappointment wafting out of the room and into the hallway where he was hiding.
Might as well get it over with.
Redmund plastered on a bright smile and rolled his shoulders back, and strolled into the room as if he had no concept of time or decency. Father did not so much as bother looking up over the newspaper in his hands to greet his son. His mother glanced up over her needlework, took in the sorry state of him, and clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth in displeasure.
The act of pretending that he was well and not suffering a tremendous headache was getting more impossible with each passing second.
“My darling son, you could have at least pretended to put forth an effort….?” his mother sighed and tugged forcefully at the needlework in her hands, clearly irritated with him.
“Typical.” Father huffed as he shuffled the newspaper to the next article. “You ought not to ask such strenuous things of him, my dear, or else he shall have to use that empty head of his. If I listen carefully, I can hear the fluff between his ears rattling about – constantly searching for purpose.”
Redmund sighed and sank heavily into the first chair available to him. “So glad that I rushed right down here. I certainly would not have wished to miss out on such high praise from my loving, doting parents.”
He knew that he had made a mistake even before he had finished speaking — but he was not going to allow them to verbally berate him first thing in the morning.
“If you are going to speak poorly about me, might you at least do it in softer tones? My head is throbbing.” Redmund continued. He was clearly a glutton for punishment.
Father’s paper crumpled in his hands as if he could not rid himself of the paper quickly enough. “You have no right to request anything of us! You have not earned the right, much less the respect needed to make requests of me! I swear, every time that I think your audacity has finally reached its limit, you always seem to delight me in showing that no, there are always higher heights that you are willing to push your impertinence!”
The words hurt, but Redmund would never show it. He made a show of shrugging like his father’s opinion of him did not matter as he plucked a grape from his mother’s snacking plate and popped it into his mouth. He pointedly chewed with his mouth open and an arrogant smile the whole time. “What can I say? I am a high achiever.”
Father’s gaze narrowed, and his face was starting to purple with the amount of rage so thinly contained in his person.
“What mistakes must I have made in my life to be granted such a disappointment for a son! You are to inherit my tile! The dukedom! Should that not deserve at least a modicum of respect from you?! You will be the future of this household and the carrier of our family name. Yet it seems that you will not be satisfied until you have ruined everything that I have worked so hard to build!”
“Oh, do settle down, father. It is not as if you are planning on dying any time soon. There shall be more than sufficient time for me to, oh, what is it that you are always saying? Get this out of my system.” Redmund grinned.
“No.” Father continued, sterner this time. “I am done with allowing you to run rampant all over the city and ruin your reputation across the ton. You are grown enough now, and I shall not allow it any longer. It is time for you to grow up.”
“Which one is it, father, that I am grown enough or that I need to grow up?” Redmund retorted automatically. Sometimes it felt as if he truly did not have any control over the words that came flying out of his mouth. He certainly had not meant to antagonize his father that time. There was a level that his father could be pushed to before mistakes would be made — and they were well past that now.
“You are to settle and find a wife. It is my will. It shall be done.”
“And what makes you think that I should suddenly be interested in the idea of marriage? Why would I wish to settle with only one woman when I can have many?” Redmund scoffed.
Mother gasped, scandalized.
“Watch your tongue, boy! Your mother is present, and I will not allow you to speak like that in front of her!”
Redmund silenced himself. It was not his mother that he wished to take his unhappiness out on. She was merely a bystander in his constant war with his father. However, he certainly would not be taking a wife any time soon.
“I do apologize, mother,” Redmund muttered.
“In case you do not think me serious, boy, you will have until the end of the season to find a suitable wife and marry her…or I shall cut you off from the family fortune and disinherit you formally.”
All pretense of arrogance melted off of Redmund’s face instantly as he sat bolt upright. “You cannot possibly be serious!”
Even mother gasped softly in surprise at the severity of the threat.
“You will find that I am deadly serious, boy. You will bend to my will for once in your ungrateful life, or you will be copperless and living on the streets with the beggars. Perhaps then you will learn some damned humility!”
Redmund did not know what to say. In his heart, he hoped that this was just yet another instance where father was throwing his weight around in order to get what he wanted. But, he had done so many times before, and something about this particular threat felt…different. He could not place the why of it…but he was intimidated.
