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Alistair leaned back against his seat. The rhythmic sway of the carriage had already sent Ed to sleep. Opposite Alistair, Margaret fought to keep her eyes open. Conversation between them had died as soon as shallow polite topics had been exhausted. The only things that remained to be said between them were too serious to be broached yet.
First, I need to enlist Elizabeth to help make Margaret see reason and abandon her engagement. She shouldn’t marry just to escape her family. She needs to marry someone who loves her and whom she loves.
Hopefully me. I thought she loved me once.
Last night he had been tempted to ‘solve’ his problem of Margaret’s engagement by drinking himself into oblivion—as he had often done since going up to Oxford. But he wasn’t that man any more. So he had resisted the urge to gulp down the remainder of the wine in his glass at dinner.
He’d been obliged to share one glass of port with the other gentlemen, but refused a second. He must prove to Margaret that he was a changed man if he was to convince her to withdraw from her engagement in favor of him. He would rely on Elizabeth to inform Margaret of his good fortune in being named his grandmother’s sole beneficiary and acting as her estate manager in the interim.
He had come to Farley Hall intending to discover whether his attraction to Margaret still existed after he met her again following their long separation.
Since his arrival yesterday, he knew unreservedly that his attraction to her was every bit as strong as it had been for the last six years. He had envisaged showing her how he had changed from the feckless young man she had known, followed by a sweet wooing of long walks and evenings spent en familia. Then a promise to meet again during the season so he could continue his wooing—or propose, should she already return his affections.
That plan had gone the way of most pipe dreams.
Instead, Margaret was one step away from being lost to him forever.
His heart still ached as though it had been crushed by the shock news of her engagement.
Opposite him, Margaret had leaned back into the corner of her seat, no longer fighting sleep, her eyes fully closed. He was free to gaze on her at will. And it was a leisurely and thorough perusal.
The bonnet she had removed at the start of their journey lay on the seat beside her. Her wavy chestnut hair framed her oval face. A strand had escape her chignon to trail around an arched eyebrow and across a rounded cheek. Her slightly too long nose was balanced by a firm chin and generous mouth. To him, she was perfection.
Ed’s light snoring overlay the rhythmic clop of four sets of hooves, the jangle of harness, the rumble of the wheels, and the occasional crack of the coachman’s whip. The carriage held the distinct smell of new leather.
After Alistair had accepted his grandmother’s position as estate manager, she had spent a small fortune repairing the vehicle and updating its interior with butter-soft tan leather. “It would be a silly and hard-hearted woman who isn’t impressed by this conveyance now,” she said, a look of triumph in her eyes. “And I’m sure your Margaret isn’t like that,” the small and feisty woman had added slyly. The carriage certainly formed part of the arsenal of his campaign.
All his protestations that Margaret wasn’t his yet, or even close, had been waved away. “Pfft, then you need to get on with your courting. When do you leave for Farley Hall?”
Alistair smiled at the memory. He shifted on his seat, stretching his legs across the space between the seats. The wool of Margaret’s moss green dress brushed against his ankles, sending a prickle of awareness skittering up his leg. How he longed to rest his foot against hers, to brush the loose strand of hair from her face, to physically connect himself to her in a small way that felt as necessary as his next breath. He sighed and by force of willpower remained frozen in place.
Through the glass panes of the doors, Alistair glimpsed framed images of the gloomy day outside. It was raining steadily again. Many of the streams they crossed were running very high and fast. Thank goodness they were nearing his sister’s residence.
Alistair wouldn’t be at all put out if floodwaters stranded them with Elizabeth and forced Margaret to miss her wedding day. He’d hoped for that outcome since he’d conceived of the idea of taking Margaret to Elizabeth and enlisting his sister’s help. He would be devastated if they couldn’t reach their destination instead.
He sent a quick prayer to the mythical weather god to aid his cause.
Not a moment too soon to allay his impatience, the carriage bowled past the entrance lodge, just as the rain began to pelt down. The long drive to the house seemed interminable, although Alistair knew it took barely five minutes to traverse.
Finally, they stopped before the white three-story house.
Acid bit in Alistair’s stomach. He had only a few hours to achieve his objective. Elizabeth must be persuaded to convince Margaret not to throw herself away on marriage to Squire Jenkins. And not only that, Elizabeth needed to convince Margaret of his permanent conversion from reckless young man to sober estate manager with prospects, and to abandon her engagement. And all by the end of their visit.
