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At dinner time, Margaret sank her weary body onto the dining table chair that Alistair held ready for her. When Edward had commandeered the single chair on the opposite side of the table, Alistair took the one next to her. Too close for her peace of mind. Her body reacted with a little shiver of awareness and nervousness anticipation. She was far too conscious of his presence.
Alistair looked the epitome of well-dressed manliness in his evening clothes of black coat and buff-colored trousers, offset by a crisp white shirt and cream silk vest. His sculpted face, with its straight nose, slightly arched eyebrows and clipped side-burns, enhanced by his warm gaze, made him devastatingly handsome. But that smiling mouth, the taste and feel of which she remembered only too well, set her pulse racing.
Portia opened her mouth to say something, possibly to object to their seating arrangement, but just at that moment the butler entered the room, followed by two footmen carrying the first course of the evening’s meal. Whatever she was about to say died before it was spoken.
The flickering light from the candelabras of gently smoking candles masked the worn carpet that the family’s former wealth had provided. The room was warm, thanks to a crackling fire, but a chill of tension permeated the air. Margaret glanced at her elder brother, Charles, a florid-faced man, who sat silent and remote at the head of the table.
She smoothed her twice-remodeled dress over her knees with a shaky hand. The sage-green silk had been the first gown made for her debut into London Society. She had looked forward to visiting a beau monde seamstress to order new dresses for her London Season, but that would not be happening now. Her eyes flicked back to her older brother with a touch of reproach. Since then, the dress had served her well as her best evening wear.
The butler lifted the covers of the serving plates releasing the welcome aroma of roast and vegetables into the air. Margaret filled her plate, intending to fix her attention on its contents, should the meal turn uncomfortable. A lengthening silence, broken only by the chink of cutlery on crockery, became obvious.
Charles, finally happy with his wine selection, dismissed the servants as soon as everyone’s glass was filled. Following her brother’s lead, Margaret lifted the smooth silverware and cut into the tender meat. With the first forkful, the taste of rosemary exploded in her mouth. Although mealtimes could be tortuous, their devoted and long-suffering cook never failed to provide meals that compensated.
Charles raised his wine glass to Alistair. “Welcome to Farley Hall again, Lord Dunridge. You’ve always been a welcome guest of our family. This year you’ll have the pleasure of witnessing Margaret’s wedding to Squire Jenkins. Please join me in a toast to the future health and happiness of Margaret and the Squire.”
Heat rose up Margaret’s neck and the delicious flavors in her mouth dissolved as everyone raised their glasses to her. Of course, Charles and Portia looked enthusiastic at the thought of her marriage. But was that reluctance in Alistair’s salute, as well as Edward’s?
Samuel Jenkins is a good man. He will be a considerate and kind husband. I will learn to love him. She forced down the lingering yearning for marriage to a man she loved truly and deeply and schooled her face into a smile as she scanned her companions around the table.
Alistair turned towards her. “Will there be a large attendance at the wedding?” His face was unreadable, his eyes hooded.
“Family only,” Portia answered for her, with a stiff smile. She then started a rambling overview of their dismal wet weather this winter, including the flooding along the Thames River to their north during the previous month.
Everyone nodded politely. Her sister-in-law often monopolized and controlled all topics of conversation during the evening meal...well, every meal really. Margaret had learnt it was easier to just give in and let her. This would become a tedious meal unless someone spoke up soon,.
Alistair’s deep voice slid into the brief pause, before Portia’s next monologue could begin. “My sister lives not far from the flooded area at Maidenhead. Fortunately, they were cut off from the main road for only a short while,” He inclined his head towards Margaret. “Have you heard from my sister Elizabeth recently, Miss Johns?” It was a valiant effort by him to widen the conversation to the group.
The warm timbre of Alistair’s voice sent vibrations up Margaret’s spine. The heat that radiated from his body carried the distinctive citrus tang of his cologne. As she secretly inhaled the scent, her eyelids slid closed. She resisted the urge to sway towards him.
“Miss Johns?” Alistair prompted.
Her eyes snapped open and her gaze met his. Interested enquiry filled his warm brown eyes. If only the reality of this man was as wonderful as the promise of him. But she knew differently from years of observing his drinking and hearing of his wild behavior. “We correspond regularly, but haven’t met for years.”
She had missed Elizabeth’s company since they departed Miss Wilston’s Academy for Young Ladies. They had been excited about coming out together in the new year and sharing the new experiences of their first London Season.