“Now, leave my sight. I can no longer stand the look of your slovenly appearance. Clean yourself up at once. Properly.” Father dismissed him and started to uncrumple the paper that was practically ruined.
Redmund shoved petulantly out of the chair and stomped to the hall once more. Every step that he took caused the throbbing in his head to grow three times worse.
Marriage? In a single season? It was preposterous. It mattered not at all what other people might do or even how commonly the marriages happened…he was not interested. Redmund did not want to settle down…but he also did not wish to lose the allowance that provided him with the luxurious life that he loved.
“Barnabee?!” Redmund shouted, already pulling off the layers of clothing that he had donned not long ago. He had not wished to attend tonight’s ball…but now he would have no choice but to bend to his father’s will. “Ready a bath at once.”
He might have his pride – but it was not worth losing everything he had ever known.

Chapter Two

Mary

“Stop fidgeting; it is most unbecoming.” Mary’s mother’s critical eye was a thing of legend. The woman could spot a mistake in a hemline or a missed stitch from a ballroom away under nearly any circumstances. She prided herself on her own needlework skills. So, it was no surprise that she would also desire to hover over the modiste at every possible opportunity to ensure that she was getting the very best possible quality that she could for her money. Mother would walk in circles while Mary stood like a statue for her fitting. The older woman would comment and pinch at bits of fabric and make soft remarks about things that she would have personally done another way or how she thought the designs could be improved.
Normally, this attention to detail would not have bothered Mary one way or the other — but the devil woman knelt in front of her working on her dress kept pricking her. Which meant that Mary kept flinching. At this point, she was certain that her legs from the hips down were going to be riddled with small holes. She was going to be itching at the teeny tiny little wounds for days to come. She certainly was not going to be in the mood for dancing or revelry if this did not stop soon.
But, enduring such torment was preferable to attempting to argue with mother in such a public location. Mary knew it was a losing battle if she had ever seen one. She bit down on the inside of her cheek firmly and balled her hands into fists at her side. Silently, she battled her irritation with the modiste. The woman pinned, tucked, and modified the dress to Mary’s exact frame – so much so that she felt if she were to breathe too deeply that the fine fabric of the dress was going to fray or snag.
Certainly not ideal.
Doubly so because Mary had no desire to attend tonight’s ball whatsoever. She wished to be as far away from it as she possibly could. Staying home would be, of course, impossible. Mother would never allow it.
Mary flinched as the small pinning needle sank into her ankle. She nearly toppled sideways off the circular elevated podium with the sudden movement. “Ouch!” She hissed. Mary started to bend over to rub at the spot on reflex, but her mother smacked at her hands to force her back upright.
“What did I just say?!”
Mary’s sharp gaze landed on the modiste, who simply shrugged and smiled innocently. The way she batted her eyelashes so obviously up at Mary only made her think that the woman was doing it all to her on purpose. With how frayed her nerves already were, she did not need to add a meddlesome modiste to her list of things to think about.
The knuckles on Mary’s hands popped as she clenched her jaw and righted herself on the podium. She trapped her breath into her chest and stood up straighter. She stared ahead into the mirror, watching the reflection of herself and the way her face slowly, ever so slowly, started to turn blue under the lack of oxygen in her system. Surely the infernal woman had to be finished soon? She could hear her mother speaking, but the words did not register. Mary hardly wanted to allow herself to blink for how intently she was focused on her reflection. How much longer? Ten seconds? A minute? The dress was pinned — damn it!
Mary cried out and moved her whole body away from the woman. “That is enough!”
The modiste clearly was not expecting her to actually say anything out loud about the assault on her poor skin. Mother was appalled. All of the other women in the shop looked over at her in stunned silence, but Mary would not apologize when she was the one that had been wronged. They were poking her legs, after all! She was the one who would be scrubbing blood off of her skin because the woman did not seem to possess depth perception! If her gowns were not so painfully beautiful when finished, Mary would have threatened to never come here again.
She would not apologize.
She would not.
