Ah . . . where Sterling could not wheedle his way into his nephew’s purse. She lifted her chin. “Well, good for him. And Caroline?”
“Gone back to her precious seminary, I believe.”
What a relief.
Benton rose and swayed. His cravat listed, askew. His face was less handsome when mottled and slack. “Now, Margaret. You’re a good girl. I know you will do your duty by your family. You don’t want to see us all starve, do you? I’m sure we can come to some amicable arrangement. With your money and my able management, we’ll deal very well together.”
Margaret leaned away from his foul breath and squared her shoulders. “I will help my mother, and provide for my brother and sister. But you, Sterling, will not see a farthing. I heard what you told Marcus to do to me.” She shook her head and forced a gentle tone. “If I were you, I would retrench and learn to live within my means. But if you are unwilling or too proud, then you can starve if you like. I have far more important things to do with my inheritance.”
———
Margaret went back upstairs to her room to await her mother’s return. Her relief over Caroline’s escape was tempered by the nagging thought that she had left Fairbourne Hall in vain. And without proper notice in the bargain. She rolled her eyes at herself—still thinking like a responsible servant. Worse yet, in her panic to try and save her sister—an unnecessary intervention as it turned out—she had once again refused an offer of marriage from Nathaniel Upchurch. A man she loved. Would he ever forgive her? She feared she had hurt him irreparably, that he would never ask a third time. How impulsive she had been. Again.
What should she do now? She could not return to Fairbourne Hall as a maid, nor could she return as herself—an uninvited guest. How brazen that would be. She could pay a call on Helen, she supposed. But Helen would guess her real motivation for the visit. And how could she face the servants as herself? How strange that would be.
She could write Nathaniel a letter . . . though correspondence between unmarried ladies and gentlemen was considered improper by many. Of course such a minor indiscretion paled in comparison to her other recent acts. Even if she dared write, what would she say? “Em . . . sorry about running off like that. All for nothing it turns out. Would you care to repeat your proposal?”
She consoled herself with the fact that at least she had left word where she was going. He knew where she was if he wished to contact her. She would wait.
Wait for what? To reach her twenty-fifth birthday, gain her inheritance . . . and then what? Yes, she still looked forward to providing for her brother and sister. But her mother? She was less certain that relationship could be restored. Margaret felt betrayed—disappointed that her mother had fallen in with Sterling’s schemes. On the other hand, her mother might very well be disappointed in her, for endangering herself and the family’s reputation by running away.
A soft knock interrupted her reverie. Her heart lurched until she reminded herself that Marcus Benton was on a ship bound for America.
“Come in.”
The door opened slowly, and her mother appeared, expression cautious, still clad in walking dress and pelisse, from whatever errand had taken her out that afternoon.
“Margaret,” she breathed. “How glad I am to see you, safe and sound.”
Joanna Macy Benton hesitated at the door, making no move to embrace her daughter, perhaps unsure of her reception.
“I want to apologize, Margaret,” she said. “I am so sorry you did not feel safe under our roof. That you felt you had no choice but to flee. I don’t know what I could have done, but I should have done something to make certain Marcus paid you no improper attention.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Her mother winced. “You can’t have lived with me this last year and not know why. It’s no excuse, but you saw how Sterling was, how disapproving and critical. I have tried to work out what I did wrong to lose his good opinion. I’ve done everything I could think of to win back his approval, his admiration, to no avail.”
“I know.”
“He is my husband, Margaret. But there comes a point when a woman must protect her children even in the face of her husband’s displeasure. I did not stand up to him when that point came, and I am sorry. I hope someday you will forgive me.”
What could Margaret say? “You did nothing wrong, Mamma, beyond marrying him in the first place. Beyond failing to make it clear your modest marriage settlement would remain modest, that any rumored inheritance from Aunt Josephine would not end in his pockets.” But Margaret could not come out and say Sterling had only married her for money, money that would never come. It would be too cruel.
Her mother clasped her hands together. “I am relieved neither you nor Caroline has married someone who would not love you for yourself.”
Margaret nodded. The poor woman knew too well what that felt like. “How is Caroline?” she asked.
“Heartbroken. Disillusioned. Angry with Marcus, with us. But she is young, and she will recover.”
