She hadn’t the heart to tell the woman she had forsaken a bonnet simply to gather flowers as a housemaid in a Kent garden. “I shall never tell,” Margaret said mysteriously.
The lady’s maid’s eyes lit with the glow of new tales to share in the housekeeper’s parlor.
“Well, it is ze Gowland’s Lotion for you, miss,” she said, prescribing the popular remedy for a whole host of ladies’ complexion complaints.
Miss Durand’s accent brought Monsieur Fournier to mind, and Margaret found herself smiling wistfully. She would miss the man—his desserts as well.
Margaret regarded herself in the looking glass. She had not looked as pretty in months. She had no wish to be vain, but she did want to feel as confident as she could before facing Sterling Benton.
She fingered the neckline of the gown, wishing she might wear the cameo necklace her father had given her. She blinked back tears. Ah well.
Rising, Margaret took a deep breath, steeling her resolve. It was now or never.
In rose satin slippers she skimmed down the stairs and into the drawing room. Sterling sat slumped in a high-backed chair near the fire, glass of brandy in his hand, staring at the flames.
He didn’t look over but must have heard her enter. Likely Murdoch had already shared the “good news” of her return.
“Come to gloat, have you?” he asked.
She frowned. “No.” She glanced around the empty room. “Mother is still out?”
“Apparently.”
She steeled herself. “Where is Marcus?”
He turned his head and frowned at her, eyes bleary, cheeks flushed. “Do you really not know, or are you merely pouring salt in the wound?”
“Know what? Where is he?”
“On his wedding trip about now, I should imagine.”
Wedding trip—so soon? Her stomach knotted. She was too late!
“I can’t believe it.” Her mind reeled. She had missed her own sister’s wedding. Margaret found herself murmuring to no one in particular, “I did not even know . . . or attend her . . .”
Sterling’s lip curled. “We couldn’t exactly send you an engraved invitation, could we? Unless we sent it . . . what, in care of Fairbourne Hall?” He slumped back in his chair. “Surprised you’d care anyway. Didn’t know you were even acquainted with”—he said the name with distaste—“Miss Jane Jackson.”
“Jackson?”
“I know. I couldn’t believe it either. To marry an American, whose father is in trade?” He snorted. “Though Mr. Jackson is highly successful by all accounts. All Marcus had to do was marry the horse-faced daughter and he becomes instant partner.” Sterling snapped his fingers. “Furthermore, he shall inherit the lot of it through his wife when the old man dies.” He shook his head. “The fool has gone against my express wishes and ruined all my plans.”
Margaret blinked hard to clear away the dreadful images of sweet Caroline bound forever to Sterling’s puppet-nephew. How stunning to discover Marcus had shed his uncle’s influence and developed gumption while she’d been gone. “I’d think you’d be happy. You wanted him to marry a rich woman and he has.” And thank God that rich woman would not be her.
Sterling grimaced. “And he shall be rich. In America, not here.”
Ah . . . where Sterling could not wheedle his way into his nephew’s purse. She lifted her chin. “Well, good for him. And Caroline?”
“Gone back to her precious seminary, I believe.”
What a relief.
Benton rose and swayed. His cravat listed, askew. His face was less handsome when mottled and slack. “Now, Margaret. You’re a good girl. I know you will do your duty by your family. You don’t want to see us all starve, do you? I’m sure we can come to some amicable arrangement. With your money and my able management, we’ll deal very well together.”
Margaret leaned away from his foul breath and squared her shoulders. “I will help my mother, and provide for my brother and sister. But you, Sterling, will not see a farthing. I heard what you told Marcus to do to me.” She shook her head and forced a gentle tone. “If I were you, I would retrench and learn to live within my means. But if you are unwilling or too proud, then you can starve if you like. I have far more important things to do with my inheritance.”
Margaret went back upstairs to her room to await her mother’s return. Her relief over Caroline’s escape was tempered by the nagging thought that she had left Fairbourne Hall in vain. And without proper notice in the bargain. She rolled her eyes at herself—still thinking like a responsible servant. Worse yet, in her panic to try and save her sister—an unnecessary intervention as it turned out—she had once again refused an offer of marriage from Nathaniel Upchurch. A man she loved. Would he ever forgive her? She feared she had hurt him irreparably, that he would never ask a third time. How impulsive she had been. Again.