Mary could feel the weight of her mother’s gaze pressing into her back as if her eyes were boring demanding holes into the nape of her neck. Despite the intensity of the stare, she remained resolute, determined not to yield to the mounting pressure. Yet, the entirety of the shop seemed to be frozen in time. All of the ladies and their mama’s were clearly waiting for Mary to cave in and apologize for something that was not her fault.
Her lip curled in reluctance to speak…but she knew she had no choice. Not really.
“Apologies…” she muttered and struggled to come up with a suitable lie. Why could the woman not apologize for assaulting her like that? “For the…outburst…”
The insincerity in her words was glaringly apparent, and the modiste’s disapproval was unmistakably etched across her face. Mary was already expecting the retribution stabs.
Her mother’s face was turning red. If she did not know better, she would have thought that the woman was about to explode from rage alone.
“You must forgive my daughter…she does not know what she says. She simply gets these cramps in her legs from standing so long…such a terrible affliction, really. It is a pity that they cause her so much pain…it makes her legs more sensitive as well. Yes. That is why she is struggling to be still like she ought to. Mary is such a sweet girl; never would speak out of turn.” Mother rambled too quickly for a word of her apology or explanation to be believable.
Never mind that Mary had cemented her reputation as being a very difficult girl a good year ago.
The moment that mother stopped talking, the other patrons waiting on their gowns started to whisper. Softly and primarily behind their opened fans … .but Mary could hear it. The issue was that, unlike mother, Mary did not care in the slightest what sorts of ugly rumors and comments were whispered about her. She did not feel shackled to her reputation like most other women in her position were.
“It is the pressure of the debut! That is all!” Mother laughed nervously, addressing the room as a whole. In a display of obligatory sympathy, the other compassionate mothers muttered choruses of “poor dear” and “happens to us all,” as their refined breeding dictated. It was a ritualistic response that wouldn’t alter their true opinions, but now they were obliged to extend sympathy towards Mary’s mother, even as they whispered unfavorable things about her. The chorus of whispers would soon shift to comments like “pity she has such a daughter” and speculation on the difficulties of raising a headstrong and determined girl like Mary.
Well. Let them whisper. It mattered not to Mary.
“I could delay for another year, mother, if that would let ‘settle me down’. Perhaps if I were more ready for this unwanted debut, then my nerves would not cause me to do such scandalous things.” Mary sighed.
“Is that some sort of backward threat?” Mother asked, irate.
“Not at all, mother, simply attempting yet again to express my reluctance to conform to these silly traditions.” Mary huffed. She bit down on her bottom lip sharply as the needle jabbed into her waist this time. Would it be foolishly optimistic to hope that meant that the damned modiste was almost finished?
Mother stepped closer to the podium and lowered her voice sharply so that only Mary would be able to hear. “You will have your debut, daughter, whether you like it or not. Your father has decided it, and you will comply. You will act on your very best behavior.”
Mary was tempted to push the envelope and insist that this was her very best behavior…but she did not fancy being backhanded for her insolent mouth in front of all of these people.
Mother turned to the modiste with a tight, uncomfortable smile. “Will you give us a moment? I should like to speak to my daughter in private…to…settle her nerves.”
“Of course, madam.” The modiste rose from where she had knelt on the ground and dipped into a low curtsy before pulling a curtain shut to partition them off from the other guests. No doubt she was off to join in on the gossip that Mary had just provided them all with. Honestly, they all ought to be more grateful.
It was unlikely that her mother would have a different answer now that they were alone, but she had to try.
“I think that if you asked father sweetly in the voice he likes so much…he would be willing to defer my debut for another year. Just one that is all that I ask,” Mary whispered.
“It is only one year that you ask for now, but I know you, daughter mine. You will ask for one year, and then next year, it will be another and another until you jump right past the marriage mart and straight to spinsterhood. Why anyone would desire that, I shall never understand!”
“I shall not. I swear it. Just this once-”
“Mary, a bit of nerves is to be expected. Everyone is anxious and afraid before their first real ball as a woman. I was much the same whenever I was your age; it is normal…but this is for your own good. You must understand that.”