Otherwise, Margaret would marry Squire Jenkins in two days’ time and Alistair would remain devastated forever. She claimed Squire Jenkins was as steady and reliable as a clock made by the renowned Edward John Dent. In contrast, I probably appear as rickety as an old gate!
Elizabeth’s dark-haired and wool-clad form appeared under the entrance portico. It was raining too heavily for her to venture out, but the butler hurried forth with umbrellas. In no time, Alistair was folding his little sister into his embrace and kissing the top of her head. It had been far too long since his last visit. “I have a request to make of you,” he whispered in her ear before releasing her to greet the other guests.
“Of course you have! Meet me in the library in half an hour,” she murmured before turning to hug Margaret “How delighted I am to see you,” she exclaimed. “Come indoors. Mrs. Hill will show the gentlemen to the sitting room. Margaret, come upstairs with me to freshen up.” She looped an arm through Margaret’s and led her up the wide staircase leading from the foyer. Alistair and Ed followed the housekeeper to the spacious room used to entertain callers.
Half an hour later, Elizabeth entered her husband’s cozy library a few moments after Alistair. “How can I help you, big brother?” she asked with a wide smile and raised eyebrow.
Alistair was pleased to see Elizabeth looked as happy now as on the day she had married the Earl. “Has Margaret told you that she’s marrying Squire Jenkins?”
“Of course. I had a letter from her soon after she accepted his proposal.”
“I need you to convince her that she shouldn’t marry the man.”
A furrow appeared between Elizabeth’s eyebrows. “Why would I do that?”
“Because he’s far too old for her. He has a family almost grown.”
“But if she loves him?”
“It is not a love match. He wants her to launch his daughters into society and to help his political career. In return, she gets a safe home away from Lady Farley’s control.”
She sent him a worried look. “You know this for sure?”
“She told me herself.”
“It’s still her decision to make.”
At the thought of Margaret marrying another man, his chest tightened like it was being crushed by a vice. “But she shouldn’t marry him!”
Elizabeth arched a dark eyebrow. “Why do you care so much, Alistair?”
“Because...” he answered weakly.
She gave an inelegant snort and waited a few moments for him to continue before prompting him. “Because?”
“Because I care about her.” Which is nowhere near the extent of my feelings for her.
“You care for her? That’s lovely, Alistair. And I’m not surprised, because you’ve know her for years. But that’s still not sufficient reason for her to abandon her engagement or enough reason for me to interfere.”
He would have to confess his feelings before she would take any action. Alistair inhaled a breath. “All right, she can’t marry Squire Jenkins because...I love her! I love Margaret madly, passionately, and endlessly, it seems. And have done so since I first met her.” He clamped his jaw closed.
Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open and she sat down quickly on an upholstered chair beside the fireplace. “Are you sure?”
Do you doubt me too? He sucked in a breath. “Of course I’m sure. I’ve never revealed it to anyone else before this very moment. I barely admitted it to myself until recently.” He grimaced at the recollection.
Elizabeth blinked twice at his revelation and pointed to the chair opposite. “Sit, sit. You’re too tall for me to look up at.”
Alistair lowered himself onto the buttoned leather of a Chesterfield sofa and leaned forward, hands clasped, his eyes rivetted on his sister, trying to discern whether he had swayed her.
“That’s...nice...real progress for you...as you once doubted you could ever love any woman for fear they would turn out as cold as our own mother.”
Why didn’t I confide in Elizabeth sooner? “I’ve loved her for a long time, but I wouldn’t let myself acknowledge it when I had nothing to offer her. As soon as I heard she would be lost to me, I knew I had to fight for her.”
Elizabeth flattened her lips. “I’m going to be brutal here. Are you sure you don’t just think you love her because she’s marrying in two days’ time?”
He reared back on his seat. “Have you no faith in me? I went to Farley Hall this Christmas to court her if she showed a skerrick of interest in me.”
“And has she done that?”
He shook his head once. He had to be honest with Elizabeth. “Not clearly. But she is every bit as amiable to me as previously.”
“Hmm.” Elizabeth did not look convinced.
“Please, Elizabeth. Can’t you see that I’m a changed man. I hardly drink, I have a good position and excellent prospects. Grandmother made me her heir because she has faith in me. Can’t you too?” He hated the needy tinge in his voice.
Elizabeth huffed a breath. “All right, I’ll talk with her and sound out her reasons for marrying Squire Jenkins. I’ll sing your praises if I’m not happy with her answers.”
