Margot woke in the morning with sunlight streaming in through the windows. Once again, she had forgotten to close the curtains. Perhaps that was because she had been filled with hope that real happiness was taking shape in her life at last. So much so that she had gazed at the moonlight over the garden until she had forgotten anything as practical as curtains…or sleep.
And what did it matter? For the first time since the news of Paul’s death, she felt the weight of loss slip from her. She looked into the future and saw happiness. Paul would not have wanted her to grieve forever. No one who cared for her would.
And Elena would eventually be as happy as Margot herself. She could not always see her younger sister as she once had. Elena had changed over the last year or so.
But if there was one thing of which Margot was certain, it was that her sister remained painfully candid. And because she did not lie, or even embellish the truth, she could often be gullible about other people. For Margot, this was simultaneously endearing and infuriating.
Elena was not much younger than Margot in actual years, but she was very much the younger sister; she was shy and uncertain of herself in so many ways. Until recently, her mousy hair, light skin, and blue eyes had not been much helped by the extremely ordinary clothes she usually wore. And for heaven’s sake, why must she choose the most unimaginative blues? She was more than a bluestocking—she was a blue everything!
But Margot had hardly recognized her sister when she had come in with that golden-blond hair. It was only a few shades lighter than before, but it made all the difference. Now she wore it loose with a heavy wave. And that black silk dress? It had made the most of her fairly lush figure! And Margot was not the only one whose breath she had taken away! In fact, it had seemed that the only one whose breath had not been taken away was Allenby. What was going on there? It seemed to be a one-sided affair. He was courteous and charming, but his attention seemed to be elsewhere. He had plenty of opportunities to be with Elena, but he appeared to be more interested in talking to David or Landon Rees. Even Griselda seemed to hold his interest for longer than Elena.
Margot stretched, feeling the sunlight’s warmth on her body. It was the ultimate luxury. Why did Elena always choose the impossible men? Did the thought of real love—deep and passionate, with the giving and taking and full commitment—frighten her? It was natural enough. Like almost everyone else, Elena had known bereavement. Any kind of happiness was a risk. It did not take a war to learn that lesson, although it certainly sharpened it. That was why so many people with any real sense were determined that there should never be another war like that. Many of the generation that had suffered so much were in leadership positions now. They felt it deeply and wanted to create a better world. They needed to. Because they, as never before, had lost so many that their services required a unique obligation.
Geoffrey knew that, after all. International banking and investing were his business. He had told her a little about it. He was working so hard to make others see the importance of peace, particularly those with influence. That was challenging, and he could have left it alone, but he cared deeply about the blind fear of the unknown, and the very bitter memory of the loss of a generation was too raw to allow him to forget. She loved him for that, among a hundred other things.
Change was necessary. He did not have to persuade Margot of that; she felt it as deeply as he did. She was determined not to be merely a happy woman in love with a strong and brave man, but a woman who helped her husband in the whole endeavor.
What time was it? She glanced at the clock by her bedside. It was eight-thirty already! She got out of bed hastily and went to the sink in the corner of the room. She washed her face, neck, and arms in cool water, waking herself up completely. Then she dressed in a simple dark-green silk with a white collar. With her coloring, it was extremely becoming. She looked at her image in the glass and swiftly pinned her hair up into a loose chignon. With her high cheekbones and classic features, like her mother’s, the style was very flattering. She added lipstick, which was a daring red, then slipped on her shoes and went downstairs to see if anyone was still at breakfast.
There was no one at the table except Griselda.
“How are you?” Griselda asked. “You look wonderful! But then, happiness can do that to one. Sit down and eat something.” She gestured toward the chair across from her. “Shall I have Cook fry you some eggs and bacon? Please don’t say you need only two slices of toast. There are things ahead that will require all your enthusiasm!”
That was exactly what Margot wanted to hear, an encouragement to enjoy.
“My brother is a passionate man, especially about the politics of our nation,” Griselda went on. “I think he has great things ahead of him, and you want the same things. I confess I have thought that about you since the first time we met.” She rang the silver bell beside her, and moments later the parlor maid appeared.
“Mrs. Driscoll would like a fried egg or two and bacon, tomato, and mushrooms. And some warm toast. I see you have brought a fresh pot of tea. Thank you so much. You can clear the rest away later.” She gave a graceful, yet dismissive gesture of one hand, and the maid left the room.
She leaned forward a little and lowered her voice, although the maid had closed the door behind her. “There is so much you can do to help. Never underestimate what a woman in the right place can do. You are brave at heart, my dear. I have seen firsthand that you are not afraid of ideas, new thoughts, and hope for the future, but not blind hope. Reality. What is possible. What is the tide of history? Not what everybody thinks it is, or should be. That, too often, is shallow. And immediate wishes are as far as we can see. You must help Geoffrey, encourage him when it seems we are losing. And, of course, our local member of Parliament, Robert Hastings, is a warmonger. I don’t think he actually wants another war—he’s just grubbing after fame—but still he is dangerous.”