If it was father’s will…there would be no getting out of it. If mother had truly left this choice up to him…then that was all that there was to it. Once father had decided on something, there was no changing his mind. It mattered not what the issue was or what the arguments on either side might be — he would not be swayed. If father said she was to debut …then she would. She would have to grin and pretend not to hate it with as much ire as she presently possessed.
However, there was nothing in his will that claimed that she had to go easily.
They might be able to make her debut, but they could not make her marry. They could parade her in front of every eligible bachelor in the entirety of London, but that would not mean that she had to choose one. She would not. She could never do such a thing to herself.
If she needed to – Mary would simply stay away from everything and everyone. Her reputation for being difficult would naturally devolve into one of her being outright unpleasant. That would also suit her purposes just fine.
Yes, one way or another – she would survive tonight with as little fanfare as possible.

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Prologue

The note in his trembling hand taunted him, and the words faded to a blur, wobbling behind the haze that suddenly formed over his eyes.
His father was dying.
As expected at the sight of news like this, his heart dropped to his stomach like a rock.
It did not last long, however. The rock disintegrated in his stomach, and his normal heartbeat returned. The initial agony ebbed away, paving the way for the customary resentment that brewed within him whenever the thought of the man accountable for his being crossed his mind.
“Finally.”
It was a broken whisper that left his cracked lips, and a small smile formed on his face.
All his life, his brother had been their father’s alpha and omega. His brother was the sole individual who held any significance, receiving all the accolades and titles, while he, who some may argue had the superior intellect between the two, remained entrenched in the shadow of a man who was deemed inferior to him.
It wouldn’t be that way anymore.
A sharp pang coursed through his heart. As far back as he could recall, nothing had consumed him more than the yearning for his father’s validation. And yet, despite his tireless efforts, he could never do enough to earn it.
He swallowed, the acrid taste of bitterness lingering in his mouth.
It was always the same. His elder brother was the source of his affliction, the cause of his suffering.
From a distance, he had watched his father and brother bond over shared interests, discussing the family enterprises, estates, and titles. Meanwhile, he had been resigned to playing second fiddle to a brother who barely acknowledged his existence.
He was alone, utterly and woefully alone, and it was unfair.
Naturally, he dared not confront his father or brother about this predicament. Should he have attempted to voice his grievances, he knew all too well that they would have likely responded with callous amusement, showing no regard for his feelings.
It was a twisted situation indeed. It seemed as though the harder he tried to win his father’s approval, the less his father cared.
The letter crumbled into a ball in his hand, and his mouth curled in an angry snarl.
He could vividly recall his younger self gazing up at his father and brother with unbridled adoration. The more they pushed him aside, the more that adoration twisted and turned into jealousy. Eventually, it had evolved into a muted frustration and now simmered into an all-consuming animosity, a searing and intense loathing that burned within him.
A laugh escaped his lips. It was a shocking sound, one that almost took him by surprise.
Had he truly not laughed in so long that the sound shocked him?
He was barely a man when his father had sent him away and made it no secret that he was embarrassed by his needy son and had preferred only one child.
Now, a smile formed on his lips, though it held no joy or warmth.
The old man was dying.
“It is my turn.”
The words tumbled from his lips, anger seeping from every syllable, and his fist landed against the wall.
“MY TURN!”
It was, he decided. It was finally his turn to get what he deserved and what he was owed.
The resentment that had nearly boiled over faded, making way for a sense of satisfaction.
Oh, how the tables had turned. Another barking laugh escaped his lips, and he threw the crumbled letter into the fireplace. With a flicker of amusement, he watched as it disintegrated into ash before his very eyes.
This changed everything…

Chapter 1

Margery Owen raced through the thoroughfare with an urgency that matched the frenzied pace of her thoughts. With a sack of flour clasped tightly in one hand and a basket of eggs in the other, her arms strained under the weight. As she stepped quickly down the street, she failed to notice the well-dressed gentleman walking towards her, lost in his own thoughts.
The collision was sudden and jarring, sending both of them tumbling to the ground in a tangled mess. Flour and eggs flew everywhere, dusting the air with a cloud of white and yellow. Margery landed with a thud, her breath escaping her in a whoosh as she tried to make sense of what had just happened.