But Margaret’s mother had died suddenly, ending their plans, and setting her life on an entirely different course. A seizure of the heart, the doctor had concluded. She vividly remembered the cataclysmic moment of change afterwards.
After returning from the funeral, Margaret had been summoned to her father’s book-lined study. He had sat behind his large oak desk in front of the bay window as usual. “Sit down, Margaret,” he had said, indicating a straight-backed chair in front of his desk.
Her body had tensed at the seriousness of his tone.
He had opened a drawer on one side of the desk and drawn out a clanking bunch of keys.
Her mother’s.
“These are yours now. You’ll oversee the household for the family.”
No! The idea of taking her mother’s place, managing this large and ancient residence on a shoe-string budget, had been daunting.
Her father had raised a grey eyebrow at her hesitation. “I trust your mother taught you her housekeeping duties?” He briefly met her gaze before his blue eyes slid away, unreadable. He had looked ten years older since his wife’s sudden death two days previously.
“Thank you, Father. I will do my best,” she had whispered.
“Good. Good. I’m sure you will.” His attention had returned to a letter on his desk, dismissing her.
“Father, after our year of mourning, will I...will I be able to have a London Season as Mama planned?” It seemed so indelicate to ask him at this time, but she felt adrift after the loss of her beloved mother. With everything thrown into disarray and now this weighty role thrust on her, she needed to know there would be a light at the end of the dark tunnel of mourning.
Her father’s eyes had flicked back to her face. “We’ll see. A year is a long time. And who would chaperone you?”
Her friend Elizabeth would be coming out next season, just as planned. “Elizabeth’s mother would willingly chaperone me.” She had been unable to keep a trace of desperation from her voice.
“I can’t say at this time, Margaret. We’ll see. Until then, your duty is to serve your family.” The firmness in his voice had told her that he would not discuss the matter further. She would have to wait for an answer.
“Thank you, Father,” she had murmured as she rose from the uncomfortable chair designed to keep interviews with the Baron short and uneasy for the supplicant.
Before the year had ended, her father suffered an apoplexy. Margaret had been needed at home instead, as her father slowly lost more physical strength.
Now it was too late for her youthful dreams to be fulfilled—of falling in love with a dashing gentleman, marriage, and a family.
“You won’t have time to be gadding around the countryside once you’re married to Squire Jenkins,” Portia said, interrupting Margaret’s thoughts.
Why do you look so happy about it? “I expect you’re correct, Portia.” Even so, Margaret didn’t expect Squire Jenkins to limit her travel and contact with friends, as Charles and Portia did.
“You’ll soon be too busy with children for that!” Portia said, a glint of triumph in her eyes.
Margaret forced a smile on her face but made no response to that statement. One thing the Squire had promised her was that their marriage would be one of convenience. He was adamant that he wanted no more children to provide for and launch into the world, as he needed to marry off his three daughters and finish paying for the education of his two sons.
Her family, especially Portia, didn’t need to know that, however. Margaret sighed. Once she had dreamed of a family with the man she loved. Now, she was secretly relieved she wouldn’t have to share the bed of a gentleman she didn’t love.
Margaret glanced at Alistair out of the corner of her eye. He had stilled and appeared to be studying his half-empty plate. He reached for his wine glass, then pulled his hand back and took up his cutlery again. The glass remained almost full.
In the past, Lord Alistair Dunridge had been a heavy drinker. Edward had often assisted him to his bedchamber, much the worse for wear, after everyone had gone to bed.
Had he changed his ways?
That remained to be tested, as the night was early yet.
So far, Alistair had not commented on her plan to marry the Squire. That should please her, as it meant he wasn’t going to dispute her choice. But such was her contrariness, she felt oddly disappointed that he hadn’t yet pointed out all the of reasons she should not marry the Squire. Ridiculous woman!
When Edward had arrived home for Christmas and learned her news, he had demanded she withdraw from the engagement. “How can you marry the Squire! An old man you don’t love?” he’d exclaimed on hearing her news. Fortunately, after a week of hounding her, he had gone quiet on the subject. Following that short period of living in the household, he had reluctantly accepted that if she were to have a moment’s peace she needed to remove herself from living with Charles and Portia.
But would Alistair stay silent on the matter if he had an opportunity to speak to her alone?
The dinner limped to its longed-for conclusion. Alistair’s glass remained almost full when she and Portia left the gentlemen to enjoy their brandy.