Margot was pretty certain that she knew what Griselda was talking about. She had met several of Griselda’s friends, and interestingly, some of them argued that Germany was still the enemy, as if the kaiser were still on the throne and Germany was unchanged. They clung on to old hatreds like they were wearing a dark mask over their eyes. It was exactly such people to whom Bishop Lamb had been preaching.
“It adds another dimension to a partnership,” Griselda continued. “And I shall be so sorry if it puts a strain on your family relationships.” Her face clouded over with a sudden sadness. “Your sister seems something of an idealist. Is she much younger than you, or just a lot less sophisticated?” There was concern in her voice.
Margot understood what she meant. There was a naïveté about Elena. It had been masked by the rather sophisticated dress she had worn. In fact, it had been gorgeous. Margot had had no idea that she could look so truly beautiful. But even that dress had not been able to hide the views Elena had espoused. It had been as if she were stuck in a time warp. Perhaps she had drawn a lot of her ideas from Grandfather Lucas. Even Charles, their father, had commented on that more than once. But Grandfather had been an ambassador in Europe before and after the war. He was much more in touch with reality.
“Yes, she is a bit naïve, I’m afraid,” Margot agreed. “She is very close to our grandparents and got a few of her inbuilt ideas from them.”
“She hasn’t married,” Griselda observed. “Is she much younger than you?”
“A few years,” Margot answered. “As you know, I lost my first husband in the last week of the war.”
“Yes, and, my dear, how dreadful for you,” Griselda said sympathetically. “And it has taken all these years for you to find anyone else worthy of you. I think you have suffered so long. I am pleased for Geoffrey, and for all of us.” She smiled as if they shared an unspoken secret, and Margot felt a little embarrassed. “I am surprised that Elena has not found anyone,” Griselda commented, taking a sip of her tea.
“Oh, she…” Margot started to explain but wondered how to phrase it. She did not want to be cruel, or to make Elena look even more misguided than necessary. “She fell in love with one man who was…unsuitable.” That was a pale word to describe Aiden Strother, a traitor and a bastard. He had deceived Elena and then left her with her career in shatters on the floor! “She took a little while to get over the betrayal.” Was that too dramatic a word? No, it fit his appalling actions.
“Poor child,” Griselda said softly. “And then this Allenby. Do you know anything about him? He does not seem—how should I say it?—very much in love with her. A cool character, don’t you think? She seems to need someone much warmer, much more generous.”
“I don’t know him well enough to say,” Margot replied, evading an honest answer, which would have been to agree with Griselda.
“Of course not. And we can only hope that he will be gentle with your younger sister. All the same, you will watch him as much as you can, I am certain.”
Margot smiled ruefully. “I’m afraid the more I suggest she be careful, the more she will be inclined to accept any offer he makes. If he makes any at all.”
“Well, if he doesn’t, then she is better off without him. What does he do, anyway? He has all the air of a man with any amount of money, but perhaps I misjudged him…” Griselda left it hanging in the air.
Margot understood this woman well enough. She did not want to put words to her own willingness to keep Elena out of a mess, and Elena would not thank her for it. But conscience required that she make some effort. And perhaps love also required it. She realized that Griselda was watching her expectantly, but Margot said nothing.
“Perhaps I should not have spoken,” Griselda said softly. “But I understand you could not look the other way and let her suffer. What sister could? I worry about some of my own family, or at least David’s. I used to think that Landon Rees was a cold fish and that Pru deserved far more. But I see now that they actually have more in common than I had first believed. And now Geoffrey has found you! He’s wiser than we give him credit for.”
Margot was momentarily at a loss for words. It was exactly what she wanted to hear, and yet it sounded so…so self-congratulatory that she could not bring herself to say it.
“Mr. Allenby is certainly a nice-looking man,” Griselda added. “And even if Elena has not your grace or sophistication, she is a handsome girl in her own way.”
Margot nearly bristled at this passive dismissal of Elena, but she could not afford to argue with Geoffrey’s sister. And, in truth, Griselda was right. Elena was quite lovely in her own fashion, but she was in no way sophisticated. She had to agree with Griselda about that.
Margot thought of Wallis Simpson, whom she had met only a few short days ago. The woman was extraordinary, almost mesmerizing in her ability to be noticed, welcomed. She could make anything she wore seem glamorous and individual; she made other people look dull. Was it glamour? Was it taste in advance of anyone else’s? Or was it a hypnotic effect, that she could believe in herself so powerfully that others believed her, too? Being the mistress of England’s future king could give any woman the feeling of beauty and importance.
