Chapter 10

When Margaret re-entered the parlour, Aunt Louisa, Nathaniel, and Blair were speaking in hushed tones that ended abruptly when her footfalls sounded the creaks in the floor. Blair and Nathaniel jumped to their feet as Margaret entered.

Aunt Louisa raised her chin and looked beyond Margaret to the hall before speaking. “Where’s Peter?”

Margaret gave a halfhearted smile. She hated how circumstances demanded she make excuses for her brother. However, she knew he would never rest until Julia was found and that gave her some comfort. “He was called away,” she said, taking her seat next to Aunt Louisa.

Blair held up his coattails as he settled back into his chair. “He’s quite a busy man, your brother,” he said. “It’s a shame to always seem to miss him.”

Aunt Louisa waved her hand and clicked her tongue. “You’ll never pin Peter down,” she said, with a slight laugh. “I have learned as much since our return to England.”

“He’s quite self-interested, if you ask me,” Nathaniel injected, as he finished off the last of his alcohol.

Margaret gave him a disapproving look, but was unable to think of a quick retort.

“I only wished that I could, perhaps, get to know him better,” Blair explained, keeping his eyes trained on Margaret. “It’s my greatest wish that he should approve of me.”

It was then that she noticed everyone in the room was peering at her, as if they expected her to offer words of approval to encourage his interest. Margaret had no desire to give such an impression. Jonas had only been gone a short time and even though she knew she had hurt him greatly she held to the hope that one day they’d be reunited.

When Margaret said nothing Aunt Louisa cleared her throat. “A lovely gesture, isn’t it, Margaret?” she coaxed.

Forced to nod in agreement, Margaret offered a closed-mouth smile.

A quarter of an hour later and the four of them were saying farewell at the parlour door. Before his departure, Blair pulled Margaret’s hand to his lips and graced the top of her fingers. “Shall we take a stroll in Hyde Park tomorrow?” he asked, while he held on to her hand.

Before Margaret could answer Aunt Louisa was at her side. “Sounds lovely.” The high tone and light air she took while in Blair’s presence was enough for Margaret to question who was courting who.

With great relief he was gone and Margaret found it much easier to breathe. Nathaniel followed Blair to the front door.

“Goodness, child,” Aunt Louisa said, suddenly abandoning the charade. “You’d think you’d be a little more…encouraging.” She retraced her steps back into the parlour to grab her reading spectacles, which she had left on one of the side tables.

“I do not understand your meaning.”

“I doubt that, my dear.” Aunt Louisa slipped her glasses onto her nose and then plucked a stack of small cards from the table. “You are as smart as a whip. No one is fooled by your pretty face.” She smiled over the card she read. “You know very well that Blair is here to court you. His entire family mourns in the country, yet he remains in London. You heard him yourself. He intends to call each day, I imagine, until he has won you over.”

“I wish he wouldn’t bother,” Margaret said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I cannot be won over.”

Aunt Louisa regarded her for a moment before pulling off her spectacles and stepping forward. “If this is about that Dr. Davies, I’m sorry to say it, but you are wasting your time.” Aunt Louisa grimaced as her gaze trailed about the room. “It would be foolish to believe you have all the time in the world to wait for a man to make up his mind. The reality is you don’t. Beauty fades, hope dies, and potential beaus get snatched up one by one. You could spend a lifetime waiting for that one love to love you back.”

“Aunt Louisa—”

“Don’t argue. It’s far too late in the evening and I haven’t had enough to drink. Just think about what I said.” She gave Margaret a gentle pat on the cheek before leaving the room.

Margaret didn’t want to think about a life without Jonas. In fact, for much of the last few weeks Margaret had been doing everything and anything to keep herself from thinking about him. Her late-night vigils with her father, the great care she took with organizing the household, and the interest she had in Ainsley’s work were all a means to ignore the heartache that burned away inside her. Her future with Jonas remained unclear. She hadn’t been able to speak with him but imagined he was cross with her. If he wasn’t already he certainly would be once he found out Blair had been calling at the house with marked frequency. He had accused her before of changing her mind, a charge she emphatically denied.

In a perfect world, Margaret and Jonas would have been wed already, eloped at some chapel in Scotland. Had everything gone as planned she’d be fumbling her way around a town home, one befitting the income of a doctor, unable to cook a proper breakfast or iron a shirt. Jonas would laugh at her, perhaps even tease her for her lack of womanly skills, but he’d love her. Boy, would that man love her.

Margaret felt a thump form in her throat as she thought of him.

Nothing could be done for it now. What was done was done. He was gone and she was at Marshall House, where duty demanded.

She lingered in the parlour for a few moments, soaking in the quiet of the room, when the door opened and Vivian appeared with an empty tray to collect the dishes left by the family. She immediately bowed her head.

“My apologies, miss,” she said softly, her Barbadian accent colouring her whisper. The girl began to back away.

“Stay a moment,” Margaret said, taking a step toward her. “I wanted to ask how the others are treating you. Belowstairs, I mean.”

There was no delicate way to put forward her concern. Vivian was visibly different with her brown skin, crimped hair, and slave heritage. Margaret had no doubt their English servants would see their negro colleague as someone completely beneath them.

“As well as can be expected, miss.”

Margaret noticed a silver, oval locket around the girl’s neck, etched with a filigree pattern and dotted with a very tiny green gem. “That’s a lovely piece,” Margaret said, genuinely attracted to its beauty.

With a quick, jerky movement, Vivian raised her hand as if to protect it.

“Does it carry a picture?” Margaret asked. She had seen similar necklaces in the shops, and around the necks of a few friends, but had never owned one herself.

Slowly, Vivian released the front of the locket and showed Margaret a tiny photograph of a coloured woman. A gold cross had been secured to the opposite side.

“A mourning locket.” Margaret nearly cried at the sweetness of the tribute. “My mother passed away recently as well. You must miss your mother and your home country terribly.”

“Yes, miss.”

“Has your father passed as well?” Margaret asked with hesitation.

No reply came immediately. Vivian avoided Margaret’s gaze as if trying to find the right words to explain her precarious position. “My father lives,” she said as she raised her brown eyes.

Margaret felt a sweeping recognition. Vivian’s complexion was much lighter than the woman in the image and there was something in her features that resonated as British.

An interesting dynamic existed in Barbados. Slave labour once dominated the tobacco and sugarcane plantations in the Caribbean and was only abolished twenty-odd years before in all parts of the Empire. Even though the population between negro workers and British transplants was equally divided, there remained obvious disparities between the wealthy and the poor. That dynamic made it easy for noblemen to take advantage of many of the vulnerable females. It was possible Vivian’s mother had been a victim of the British hierarchy.

The thought was disturbing enough but in that moment, looking into the deep brown eyes of the fifteen-year-old, Margaret wondered if her father could have had an affair with a woman who worked at their estate in Barbados. Could Vivian be related to them, as an illegitimate child of Lord Marshall? It would explain his sudden departure to the island. It would explain the girl’s sudden appearance at their home in London. Did Lord Benedict know?

Margaret started at the thought, but she maintained her composure. “Well, then you shall stay with us until the two of you can be reunited.” She forced a light smile and hoped the girl didn’t see the trembling in her hands.

“Yes, miss.” The girl nodded and then skirted around her to return to her task.

Margaret watched for a few moments as Vivian went to each of the tables systematically to collect what had been easily discarded by the family and their guest. Margaret looked for anything that would signal to her that Vivian was her sister. Perhaps there was a mannerism, a stance that would confirm Margaret’s suspicion, but there was nothing so obvious.