After a tedious half an hour of Portia advising her on her future wifely duty of being utterly compliant to her husband’s wishes, the gentlemen entered the sitting room. Margaret lowered her embroidery to her lap, more than ready to engage in conversation with someone else.
Alistair walked directly to Margaret and sat beside her on the chaise longue. Portia’s sharp eyes snapped to them, her mouth pinched in disapproval. A small sense of satisfaction at her sister-in-law’s agitation warmed Margaret.
“You didn’t talk for long tonight,” she observed.
Alistair leaned towards her. “Charles and Edward didn’t see eye to eye,” he whispered.
Margaret scanned her brothers’ faces to check the emotional aftermath of their disagreement. Both looked peeved. “Oh dear. Has Edward overspent his allowance again?”
“That was not the topic of discussion.” His flat tone gave nothing away.
She searched his face for a clue. “You will have to enlighten me then.”
“Your impending nuptials are a source of contention.”
Not again. Edward had expressed his disapproval to Charles already. “I had no intention of causing a family dispute when I became engaged to Squire Jenkins.”
“I’m sure you didn’t.” He sent her a tight smile. “Nevertheless...” He left the word hanging in the air like a thrown hand grenade.
Dare she ask? Margaret tucked her embroidery into the wicker workbasket resting on the seat beside her, buying time before she responded. “And with whom do you agree? Charles or Edward?”
Better she had let the topic drop. Nothing he says will make any difference. Squire Jenkins is my only hope of leaving this household and escaping Portia’s tentacles. And that is all that matters. Marriage to Samuel Jenkins will bring new horizons and challenges. He has aspirations for his family and my role would be to help him attain them.
Although the Squire didn’t have a title, he had been astute enough to lend money to the Prince Regent a few years ago. Now, a knighthood was his expected reward for writing off the debt. His next plan was to win a seat in parliament. His sons were being educated at Eton and his daughters at one of the nation’s finest girls’ schools, until Margaret chaperoned their entry into Society.
“I would prefer to discuss the matter in a more private location. Shall we stroll in the park after an early breakfast tomorrow morning?” Alistair replied. His hopeful gaze held hers.
Her heart fluttered in expectation as she dipped her chin and murmured her assent.
“I’ll meet you at the entrance to the wilderness,” he said.
***
The next morning the weather held fine, but an overcast sky threatened rain at any moment. Being outside in the fresh air after too many days spent indoors cheered Margaret. She had already dead-headed flowers let go to seed due to the persistent autumn rain that kept her from the garden. Now she collected holly to decorate the house for Christmas. She looked up from her task.
With a racing heart, Margaret watched Alistair stride towards her from the house, a walking stick in hand. His lithe and muscular body was well-displayed by his country attire, which replaced the frock coat and fawn trousers he’d worn on arrival yesterday.
All the feelings for him she had repressed since he distanced himself from her after their one, long ago, passionate and soul-entwining kiss, came rushing back. Heat flushed her cheeks, making her glad of the day’s cool air. Margaret hugged her hooded winter cloak closer. She must control herself. She must not reveal how much seeing him like this affected her still...made her heart speed up...heightened her every sense...and sent tingles of awareness fluttering across her body.
Margaret hastily deposited her secateurs and basket of holly beside the brick archway that led to the park beyond and sent Alistair a stiff smile of greeting.
“Good morning, Margaret, shall we?” He held out his arm for her, a soft and charming smile lifting his lips.
She slid her hand in the crook of his offered arm. The scent of his familiar cologne reached her and she breathed it in. Of course, her treacherous heart flip-flopped in response.
They followed the wilderness walk. A breeze sighed through the bare branches of the trees towering above them. The only color left in the garden came from the green-leafed holly bushes and their red berries.
For the sake of her equilibrium she needed to keep their meeting short. “So Lord Dunridge, what precisely did my brothers say?” She looked at him, one eyebrow raised.
Alistair’s jaw tensed. “Edward wanted Charles to forbid you from marrying Squire Jenkins.”
She halted and turned to him. “Of course Charles would not.” She was sure of that.
Alistair frowned and looked at the ground, rather than meet her gaze. “No, he regards the match as an excellent one.”
Disappointed at his distant manner, Margaret faced away from him then continued her explanation. “Charles agreed to the marriage, so his refusal to forbid it now can hardly be news to Edward. I don’t know why he persists in arguing against the match.”
“Do you not?” His words sounded wistfully soft.
She pursed her lips. “I have made my decision. I can hardly withdraw now. The wedding is only two days away.”