Or was it her wit? Sharp, cutting, original…and often cruel. Oh, but she was funny! Margot respected it, but she could not say she admired it. She did not like the woman, this Mrs. Simpson, but she could not help but be fascinated by her.
“I wonder what Elena would make of Mrs. Simpson,” Griselda said aloud with a smile, as if she had read Margot’s thoughts.
Margot smiled, too. “Actually, I would love to give Elena the opportunity to photograph Mrs. Simpson. She has a knack for photographing people in a certain way and angle, or in a particular light and shadow, that exposes something unique about their character. Elena is cleverer than you think.”
“Really?” There was genuine curiosity in Griselda’s eyes. “How very interesting. And one would not think to guard against it, she looks so harmless.”
Harmless! What a damning word, said like that! But she was right, Elena did look harmless. Innocent. As if she were dressing up in someone else’s clothes, a little girl in her mother’s shoes and gown. Except that Katherine Standish would never have worn that black silk gown. No, her mother would have taken something slinky, more overtly elegant, as Margot would have. On Elena, it had almost looked…seductive. But she would have been embarrassed and furious if Margot had told her so. She found herself smiling again at the thought of this.
“You agree with me?” Griselda asked.
Before Margot could reply, the doorway to the hall opened and Geoffrey came in. He passed Margot’s chair and touched her lightly on the shoulder in greeting, but she felt the warmth of his hand through the fabric of her dress. It was reassuring that the happiness she felt yesterday was real.
He sat down and poured himself a cup of tea.
“Breakfast?” Griselda announced with surprise in her tone.
“Heavens above, no!” Geoffrey smiled widely, showing his white, even teeth. “I ate hours ago. I felt too happy to waste time sleeping. Went for a walk in the woods. Everything was just waking up.”
He turned to Margot. “One morning, I’m waking you up and taking you to watch the sunlight touch every single thing, as if leading you around a gallery and seeing things one by one. Food for the soul before you begin the day’s work.”
“You’re working today?” Griselda asked, glancing at the clock on the mantel, which said it was a little short of nine o’clock.
“Touché.” Geoffrey nodded with a smile. “I’m going to take Margot into town and introduce her to a few of the most important people. She will get to know them more soon, but it’s politic to introduce some of them now. Make them feel special.”
“Who?” Griselda asked quickly. “You must be careful. Word passes like fire in the wind, and anyone you leave out will be offended. And believe me, they will know!”
Geoffrey turned back to Margot. “Griselda has got a point. You don’t mind, do you? I’m so happy and I just want to show you off to my friends. But we have to include everyone, because that in itself will be a statement as to who is considered important. And, of course, by omission, who is not. It’s not only a courtesy, it’s an investment. People remember.”
“I’d love to meet them,” Margot assured him eagerly. It was true. The happiness bubbling up inside her was the sort that she wanted to share. It only added to her happiness that Geoffrey wanted to share it, too.
A bit later into the morning, Geoffrey and Margot went out. It was a more suitable time to call: late enough for everyone to be up, but not quite yet lunchtime.
For Margot, it was a complete joy. It was a bright late morning, the sun rising high and still carrying the heat of summer into the afternoon. It seemed almost like a painting on glass, without a breath of wind to move casual stooks left over from the harvest. Black crows sat on the telephone wires like music notes on a staff. They were sunbathing, and not one of them moved as Geoffrey drove past.
They visited the bank manager, a courtesy call that the man was clearly pleased to receive. They also called in to introduce Margot to the local doctor, who was more than happy to have his paperwork interrupted. There were others whom Geoffrey introduced as friends or neighbors, people he had known for years, and others known only since David Wyndham had married Griselda. David and Griselda had lived near the village for almost twenty years now, and Geoffrey was here often. So often that he felt like a part of the village.
Margot knew she would never remember them all. She hoped Geoffrey would explain again later who each of them was and how they knew each other. It seemed as if all of them knew Griselda, which caused Margot’s admiration for her to grow.
The last man Geoffrey introduced to Margot was also the most interesting. They visited Algernon Miller in his large, rambling old farmhouse.
“It is technically a cottage,” explained Geoffrey, “because the front door opens immediately into a room rather than a porch or hallway.”
Margot studied it. Apart from the quaint and enormous thatched roof, it was a magnificent house. Roses covered part of the front of it, and they were still in late bloom.
Margot continued to stare at the house in admiration.