He slumped back against the upholstered leather. “Thank you.”
“I’ll do my best, but don’t ask me to choose between my friend’s best interests and my brother’s. Because I can’t. I love you both.”
“But I’m your favorite brother!” he said in an attempt at mock outrage to lighten the mood.
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.
“No, that’s fair,” he conceded. “Remember, if you help me and I succeed, you get Margaret as a sister. You always wanted a sister, and who better than your best friend?”
She smiled at his forced banter. “Agreed. Frankly, I think you should throw yourself on your knees before her and profess your undying love.”
“It may come to that, but first I need you to prime the pump, so to speak. Convince her that I have changed over the last year or more. That I’m good husband material.”
“I’ve already received grandmother’s latest monthly letter. She is singing your praises, so I must believe you are a changed man.” Her words sounded somewhat begrudging, but that was only to be expected, given his history.
Alistair boosted himself forward to the edge of his seat and squeezed his sister’s hands in his. He met her green eyes. “It’s true.”
She hmphed. “Luncheon will be served shortly. I’ll speak to her afterwards so I’m not rushed.”
Alistair dipped his chin. He was so relieved that Elizabeth was willing to help him, he would have agreed to anything she wanted of him.
***
Alistair entered the dining room with Edward in good time for luncheon. Gazing out the window at the sodden garden was his Aunt Susan. Her husband, William Shorncliffe, stirred the coals in the fireplace with a poker. Theirs was a recent marriage of two people in their middle years. Alistair’s aunt had been a spinster and her husband a widower with six young children. It was a match made in heaven and had resulted in happiness all round, according to Elizabeth.
But Alistair owed his aunt an apology for a heartless prank he had conducted during his first year at Oxford, of sending her an anonymous Valentine’s day card because she was a lonely spinster of no great beauty.
Two Christmases ago, Miss Violet Hambleton, a vicar’s daughter and now the wife of a good friend, had taken him to task about his treatment of his Aunt Susan. Being castigated for such cruelty had been a turning point in his life, and he had regretted his thoughtless behavior ever since.
Alistair swallowed his battered pride and strode up to his aunt. He bowed to her formally. “Aunt Susan, how are you and your husband?”
She smiled serenely. “Exceedingly well.” Aunt Susan, his mother’s sister, was a tiny woman, who had worn a worried and fretful look before her marriage. Now, her face showed contentment.
“I’m pleased to hear it. And the children?”
Her eyes lit up. “Enjoying their time in the nursery here and eager for Christmas Day.”
“Good, good.” Alistair gulped a breath. Civilities satisfied, he needed to say his piece. “I am glad to find you here, Aunt. I have long owed you an apology for my Valentine’s Day prank many years ago. I give it sincerely now and hope you can forgive me.”
His aunt looked surprised, then stretched out a hand to him. “I was hurt when I found out, but I forgave you long ago.”
The tension in Alistair’s shoulders subsided. “I’m relieved to hear it.”
“If you hadn’t been such a cheeky youth, Lady Violet would never have introduced me to my William.” The soft gaze she sent her husband, still standing by the fireplace decorated with holly, was full of admiration and love. Beckoning her spouse to her side, Susan introduced the tall, black-haired gentleman to Alistair. “This is the person indirectly responsible for our introduction by Lady Violet,” she informed her husband.
“Then, I’m more than happy to meet you, Lord Alistair, if you are the architect of our current happiness,” William Shorncliffe said, as he linked an arm with hers.
“And I, you. Although, I wouldn’t take the credit of your happiness away from Lady Violet.” Alistair responded. At least some good came from my prank, if only incidentally.
With a flurry of greetings, Elizabeth and Margaret entered the dining room and prompted everyone to take their seats at the table for the meal.
Just like last night, Margaret was seated beside him. Having her next to him set every sense Alistair possessed at high alert. The sight of her sent his heart hammering against his ribs. The rose water scent on her skin filled his nostrils. As he listened for the mellow timbre of Margaret’s voice, all other conversation faded into the background.
Alistair longed to reach out, take Margaret’s hand in his and enmesh his fingers with hers. Then he would lean over, taste the tender spot on her neck beneath her earlobe with the tip of his tongue, nip the place with his teeth, then sooth it with a tender brush of his lips. His dreams of Margaret were becoming more lascivious with every day he spent in her company.