He drew her onward along the path. “Why did you make such a decision?”
Margaret tilted her head to see his face past the hood of her cloak. His steady dark-eyed gaze held hers as he waited for her answer, a look of keen interest on his face.
Margaret swallowed. If she wanted him to understand, she must tell him the reason. “I’ll explain everything.” She drew a breath in readiness. “One morning two months ago, Portia announced she expected a baby in the new year and would need my assistance in the nursery and with more household tasks as they would not be employing a nursemaid.”
Alistair made a disgruntled sound as they walked onward.
“I was horrified. Our year of mourning had just ended and, for the first time in six years, I had no nursing or housekeeping responsibilities. I hoped to enjoy a few social events in the district, visit my friends, and finally have a London Season.” Not look after a baby full-time even though he or she would be my niece or nephew.
“As you deserve.” His decisive reply brooked no argument.
“Thank you.” She sent him a grateful look. “I tried to hide my disappointment, but when Portia noticed my dismay all she said was ‘You’ll thank me when the baby is born. There is nothing lovelier than caring for infants.’”
“All I could think was ‘I have to get away, before I say something I’ll regret later.’ I excused myself saying I needed some fresh air and practically ran from the room.
“It was raining that day so I went to the sitting room. No sooner had I ordered tea and sat down than the butler announced Squire Jenkins. You know him...he entered in his bluff, friendly way. He had just spent an hour with my brother and wanted to look in on me before departing.”
“Of course, he did,” Alistair murmured.
Margaret remembered the life-changing scene clearly. She had greeted Samuel Jenkins warmly, offered him the seat opposite her, and asked how his property had fared with all the rain they had received over the last month or so.
He had reported that his property had survived the weather very well. Margaret wasn’t surprised as she knew his estate was well-maintained. She wished her brother could say the same about his land. Lack of funds for many years had also delayed any improvements.
The next part of the conversation was permanently etched in her memory, like a pattern on Venetian glass.
The Squire had commented that her brother had announced his heir was expected. Upon hearing the thread of asperity that Margaret had been unable to keep her voice in light of her recent meeting with Portia, his brow had furrowed. “I thought it was good news,” he said.
She had forced a smile, chastising herself for revealing the disharmony with her sister-in-law to their neighbor. “And so it is,” she replied with an enthusiasm she didn’t feel. Their recent conversation repeated in her mind.
The Squire had studied her for a few moments. “I have a question for you, Miss Johns,” he had said gravely.
Still distracted by her thoughts, she had nodded her assent.
Then Squire Jenkins did something she had never expected. He had risen from his seat, dropped onto one knee before her and taken her right hand in his. “Miss Johns, I would be honored if you would agree to become my wife.”
“Your what?” she had squeaked.
“I need a wife and I suspect you need a home away from here,” he had said; altogether too perceptive!
Caught unawares, all she could do was stutter, “I...I.”
He had been so understanding and reasonable. “You don’t need to answer me today. Think about my offer. A home and no duties out of the ordinary, except to be my hostess. I’m a wealthy man, Miss Johns, and need to entertain the high and mighty these days, especially since I hope to enter parliament. And my children will need introductions into society.”
“But—”
He had squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Let me be clear, Miss Johns. Bedroom duties are not a requirement. I have family enough and don’t want any more children to launch into the world.”
Of course, her mouth had dropped open. She must have looked like a ninny.
He gave a bitter laugh. “I can see you’re shocked. Mind what I say. You’ll have a home of your own, with no one to please but me, as my children are away at school most of the year. Think about it.” He had released her hand, stood, and bowed before leaving the room.
Margaret had held her hands to her flaming cheeks. Her first proposal of marriage and what a strange and embarrassing one it had been! Her face heated at the recollection even today.
Now, here she was trying to explain her decision to the one man to whom she had ever been attracted, but who was hopelessly unsuitable...and uninterested in her, as his actions years ago had shown. “The Squire proposed that we marry and I assist him to launch his three daughters and further his political career. For several weeks I considered the advantages of his offer—the chance of different life versus staying trapped at Farley Hall.”
Alistair halted and turned to her. “So, it’s not a love match?”
She shook her head. “A marriage of convenience. But I like the man. I believe him honest and straight forward. I can only admire his energy and efforts to create a first-rate estate and to better himself and his family’s standing.”
He raised a dark eyebrow “And you would help him with improving his family’s position in society?”
“Yes, that’s about all I can contribute—an old family name and social connections.” She reached out to smooth a thumb over a glossy green leaf of the holly bush beside her.