“It’s something, isn’t it?” Geoffrey said, looking at her with a smile. “I can remember standing here years ago, without Algie—that’s what his friends call him—and looking at this place. At that time, it belonged to the local member of Parliament. I can’t remember if I saw anything in it at all, but Algie said, ‘I want to have a house like this one day!’ And now he has! He usually gets what he aims at.” He gave a short, humorous laugh. He put his arm around Margot and led her toward the door. “Come in and meet him.”
They walked up the gravel drive together, holding hands. The only sounds were their footsteps on the dry, loose stones and, somewhere, a bird calling a song of joy, no sharp warning in it. As if this bird knew he was beyond the reach of any harm.
They approached the front door, and Geoffrey pulled the bell cord.
Within seconds, the door opened, and an elderly butler stood just inside. For a moment, his face remained blank until he recognized Geoffrey and his expression broke into pleasure. “Mr. Baden! How nice to see you, sir. And madam.” He nodded to Margot. “Will you come in? The chief constable will be delighted to see you. He hoped that you might call by.”
Geoffrey thanked him and led the way in, Margot following on his heels.
She wanted to look around at the paintings, this room that served as an entrance hall, and then the passage beyond. It was beautiful in entirely its own way. Everything looked as if it not only belonged, but had for generations.
They were led into an extremely comfortable sitting room. It was furnished with large chairs and sofas with a wide variety of floral patterns, chintzes, and the occasional simple cushion of plain silk or velvet. French doors opened onto a lawn with trees beyond. On one sideboard sat a bowl of late-flowering roses, several petals already fallen.
Algernon Miller was a big man, not any taller than Geoffrey, but wider, much more solid, and he was presently dressed for ease in corduroy trousers of indeterminate color, a well-pressed checked shirt, and a casual velvet smoking jacket. His brown hair was receding a little, but it was still thick over the top of his head, and his dark-rimmed glasses magnified his eyes and gave him the look of a benign owl.
“Geoffrey, how nice to see you!” he exclaimed. “Terrible thing, this man found near your place. Terrible.” Almost as an afterthought, he held out his hand.
Geoffrey took it and wrung it warmly. “Nothing to do with us,” he said coolly. “Algernon, I have happy news. May I introduce you to Margot Driscoll, my wife-to-be!” His broad grin made further words unnecessary.
“Delighted.” Miller took Margot’s hand gently, his grip warm and strong. “Welcome, my dear. I never thought Geoffrey would meet the right woman, but I believe he has. Driscoll? Is your family local? I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting them.” There was a slight curiosity written across his face, but it was by no means hostile.
“Margot was widowed during the war,” Geoffrey added quickly, saving her the task of explaining. “Her maiden name was Standish.”
Miller’s look brightened even more. “Oh! I knew an excellent fellow named Standish. British ambassador to Berlin at one time. Any relation, by chance?” he asked hopefully.
Margot nodded with a smile. “Charles Standish? He is my father.”
“Oh, what a happy thing,” Miller exclaimed. “Then Katherine Standish will be your mother, yes? A lady of infinite elegance, and not only to look at, but in manner as well.” He turned Geoffrey with a sly smile. “You are a very lucky man.”
“I know,” Geoffrey agreed with a wide grin. “I hope we will meet a little more often than I have been able to lately. I mean to mend my ways!”
“I should think so,” Miller replied. “Take—Margot, is it? Yes, Margot—and introduce her to your considerable number of friends. Make them all envious.” He glanced back at Margot. “You will charm them all! Is Lucas Standish another relation as well? Odd bird. I never quite knew what to make of him. Clever chap, but spoke very little. Civil servant of some sort, I believe. Do I have that right?”
“I don’t know about his being an odd bird,” Margot responded defensively. “I suppose I’m used to him; he is my grandfather. But I imagine I don’t know him very well in any other role. I remember him telling shaggy-dog stories when we were children. And mending my brother’s electric train set.” She found a hard lump in her throat. It sounded like another lifetime. “But that…” She swallowed. “That was a long time ago.”
“But he’s still alive?” Geoffrey said, as if he was quite certain of it. It was hardly a question.
“Yes,” Margot answered. “Grandfather is very much alive. I think Elena, my sister, knows him better than I do.” They had always been close, Lucas and Elena, but over the last year they had become even more so. Maybe Lucas felt sorry for Elena, even protective of her after that disastrous affair.
“Actually,” said Geoffrey, “Elena is here, staying with my sister. We wanted to meet her, as part of Margot’s family. Unfortunately, Margot’s parents are out of the country, somewhere in Europe, but we will all meet together, of course.”
“We are delighted, my dear!” Miller said enthusiastically. “Is it too early in the day for a toast? I don’t think so, surely! To happiness in general, and to a better future of peace, above all, and prosperity.”
“Of course it is not too early! Thank you!” Geoffrey looked at Margot. “It isn’t, is it?”
“No, of course not,” she echoed. “Thank you!”