“I was so relieved to hear the news.”
“As was I. My introduction of Miss Jackson turned out to be quite propitious.”
“Your introduction?”
Mrs. Macy-Benton sighed. “Yes. I introduced her to Marcus, Mr. Jackson being an old acquaintance of your father’s. I was almost sorry to do so. But I saw Marcus’s marriage to her as the lesser of two evils. And if I don’t miss my guess, Miss Jackson will keep him on a short tether from now on.”
Margaret stared at her, impressed.
Her mother retrieved something from her reticule. “This is the card of the solicitor handling Aunt Josephine’s estate. The time has come for you to make your wishes known to someone outside our family. You are a grown woman now, Margaret, and there is no need for Sterling or me to act as your guardian any longer.”
She twiddled the card in her fingers. “I went to see Mr. Ford myself this afternoon and made him aware that, regardless of what my husband has told him in the past, Sterling is no disinterested party who will objectively advise you. Mr. Ford and his partner will be happy to fill that role.”
How careful, how nearly timid she was. It smote Margaret’s conscience.
She reached out to take the card from her mother, gently grasping her outstretched hand. Her mother looked up in surprise.
“Thank you, Mamma.”
Tears brightened her mother’s eyes, and Margaret felt her own fill in reply.
“I forgive you,” Margaret whispered. “And I hope you will forgive me for not sending word sooner, for worrying you.”
“Oh, Margaret.” Her mother held out her arms, and Margaret entered the long-missed embrace.
Margaret went to see the solicitor the very next day.
The grey-haired, bespectacled man rose when she entered. “Ah, Miss Macy. What a pleasure to see you. You gave us all a scare, disappearing the way you did.”
“I am alive and well, as you see.”
He regarded her with small, kind eyes. “I have not seen you since the reading of your great-aunt’s will. You have changed, my dear, if you will allow me to say so. You look very well indeed.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ford.”
They spoke for half an hour about the inheritance, investment options, and the necessary steps to set up a trust for Gilbert and a dowry for Caroline.
“If you would be so good as to return on your birthday to sign the paper work,” he said, “I will have all I need to deposit the funds into an account in your name at the bank of your choice.”
“Thank you. I would be happy to return on the twenty-ninth. Would two o’clock suit?”
“Perfectly.”
She rose and pulled on her gloves.
He stood as well. “In the meantime, is there anything else I can do for you?”
She looked up at him, bit her lip, and considered. “There is one thing. . . .”
When she returned to Berkeley Square, Margaret asked Murdoch if there was anything for her
in the post.
“Yes, miss. Three letters.”
She shuffled through them, mood sinking. None from Maidstone.
Murdoch cleared his throat. “And several gentlemen have called for you as well. I told them you were out, but one insisted on waiting. I’ve put him in the morning room.”
Margaret’s heart leapt. “Who is it?”
He handed her several calling cards on a silver salver. She flipped through them, her elation fading. She wasn’t interested in any of these men. None were Nathaniel Upchurch.
Serve one another in love.
—Galatians 5:13
Chapter 34
Margaret and her mother planned a simple evening party for Margaret’s upcoming birthday. She didn’t want anything lavish, nor many guests. Just her family and Emily Lathrop. Gilbert would remain at school until Christmas, but Caroline had come home for good. She was as educated and finished as Miss Hightower could make her, apparently. Margaret was glad to have her under the same roof once more.
Margaret returned to Mr. Ford’s offices on the afternoon of her birthday. She was relieved the waiting was over but was not as thrilled about the fortune as she had expected. This was partly due to all the unwanted attention she was receiving over it from would-be suitors. And partly due to the complete lack of attention from the only suitor she wanted.
Mr. Ford greeted her warmly but with a reserve that told her the news about her special request was not good.
“I looked into the matter as you requested. But I am afraid I was unsuccessful. Ironically, Lime Tree Lodge has recently been for sale. Several interested parties placed bids, including a new clergyman determined to acquire it as his vicarage. The sale was finalized before I could enter a bid on your behalf. I am sorry.”
So close. Tears pricked her eyes. “Well. Thank you for trying, Mr. Ford.”
“I wish I had better news on your birthday.”