What should she do now? She could not return to Fairbourne Hall as a maid, nor could she return as herself—an uninvited guest. How brazen that would be. She could pay a call on Helen, she supposed. But Helen would guess her real motivation for the visit. And how could she face the servants as herself? How strange that would be.
She could write Nathaniel a letter . . . though correspondence between unmarried ladies and gentlemen was considered improper by many. Of course such a minor indiscretion paled in comparison to her other recent acts. Even if she dared write, what would she say? “Em . . . sorry about running off like that. All for nothing it turns out. Would you care to repeat your proposal?”
She consoled herself with the fact that at least she had left word where she was going. He knew where she was if he wished to contact her. She would wait.
Wait for what? To reach her twenty-fifth birthday, gain her inheritance . . . and then what? Yes, she still looked forward to providing for her brother and sister. But her mother? She was less certain that relationship could be restored. Margaret felt betrayed—disappointed that her mother had fallen in with Sterling’s schemes. On the other hand, her mother might very well be disappointed in her, for endangering herself and the family’s reputation by running away.
A soft knock interrupted her reverie. Her heart lurched until she reminded herself that Marcus Benton was on a ship bound for America.
“Come in.”
The door opened slowly, and her mother appeared, expression cautious, still clad in walking dress and pelisse, from whatever errand had taken her out that afternoon.
“Margaret,” she breathed. “How glad I am to see you, safe and sound.”
Joanna Macy Benton hesitated at the door, making no move to embrace her daughter, perhaps unsure of her reception.
“I want to apologize, Margaret,” she said. “I am so sorry you did not feel safe under our roof. That you felt you had no choice but to flee. I don’t know what I could have done, but I should have done something to make certain Marcus paid you no improper attention.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Her mother winced. “You can’t have lived with me this last year and not know why. It’s no excuse, but you saw how Sterling was, how disapproving and critical. I have tried to work out what I did wrong to lose his good opinion. I’ve done everything I could think of to win back his approval, his admiration, to no avail.”
“I know.”
“He is my husband, Margaret. But there comes a point when a woman must protect her children even in the face of her husband’s displeasure. I did not stand up to him when that point came, and I am sorry. I hope someday you will forgive me.”
What could Margaret say? “You did nothing wrong, Mamma, beyond marrying him in the first place. Beyond failing to make it clear your modest marriage settlement would remain modest, that any rumored inheritance from Aunt Josephine would not end in his pockets.” But Margaret could not come out and say Sterling had only married her for money, money that would never come. It would be too cruel.
Her mother clasped her hands together. “I am relieved neither you nor Caroline has married someone who would not love you for yourself.”
Margaret nodded. The poor woman knew too well what that felt like. “How is Caroline?” she asked.
“Heartbroken. Disillusioned. Angry with Marcus, with us. But she is young, and she will recover.”
“I was so relieved to hear the news.”
“As was I. My introduction of Miss Jackson turned out to be quite propitious.”
“Your introduction?”
Mrs. Macy-Benton sighed. “Yes. I introduced her to Marcus, Mr. Jackson being an old acquaintance of your father’s. I was almost sorry to do so. But I saw Marcus’s marriage to her as the lesser of two evils. And if I don’t miss my guess, Miss Jackson will keep him on a short tether from now on.”
Margaret stared at her, impressed.
Her mother retrieved something from her reticule. “This is the card of the solicitor handling Aunt Josephine’s estate. The time has come for you to make your wishes known to someone outside our family. You are a grown woman now, Margaret, and there is no need for Sterling or me to act as your guardian any longer.”
She twiddled the card in her fingers. “I went to see Mr. Ford myself this afternoon and made him aware that, regardless of what my husband has told him in the past, Sterling is no disinterested party who will objectively advise you. Mr. Ford and his partner will be happy to fill that role.”