How careful, how nearly timid she was. It smote Margaret’s conscience.
She reached out to take the card from her mother, gently grasping her outstretched hand. Her mother looked up in surprise.
“Thank you, Mamma.”
Tears brightened her mother’s eyes, and Margaret felt her own fill in reply.
“I forgive you,” Margaret whispered. “And I hope you will forgive me for not sending word sooner, for worrying you.”
“Oh, Margaret.” Her mother held out her arms, and Margaret entered the long-missed embrace.
Margaret went to see the solicitor the very next day.
The grey-haired, bespectacled man rose when she entered. “Ah, Miss Macy. What a pleasure to see you. You gave us all a scare, disappearing the way you did.”
“I am alive and well, as you see.”
He regarded her with small, kind eyes. “I have not seen you since the reading of your great-aunt’s will. You have changed, my dear, if you will allow me to say so. You look very well indeed.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ford.”
They spoke for half an hour about the inheritance, investment options, and the necessary steps to set up a trust for Gilbert and a dowry for Caroline.
“If you would be so good as to return on your birthday to sign the paper work,” he said, “I will have all I need to deposit the funds into an account in your name at the bank of your choice.”
“Thank you. I would be happy to return on the twenty-ninth. Would two o’clock suit?”
“Perfectly.”
She rose and pulled on her gloves.
He stood as well. “In the meantime, is there anything else I can do for you?”
She looked up at him, bit her lip, and considered. “There is one thing. . . .”
When she returned to Berkeley Square, Margaret asked Murdoch if there was anything for her in the post.
“Yes, miss. Three letters.”
She shuffled through them, mood sinking. None from Maidstone.
Murdoch cleared his throat. “And several gentlemen have called for you as well. I told them you were out, but one insisted on waiting. I’ve put him in the morning room.”
Margaret’s heart leapt. “Who is it?”
He handed her several calling cards on a silver salver. She flipped through them, her elation fading. She wasn’t interested in any of these men. None were Nathaniel Upchurch.
Serve one another in love.
—Galatians 5:13
Chapter 34
Margaret and her mother planned a simple evening party for Margaret’s upcoming birthday. She didn’t want anything lavish, nor many guests. Just her family and Emily Lathrop. Gilbert would remain at school until Christmas, but Caroline had come home for good. She was as educated and finished as Miss Hightower could make her, apparently. Margaret was glad to have her under the same roof once more.
Margaret returned to Mr. Ford’s offices on the afternoon of her birthday. She was relieved the waiting was over but was not as thrilled about the fortune as she had expected. This was partly due to all the unwanted attention she was receiving over it from would-be suitors. And partly due to the complete lack of attention from the only suitor she wanted.
Mr. Ford greeted her warmly but with a reserve that told her the news about her special request was not good.
“I looked into the matter as you requested. But I am afraid I was unsuccessful. Ironically, Lime Tree Lodge has recently been for sale. Several interested parties placed bids, including a new clergyman determined to acquire it as his vicarage. The sale was finalized before I could enter a bid on your behalf. I am sorry.”
So close. Tears pricked her eyes. “Well. Thank you for trying, Mr. Ford.”
“I wish I had better news on your birthday.”
She smiled bravely, the gesture pushing the tears down her cheeks.
He asked, “I don’t suppose there are any other properties you would be interested in?”
She shook her head. “Not at present.”
For the next few minutes, he showed her where to sign the rest of the paper work and told her he would let her know as soon as the money was deposited in her name. As she prepared to depart, he congratulated her and wished her every happiness.
“From your lips to God’s ears,” she said, over the lump in her throat.
Upon her return to Berkeley Square, Murdoch met her with yet another salver of calling cards and invitations.
Removing her bonnet, she asked, “Any from Maidstone?”
“I’m afraid not, miss.”
She sighed. “Please tell the gentlemen I am not at home to callers today. I find rejecting them so unpleasant and have no wish to do so on my birthday.”
“Very good, miss. I understand.”
She thanked him and went upstairs without looking at a single card.
