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Alistair stared up at the shadows playing on the canopy above his bed. The candelabra from the sitting room sat on the table at his bedside. This evening had shown him that Margaret was not as immune to him as she would like to appear. He recognized the signs of her attraction to him, just as he acknowledged his own to her.
The symptoms were subtle but clear—her distraction during their card game, the tenuous notes she played initially when she realized he remained beside her at the piano, the way her breath hitched when he brushed against her as he escorted her to her room, the way she swayed towards him when he kissed her cheek.
Intoxicated by her, his gaze had clung to her all evening. His pulse raced while she sat close to him playing the piano. And when she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and ran her fingers over his bicep, his body’s reaction to her touch was instant. He was never more grateful for the shadows that candlelight created.
But the moment that made his heart pound like a piston happened when she emitted a light grump of disappointment after he stopped himself from pulling her into his arms and kissing her senseless, and turned away. Doing so had taken all his self-control, but he desperately needed to leave her wanting him until they met again tomorrow.
Before dinner, Elizabeth and Ed had insisted he needed to tell Margaret how he really felt about her—that it was the only way to convince her to break her engagement. They had already attested that he was a changed man. His next step must be to declare his love and his honorable intentions towards her.
That was his mission tomorrow. He planned his words and actions like Wellington envisioning how he would fight the Battle of Waterloo. Alistair only wished he had an army of supporters as large as the field marshal’s on that fateful day. Instead, he would need to convince her on his own.
Eventually, Alistair slipped into a fitful sleep.
***
A few hours later, Alistair led Margaret into the long gallery that ran the length of the front of the house’s middle floor. The room was filled with paintings representing the rogues who comprised the Earl’s ancestors. A row of bay windows let in feeble winter sunlight, revealing tiredness on Margaret’s lovely face. Had she too lain awake long into the night, frustrated by the restraint of their parting at her door?
Tense and nervous though he was, Alistair was equally hopeful and expectant. Margaret seemed at ease, her expression was calm. “We should start with the portrait of the current Earl and Elizabeth.”
Their shoes tapped on the timber floorboards as he led her to a painting filled with light. Elizabeth and the Earl stood before a backdrop of their garden. A whiff of fresh oil paint hung in the air.
Margaret’s gaze roamed the portrait. “I haven’t met the Earl. Is this a good representation of the man?”
Alistair nodded. “It is.”
Margaret turned her eyes on him. “And it’s a lovely resemblance of Elizabeth.”
“Just so.” He grinned down at her. “Fortunately, my sister takes after our grandmother on mother’s side in both looks and personality.”
The corners of Margaret’s delectable mouth lifted into a smile. “You’re both particularly fond of that lady?”
Absolutely. “She has been the only supportive person in our lives. Our parents preferred our eldest brother over all their other children. I owe our grandmother everything. She paid for my university education when my father would not. And now she’s seen fit to make me her heir, and have me trained as her estate manager in the interim.”
“You are fortunate in having such a person supporting you.”
“Yes. But you have Edward protecting you.”
She smiled fondly. “He is all that an older brother should be.”
They strolled the length of the room, examining the series of increasingly dark images in keeping with the earlier styles of portraiture. Tension built in him with every step.
Finally, he could wait no longer. I can do this. I’m here to propose to Margaret. I have to declare love for her or I’ll lose her forever. He halted their progress and turned to Margaret.
She mirrored his stance, gazing up at him, her brow wrinkled.
He took her slim hands in his. “Miss Johns...Margaret, we have only been re-acquainted for a few days since being separated by your period of mourning, but we have known each other for many years.” He swallowed. “You may not realize it, but I have loved you since the first year I met you. I could not speak to you of my feelings because I had no prospects and no income aside from a meagre allowance from my father.”
She had gone perfectly still, her eyes wide. With shock...or maybe horror? He couldn’t be sure. His heart hammered in his chest, threatening to burst free.
He steadied himself, took in a calming breath and knelt before her.
Margaret gasped.
“All that has changed.”
Her mouth formed an ‘o’.
He squeezed her fingers. “If you love me, please abandon your engagement to Squire Jenkins and do me the honor of marrying me.” He gazed up at her hopefully, pleadingly.
A frown crisscrossed her forehead and her lips compressed into a straight line. Fear plunged its dagger into his heart. She’s going to refuse me.
