Murdoch, as if sensing her intention—or eavesdropping—hurried out with her shawl and draped it around her shoulders.
“You ran out before I could announce him,” he whispered. “Did I do right in allowing him to wait?”
“You most certainly did. Thank you.”
He leaned near. “From Maidstone, miss?”
She nodded, quaking with nerves and excitement.
The butler bestowed a rare smile.
Together Margaret and Nathaniel crossed the street and entered the long oval garden at the center of the square. Walking beneath a canopy of autumn-red maples, they crushed dry leaves with each step.
Nathaniel abruptly began, “You know you nearly killed me, don’t you?”
Margaret gaped up at him. “Killed you? How?”
He clasped his hands behind his back. “You were barely gone a day when we heard Marcus Benton had changed course and married a different lady.”
She nodded. “An American heiress.”
“I know that now. Hudson and I have our ways. But you gave me a few dashed miserable days, I can tell you.”
Her heart tingled at the thought. “I’m sorry. I thought of writing . . . but, well . . .” Her words trailed away.
He nodded. “You don’t know how I thanked God when I learned the truth.”
He gestured toward a park bench, and she sat down.
He crossed his arms and remained standing. “Will you ever be able to come back to Fairbourne Hall, do you think? I imagine it could be somewhat awkward for you.”
Come back? How did he mean? As maid, friend, wife? She decided to tell the truth, hoping it wouldn’t spoil her chances. “It would be awkward, I’m afraid.”
“Even for a visit, perhaps?”
A visit . . . Then he was not thinking of asking her to marry him. Disheartened, she murmured, “Perhaps a short visit.” She would, after all, like to see Helen again.
Sitting there surrounded by late autumn color, Margaret breathed in great draughts of crisp November air and breathed out a prayer. Be thankful, she told herself. Nathaniel is here. . . . There is hope.
“I would have come sooner,” he said. “But I had something very particular to attend to first.”
“Oh. I see.” She didn’t see but hoped he would explain.
“As soon as that was taken care of, I came.” He sank onto the bench beside her. “And of course, I had to see you today, on your birthday.”
“You remembered?”
He turned to her, expression earnest. “I remember everything about you, Miss Macy. Every moment between us—the good and the bad.” He chuckled dryly. “Though I prefer to linger on more recent pleasant moments.”
She tilted her head to look at him. “When I was in your employ, you mean?”
He nodded. “I found I quite enjoyed having you under the same roof. Being able to see you, hear your voice many times a day. I miss that.” His eyes locked on hers. “I miss you.”
Margaret’s heart pounded. Can this really be happening?
A hint of a smile, tentative and hopeful, lifted Margaret’s lips, and it was all Nathaniel could do not to kiss her then and there in front of every busybody in Mayfair.
Instead, he fished a box from his pocket. “You left something at Fairbourne Hall that belongs to you.”
“Oh?”
My heart, he thought, but didn’t say it, only handed her the flat rectangular box.
Her eyes flashed up at him, then back down at the box. She opened it eagerly.
Inside lay the cameo necklace he had seen the new housemaid pawn at a shop in Weavering Street.
“You bought it back for me,” she breathed, eyes shining. “You have no idea what this means—it was a gift from my father.”
He nodded. “There is more.”
She looked inside the box again. Under the cameo lay a piece of thick paper. She extracted it and handed him the box to hold. She turned the paper over, revealing the small watercolor of Lime Tree Lodge. Her brow puckered. “Thank you, but you might have kept it. I wouldn’t have minded.”
He tucked his chin as though offended, and insisted, “I spent a great deal of money on it.”
“On this?” She raised her fair brows, incredulous.
“Not on the painting. On Lime Tree Lodge itself.”
She stared at him, stunned. “You didn’t . . .”
“I did.”
“But . . . my solicitor told me some vicar was very keen on buying it.”
“He was. But I was keener.”
“How did you . . . Forgive me, but I know you needed every shilling for Fairbourne Hall and to repair your ship.”
“True.”
“Then, how?”
“I sold my ship. The damage did not lower its value as much as I had feared, and it brought a good price. Besides, I have no need of it any longer.”
“I thought you needed it to transport sugar from Barbados?”
He shook his head. “My father has decided to sell the plantation at last. To my great relief. If all goes well, he shall be returning to England next year, his new bride with him.”
She shook her head in surprise. “A new mistress at Fairbourne Hall? What will Helen do?”
“Oh, she and Hudson have plans of their own.”
One corner of her mouth quirked. “Have they indeed?”
“Yes. And once my father returns, I will no longer be needed at Fairbourne Hall. I plan to invest in a new venture Hudson has in mind. We are still hammering out the details, but I look forward to it. I can think of no more capable business partner.”
“Congratulations,” she murmured.
He expelled a pent-up breath. “Margaret . . .” He reached over and took her hands in his. He studied and stroked her bare fingers. She had run outside without gloves. “How rough your hands still are.”
Embarrassed, she made to pull them away, but he held them fast. “Yet never have I longed to kiss any woman’s hands as I long to kiss these.”
Looking into her eyes, he brought first one hand to his mouth, then the other.
“I love you, Margaret Macy. And there is something I need to ask you. Something I’ve asked twice before and am nearly afraid to ask again. The Scriptures say let our yes be yes and our no be no, but I pray, in your case, your no may have changed . . . ?”
Margaret leaned forward and kissed him firmly, warmly, on the lips. Then she smiled at him, her eyes brimming with tears. “Yes, it most definitely has.”