The gentleman was sprawled next to her, his fine clothes now stained with flour and yolk. He groaned in pain and confusion, his eyes blinking rapidly as he tried to focus on Margery’s face.
The impact sent them both reeling, dazed and disoriented, before they gradually regained their bearings and dusted off their clothes. Margery’s countenance was ruddy with mortification and unease, while the gentleman’s visage registered a curious blend of irritation and astonishment.
“What in the blazes?”
The words left the man’s lips suddenly, and a furious blush rose to Margery’s cheeks. His face was covered in flour, and were she not so utterly embarrassed by her hand in the uncomfortable situation, she may have laughed.
Margery’s heart raced as she tried to regain her composure. So lost was she in her own ruminations that she had failed to take note of the gentleman’s approach. “I beg your pardon, sir!” she exclaimed, her voice betraying a slight tremble. “I didn’t see you there.”
As if it was not bad enough that she had to find a way to explain the missing sack of flour, she now had this stranger glaring at her angrily as if she were to blame for all the world’s problems.
“Obviously,” he sneered, “you’re as blind as a bat.”
Margery’s hackles rose at his reproach, a surge of indignation coursing through her veins. She had always prided herself on her sharp eyesight, but perhaps he had a point. After all, she had collided with him head-on. As she took a closer look at him, she couldn’t help but agree that the situation seemed absurd. He was a towering figure, with broad shoulders and a countenance so forbidding that passersby averted their gaze.
She didn’t know what to say to him, so she remained quiet, knowing that she shouldn’t anger him further.
“Well, you should watch where you’re going,” he said, clearly annoyed. Margery couldn’t help but feel frustrated by his tone.
“Might I ask why you’re carrying a sack of flour in the middle of the street? Are you mad?” he asked, his words laced with irony. The scowl had not disappeared from his face, and in that instant, Margery wished that she could make herself smaller.
With that not being an option, she knew that she had no choice. She lifted her chin and faced him with her own strong glare. After all, she thought with a small smile, she was not a redhead for nothing. Her fiery temper was one that had left many a man speechless.
“I am volunteering at the Society for the Relief of the Destitute Sick. We’re making bread for the poor, sir,” she replied, trying to remain polite despite the gentleman’s rude demeanor.
The gentleman raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by her explanation. “You’ve ruined my suit! Do you have any idea how expensive this fabric is?” he exclaimed, gesturing to his flour-covered clothing.
Margery rolled her eyes, struggling to contain her frustration. “It’s just flour. It’ll wash out,” she said, hoping to diffuse the situation.
But the gentleman was not about to let her off the hook. “Just flour? Do you have any idea how much it costs to have a suit like this made?” he said, his anger palpable.
Margery couldn’t help but feel exasperated. She had no intention of ruining the man’s clothing, and she was doing her best to help those in need. She took a deep breath and tried to remain calm, hoping that the gentleman would see reason.
Alas, it was not meant to be, for the man still looked at her with a dark scowl.
Margery sighed. This was the last thing she needed.
“I really am sorry, sir,” she said again, her voice strained. “I meant no harm, and it was not my intention to cause trouble.”
“Not your intention?”
The man sneered at her irritably and crossed his arms. “Whatever your intentions were, I will have you know that you indeed caused trouble.”
Margery bit on her lip to calm herself. “I am sorry, sir.”
The man gave her a cold stare. “That doesn’t excuse you from being careless. You should watch where you’re going.”
Margery felt her irritation grow. “And you should learn some manners. You can’t simply demand apologies from strangers in such a manner, especially when I have already tendered my apologies multiple times!”
Despite the gentleman’s continued ire, Margery remained steadfast. She had already apologized repeatedly and felt that the man’s anger was unwarranted. As she stood there, flour and eggs covering her person, she couldn’t help but ponder why he was making such a fuss over a spoiled suit. It seemed a minor inconvenience in the grand scheme of things, particularly given that she was volunteering her time to aid those in need.
“I apprehend that your attire may have suffered some damage, sir,” she began in a composed manner, “yet I implore you to consider that my intention was solely to bring about some benevolence in this world. Would it not be more judicious to maintain your composure over a trivial matter such as a speck of flour?”
Margery had hoped that her words would allow the man to see reason, but it soon became apparent that it had the opposite effect.