Margaret took a ragged breath and tugged on his hands. “Please rise. What I have to say to you needs to be heard while seated.”
His stomach contracted as he straightened and Margaret led him to a seat in front of a bay window. He was too late, she no longer cared for him. He had lost his chance. He swallowed down the lump that had formed in his throat and lowered himself onto the padded seat.
“I am honored by your proposal, Alistair. I truly am.”
But, you’re not going to accept. He clenched his jaw to keep his emotions under control.
“As you say, we have known each other for seven years now. Until recently, you were known to be very reckless in your behavior.”
“I—”
She pressed his hands to silence him. “Recently, you’re reported to have changed your outlook and behavior significantly.”
“I have changed utterly.”
“And I believe you, but will the change continue?”
His heart shriveled at her words. “It will last, Margaret.”
“But how can I entertain the idea of marriage to you, Alistair? You lived a life of dissipation for years—from the time you went up to Oxford University. How can I envisage lasting happiness with a man who drank to excess and has probably sown so many wild oats that he could populate a schoolroom?”
Acid stung his stomach. Using his history against his suit hit like a slap in the face. He wanted to move on from his past. He must sway her. “During my stay at Farley Hall or here, have you seen any sign I still drink to excess?”
Margaret hesitated before answering, her eyes level with his cravat pin. “I have not. You’ve been remarkably sober and I applaud you for it.” She answered softly. “But over so little a time. Will it last?”
“It’s lasted many months already. Ask my grandmother.”
“I don’t disbelieve you. But...”
He growled. “My friends can verify that the last time I gave in to dissipation was Christmas two years, with my friend, Viscount Stanworth.” He leaped to his feet. “Ask any of my friends with whom I used to drink. They will tell you that I’m a complete sober sides now.”
She sighed. “And my other charge?”
Pain seared Alistair’s heart, igniting a flash of anger in his chest. He drew a breath to cool his indignation.
But Margaret was right. What value did he have for a woman such as her? His shoulders sagged inside his oh-so-tight coat. “You’re right. I’m not worthy of you.”
“It’s not a case of being worthy of me. It’s a case of being worthy of any gentlewoman.” She was angry too.
Why? His mouth tightened. Didn’t she understand that he had no interest in any other woman? “I don’t love anyone but you.”
Her face softened but she shook her head as though in denial of his words. His feelings for her. Or of her own feelings?
“I cannot fill a schoolroom with my by-blows, or even one chair.”
“Are you implying you have never had relations with a woman?” she asked, incredulity in her voice.
Good grief! What to answer? He ran a hand through his hair. For Margaret, only the truth. “I am not,” he said flatly.
Her cheeks pinkened. “I thought not,” she answered, voice tight.
“I wouldn’t wish to disappoint you, but that boat was launched long before I met you.”
“I see,” she murmured.
He paused, unsure whether to say what was on the tip of his tongue, then decided it needed to be said. He plowed on. “Nor have I contracted a contagion. On that point I am utterly sure. My wife will have no fear of that threat either on our wedding night or any time afterwards.”
Margaret remained silent, eyes closed, her face shuttered and flushed.
“Now I have embarrassed you, but clearly these issues need to be settled.”
Margaret stared down at her hands, fingers clutched tightly together. “That day you kissed me. I thought you loved me, but you rejected me immediately. You never asked me to wait for you. You just cut me off.”
He recoiled as her words needled his conscience. He had been such an idiot then. And ever since. He resumed his seat and carefully took her hand. Margaret’s eyes went to their joined hands, but she didn’t pull away. “I’m sorry. I did love you, but I had nothing to offer you and no hope of gaining an independence to support a wife and family. How could I raise your hopes? We were so young. I had not an ounce of confidence that your father would entertain me as your suitor. And I knew my family would not support me.”
Alistair waited for her to meet his eyes, but her head remained lowered, her thoughts and emotions unreadable. He had not changed her mind. She did not love him enough to believe in him. “I’ll leave you now. I hope you will reconsider your answer to my proposal, in light of this new information.” Devastated, he lifted her hand and placed a gentle kiss on the back of it.
Still she didn’t look at him.
He rose on unsteady feet, bowed, and stalked from the room.
He had lost the love of his life forever. A potato-sized lump lodged in his throat and his heart lay flattened on the floor beneath his feet. Bile tasted bitter in his mouth.
He yearned for a good stiff drink or two, or more. Anything to take away his pain.