Unlike last night, the company at this meal was charming and comfortable, and conversation around the dining table flowed easily. There were smiles and laughter. Under the distraction of the removal of the luncheon dishes and the arrival of a platter of cheeses, Alistair looked over at Margaret. A light flush tinted her cheeks, either from the warmness in the room or the glass of wine she had consumed. Most importantly, she looked relaxed and happy, something that was decidedly absent when she was at home.
As though by unspoken agreement, the meal passed without mention of Margaret’s forthcoming nuptials. As soon as the last plate had been cleared from the table, Elizabeth invited Margaret to her private sitting room.
Alistair moved to the library to pace between its bookshelves, killing time.
The wet afternoon dragged on.
How long could it take Elizabeth to convince Margaret that he was a worthy candidate for her hand in marriage? The bitter taste of potential defeat filled his mouth.
Alistair stopped to stare out the bay window at the dismal day. If anything, the rain had intensified. It would not surprise him if localized flooding resulted from this storm.
A happy thought!
He clasped his hands together and raised his eyes heavenward, then hurried off to learn the latest news about the height of critical watercourses from Elizabeth’s staff. Would they be trapped here by the rising waters? Could he be so lucky?
If they were marooned here, he would have more time to execute his plan—to prove he had changed, to convince Margaret to withdraw from her unwise engagement, and to marry him.
When he had suggested to Edward that they bring Margaret here to have Elizabeth add her voice to theirs against her marriage to the Squire, he had hoped that the weather might help him in his quest.
Alistair hurried from the library to talk with the estate manager, only to find his office empty. He tracked down the butler in his pantry, and asked after his quarry, only to find he was away visiting family in the next county.
“Can you find out for me whether there is any flooding on the estate.”
“Of course, your lordship.” The butler gave a curt nod and paced away. He returned half an hour later followed by a bandy-legged man who stomped into the estate office behind him.
The butler cleared his throat. “This is Sellors, the head groom.” He waved the man forward. “Tell his lordship what you know about the flooding.”
The man tugged at the brim of his cap. “M’lord, the home estate is high and dry. The water meadow along the river is flooded and may be for some time.
“Is the main road south passable?” Alistair asked impatiently.
“I just come back from thar. The road’s cut arf.”
A surge of triumph rose in Alistair. “Is there another route that is passable, so we can head south?” he asked.
The head groom pushed his cloth cap back and grimaced . “Ah, ‘fraid not, m’lord.”
The man clearly expected Alistair to explode with rage, but he felt more like kissing him. “No way out?”
“Aye, you have the right of it, m’lord.”
“How long do you think we will remain cut off?”
“Another day if this rain keeps up. Hard to predict if it don’t. Could be flooded for a while. All to do with the tide and the rainfall up aways.” He gestured, presumably towards the headwaters of the river.
Alistair pulled a gold coin from his waistcoat and passed it to the man. “Thank you.”
The man’s eyes lit up. “Right you are, m’lord. Shall I check again tomorrow?”
“Not for my sake,” Alistair answered, a small smile pulling at one side of his mouth.
Looking confused but pleased, the fellow departed with the butler.
Alistair punched an arm in the air and hurried back the library to tell Edward the good news, if he had turned up.
Edward looked suitably pleased with the flood-induced change of plan. He clapped Alistair on the shoulder. “You couldn’t have given me better news.” He leveled a stern look at Alistair. “Now it’s up to you and your sister to convince Margaret to ditch the Squire.”
“I’ll do my best.”
The library door opened to reveal Elizabeth, who scanned their faces before she joined them in front of the fireplace. “You’ll do your best to do what?” she asked Alistair, suspicion clear in her eyes.
“All roads beyond the estate are cut by local flooding.” He repeated the groom’s news, sounding far too pleased by the turn of events. “It appears we must remain here until the water levels drop.” He inserted a melancholy tinge to his words, for form’s sake.
Elizabeth looked coolly from Alistair to Edward and back. “Of course.”
“Stay here? Why?” Margaret stood in the library doorway, a look of surprise on her face. “I need to return home!”
Elizabeth hurried to put an arm around Margaret’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, all the roads are flooded. For now, we’re completely cut off from the outside world.”
Margaret’s hand flew to her mouth. “I’ll miss my own wedding! What do I do?” She looked around the group for answers.
Alistair wanted to rub his hands with glee. Instead, he pasted a sympathetic smile on his face. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you home as soon as we can.”