“And you had no other potential suitors who might have offered you love rather than a business proposition.”
A bubble of wry laughter escaped her. “If there is another, he has not shown himself.”
“And if one did?” he whispered, holding her gaze with his chocolate-colored eyes. “Could you not have waited?” His question was softly spoken and held a tinge of...what? Longing? Regret? That was ridiculous.
She shook her head. “I’m only interested in reality these days, not dreams and if onlys.”
He straightened. “When did you become so practical and pragmatic? You used to have big dreams.”
Tension borne out of their past history, filled with unspoken words and unfilled desires, twanged between them. “When my options ran out, Lord Dunridge. There is no other suitor.” As you long ago showed, you were not interested in anything but stealing kisses from green girls. “Why are you interested in my plans?”
He glanced away and then back to her. “I thought we were old friends.”
Are we? Yes, she had known him since soon after he went up to university as he spent almost every break here with Edward. His confirmation that they were friends should have warmed her heart. Instead, her chest hollowed at his words. I’m only a friend to him! The words echoed painfully in her head. She forced a smile. “It’s good to have friends who care.”
His brown eyes roamed her face. “Speaking of friends...would you like to visit Elizabeth? She’s alone, as her husband is away on business, and I promised to call on her while staying here. Grandmother lent me her carriage, as you saw yesterday, so there’s plenty of room for you and Ed to accompany me.”
“But there are wedding arrangements to complete.” The temptation of visiting Elizabeth, rather than staying here listening to Portia and being at her bidding, tugged at her.
“How long since you last spent time with my sister?”
Although she and Elizabeth corresponded regularly, they hadn’t met each other for years. This might be her last chance for some time, as her travel would be subject to the availability of her husband’s carriage. “Too long.”
“How many preparations can there be for a family-only wedding? Elizabeth’s home is only a couple of hours drive away.” He waved a dismissive hand in the air. “We can be there and back within the day,” he announced with utter confidence.
It was so tempting. She hadn’t seen Elizabeth for years. “When do you plan to visit her? Tomorrow?”
“No, Today. This morning. The carriage is already ordered.”
The happy thought of escaping her controlling sister-in-law for the day beckoned. Portia’s lectures and homilies were too frequent and hurtful to bear. If she criticized Margaret one more time before the wedding for being a left-on-the-shelf spinster with little to recommend her to any gentleman, Margaret feared her self-control would crumple and she would return fire with insults of her own.
Under no circumstances did Margaret want that to happen! How would she ever stop once she started? There was no decision to make.
Margaret smiled at Alistair. “I would love to join you. I so wish to see Elizabeth again. Corresponding with a friend does not nearly equal the joy of time spent together.”
A grin spread across Alistair’s face. “Excellent. We’ll have a pleasant outing, I’m sure.”
“When do we leave?”
“Within the hour. It’s a fine day and we should capitalize on that.”
Margaret gazed at the gloomy sky. “Will the weather hold?”
He rubbed his palms together. “I have high hopes it will not fail us.” He offered her his arm again and they turned for home. “Let’s meet on the front steps in an hour. I’ll round up Ed.” He guided her back along the pathway towards the house.
Excitement at the thought of visiting Elizabeth and a reprieve from the confines of her home welled in her. And it would be a relief to escape Portia’s constant demands on her time and praise for Margaret’s success in gaining a proposal from such a good catch as the Squire.
“Do you need to inform Portia of your outing?”
And have her stop me? “Of course not,” she said, sending him her most benign smile. She hadn’t been out of Farley Hall on a day trip without Portia since that woman arrived.
Margaret hurried inside, taking the servants’ staircase to avoid any chance of meeting with her sister-in-law. She would leave a note informing her sister-in-law of her morning call to Elizabeth and that she would return later today.
As Margaret changed her outfit to one suitable for visiting rather than gardening, she mulled over her conversation with Alistair. She wanted to avoid disagreements within her family...and with him. She had thought she would have to resist Alistair’s arguments against marrying the Squire. Instead, he just asked her to explain her decision.
His quiet understanding, like a friend standing beside her providing support, warmed her.
Now she found she must also resist her re-kindled attraction to the feckless Alistair, of whom she was far too aware. Her attraction to Alistair, and her desire to further her relationship with him if only he were not so dissolute, might prove difficult to fight. Now he was with her again, she felt torn between the dreams of her youth and the reality of her current difficult situation, which required her to make a sober decision about her future.