Margaret knocked softly on Caroline’s door and entered when bid. Caroline sat at her dressing table, the new maid brushing her hair.
Margaret held out her hand. “Please, allow me.”
The maid handed over the brush, curtsied, and turned to go.
“Thank goodness,” Caroline huffed. “That girl is inept.”
The housemaid faltered, then scurried from the room.
“Caroline . . .” Margaret gently admonished. “People in service are still people. She’s young, but she’ll learn. Be kind.”
“Oh, don’t fuss at me, Margaret. I doubt she even understood what I said.”
“I don’t know. . . . Appearances can be deceiving.” She added in a lower voice, “As you and I have both learned.”
Caroline hung her head. She sat quietly for several moments, then whispered, “I was deceived. I thought Marcus loved me, but he only pretended. He confessed he only asked me to marry him to please his uncle. Sterling was certain it would bring you home.”
“And he was right.” Margaret twisted and pinned Caroline’s hair. “You won’t believe me now, but it is a blessing Marcus ended the engagement. He would have broken your heart a thousand times over. Better to know it was all an act before the vows were said.”
“I know you’re right. But it still hurts.”
“I know, my love. I know.”
Margaret went into her own room. She ought to summon Miss Durand to help her dress for dinner. Instead she stood at her window feeling listless and let down. She had so hoped for some word from him.
She glanced out the window at the Berkeley Square garden below and told herself to cheer up. She saw a traveling coach waiting across the street and wondered who had called. With a start, she recognized the coachman on the bench and the young groom climbing up beside him. Clive! It was the Upchurch coach. Nathaniel must have come to call while she was in Caroline’s room. The coachman lifted the reins, and the horses began to move off.
Leaving? Had Murdoch turned away Mr. Upchurch as well?
She flew from her room, drummed down the many stairs and across the hall, heedless of decorum. Flinging open the door, she prayed she would reach him in time. She leapt the stoop and dashed into the street, but the carriage was already turning the corner.
She was too late. The Upchurch coach disappeared from view.
Tears filled her eyes. If only she had not refused to see callers today, of all days. She had only herself to blame, for she had told Murdoch to send all gentlemen away. Foolish girl!
Margaret wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, gave a deep shuddering sigh, and turned toward the house.
She stopped short, breath catching. For there on the front stoop stood Nathaniel Upchurch.
“Mr. Upchurch,” she breathed.
He wore a dark green coat, buff breeches, and tall boots. He did not smile. He only looked at her, his expression inscrutable. “Miss Macy,” he said dryly. “I was told you were not at home.”
Chagrined, she hurried to explain. “I am sorry. I have had a great many callers of late, and I—”
“Suitors, I suppose?”
“I’m afraid so. All desperate fortune hunters, the lot of them.”
His brows rose.
“Oh! Not that I include you among them, Mr. Upchurch. I didn’t mean that.” Now that he stood before her at last, she rambled on like a schoolroom miss. She swallowed and gestured vaguely toward the street. “I’m afraid your carriage has left without you.”
He nodded. “I told them to go on. I was determined to wait as long as necessary. Your butler was testy until I told him I had come a long way to see you. For some reason, at the mention of Maidstone he became much more welcoming.”
Her cheeks heated. “Oh.”
He tilted his head to the side. “Where do you tell people you’ve been?”
“I . . . don’t. I say only that I was staying with friends. At least . . . I hope that is true . . . that we are friends?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Is that what you want?”
“Of course.”
He stepped from the stoop and walked toward her, studying her as he neared.
Unnerved under his scrutiny, she rushed on, “I am glad you’ve come. I’ve been thinking about y—Uh . . . H-how is Lewis?”
“He is doing well.”
“I am glad to hear it.” She hesitated, then gestured toward the house behind him. “Would you like to come in . . . again?”
He winced up at the house, then looked over her shoulder. “How about a turn in the garden instead?”
The day was chilly and the garden spent. But she said, “Of course. Just give me a moment to collect my shawl.” She stepped past him toward the door.