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.
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.”