“I…”
He spluttered indignantly and shook his head.
“I will have you know that I am a member of the upper echelon of society, madam. I demand respect, and you shall give it to me!”
Margery scoffed audibly at this.
Margery found herself increasingly incensed by the gentleman’s insistent demands for respect, which only served to magnify the chasm between their respective social standings. As she absently brushed off the flour from her dress, she was keenly aware of the class divide that separated them. She had long been aware of the strict societal structures that governed their world, but the encounter with the gentleman brought into sharp relief the glaring disparities between their daily lives.
“Respect, sir? You are covered in flour. You look like a walking pastry, I will have you know!”
The words fell from her lips before she could reconsider it, and it took all her self-control to refrain from clapping a hand over her mouth in regret.
She should not have said that, Margery knew at once.
The gentleman’s face darkened at Margery’s words, and for a few moments, there was an uncomfortable silence between them. Margery could feel the weight of her mistake settling on her shoulders. She had let her frustration get the best of her, and now she had offended the gentleman even further.
His face had turned red. She was not quite certain whether it was with anger or embarrassment.
When he finally spoke again, his voice was higher that it had been, and she smirked to herself.
“I…you…I…well, that is beside the point, isn’t it?”
She sighed audibly and looked back at the man. His lips were pursed into a thin line as he glared at her.
Despite the admonishing thoughts she’d had about respect for upper society, a soft giggle left her lips.
“Oh, pray do not take offense, Your Grace,” she said now, amusement taking hold of her. It was rather typical, she thought. Of course she would be the one to run into a nobleman and cover the poor man in flour. Another laugh fell from her lips as she looked at him.
“You must admit,” she said with unconcealed amusement, “that the situation is rather humorous indeed.”
The man’s face darkened even further, and his scowl deepened.
“I will not,” he said in a deep voice, the seriousness evident in the timbre of his tone. “Not only have you ruined a perfectly good suit, but I have had a pleasant evening that you, madam, managed to ruin!”
Margery was at a loss for words. Never in her life had she met someone so utterly humorless, and irritation brewed in her.
“Fine,” she spat, her own irritation finally boiling over.
“I apologize, Your Grace, for the umpteenth time. If it means so much to you, I admit that I was entirely at fault for this awful, awful humiliation you suffered.”
She glared at him irritably. Yes, indeed, how dare she try to make the world a better place and in the process inconvenience His Grace.
The man was acting like spoiled child, but Margery knew that there was no use in saying more. Clearly he wanted to misunderstand her and misconstrue her accident.
“That was meant to be an apology?”
Red hot rage filled her very being at the man’s words, and she opened her mouth to speak.
He did not give her the opportunity to do so, however, as he merely shook his head and left in a huff.
For a few silent minutes, Margery only stood where he had left her.
Finally, she shook her head with a deep sigh. Men and their pride—it was not something she thought that she would ever be able to understand.
Margery lingered for a moment on the street, taking deep breaths to quell the unsettled feeling in her chest. The encounter with the gentleman had left her feeling shaken, but she knew she shouldn’t let it distract her from her commitment to aiding the less fortunate. She had promised to volunteer at the Society for the Relief of the Destitute Sick, and she was determined to keep her word.
Upon arriving at the society, Margery was greeted warmly by a group of volunteers who were diligently preparing bread for the impoverished. Flour dusted the air, and the scent of freshly baked bread filled the room, creating an atmosphere of warmth and comfort. Margery eagerly joined the others, rolling up her sleeves and kneading dough alongside them. The task was simple, but the impact it would have on those who received the bread was immeasurable.
As she waited for the loaves to cool a while later, Margery’s mind wandered back to the gentleman she had encountered. She couldn’t help but wonder about his life and the privilege that came with being a member of the upper class. She pondered whether he ever stopped to consider the struggles of those less fortunate than himself. Margery knew that she would likely never understand his perspective, but she hoped that one day he might come to realize the importance of aiding those in need.
She shook her head silently as she continued working.
As much as the man had blamed her for ruining his walk, his awful attitude had ruined hers.
She could only hope that she never had to deal with that particular gentleman again.

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