She smiled bravely, the gesture pushing the tears down her cheeks.
He asked, “I don’t suppose there are any other properties you would be interested in?”
She shook her head. “Not at present.”
For the next few minutes, he showed her where to sign the rest of the paper work and told her he would let her know as soon as the money was deposited in her name. As she prepared to depart, he congratulated her and wished her every happiness.
“From your lips to God’s ears,” she said, over the lump in her throat.
Upon her return to Berkeley Square, Murdoch met her with yet another salver of calling cards and invitations.
Removing her bonnet, she asked, “Any from Maidstone?”
“I’m afraid not, miss.”
She sighed. “Please tell the gentlemen I am not at home to callers today. I find rejecting them so unpleasant and have no wish to do so on my birthday.”
“Very good, miss. I understand.”
She thanked him and went upstairs without looking at a single card.
Margaret knocked softly on Caroline’s door and entered when bid. Caroline sat at her dressing table, the new maid brushing her hair.
Margaret held out her hand. “Please, allow me.”
The maid handed over the brush, curtsied, and turned to go.
“Thank goodness,” Caroline huffed. “That girl is inept.”
The housemaid faltered, then scurried from the room.
“Caroline . . .” Margaret gently admonished. “People in service are still people. She’s young, but she’ll learn. Be kind.”
“Oh, don’t fuss at me, Margaret. I doubt she even understood what I said.”
“I don’t know. . . . Appearances can be deceiving.” She added in a lower voice, “As you and I have both learned.”
Caroline hung her head. She sat quietly for several moments, then whispered, “I was deceived. I thought Marcus loved me, but he only pretended. He confessed he only asked me to marry him to please his uncle. Sterling was certain it would bring you home.”
“And he was right.” Margaret twisted and pinned Caroline’s hair. “You won’t believe me now, but it is a blessing Marcus ended the engagement. He would have broken your heart a thousand times over. Better to know it was all an act before the vows were said.”
“I know you’re right. But it still hurts.”
“I know, my love. I know.”
———
Margaret went into her own room. She ought to summon Miss Durand to help her dress for dinner. Instead she stood at her window feeling listless and let down. She had so hoped for some word from him.
She glanced out the window at the Berkeley Square garden below and told herself to cheer up. She saw a traveling coach waiting across the street and wondered who had called. With a start, she recognized the coachman on the bench and the young groom climbing up beside him. Clive! It was the Upchurch coach. Nathaniel must have come to call while she was in Caroline’s room. The coachman lifted the reins, and the horses began to move off.
Leaving? Had Murdoch turned away Mr. Upchurch as well?
She flew from her room, drummed down the many stairs and across the hall, heedless of decorum. Flinging open the door, she prayed she would reach him in time. She leapt the stoop and dashed into the street, but the carriage was already turning the corner.
She was too late. The Upchurch coach disappeared from view.
Tears filled her eyes. If only she had not refused to see callers today, of all days. She had only herself to blame, for she had told Murdoch to send all gentlemen away. Foolish girl!
Margaret wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, gave a deep shuddering sigh, and turned toward the house.
She stopped short, breath catching. For there on the front stoop stood Nathaniel Upchurch.
“Mr. Upchurch,” she breathed.
He wore a dark green coat, buff breeches, and tall boots. He did not smile. He only looked at her, his expression inscrutable. “Miss Macy,” he said dryly. “I was told you were not at home.”
Chagrined, she hurried to explain. “I am sorry. I have had a great many callers of late, and I—”
“Suitors, I suppose?”
“I’m afraid so. All desperate fortune hunters, the lot of them.”
His brows rose.
“Oh! Not that I include you among them, Mr. Upchurch. I didn’t mean that.” Now that he stood before her at last, she rambled on like a schoolroom miss. She swallowed and gestured vaguely toward the street. “I’m afraid your carriage has left without you.”
He nodded. “I told them to go on. I was determined to wait as long as necessary. Your butler was testy until I told him I had come a long way to see you. For some reason, at the mention of Maidstone he became much more welcoming.”
Her cheeks heated. “Oh.”
He tilted his head to the side. “Where do you tell people you’ve been?”
“I . . . don’t. I say only that I was staying with friends. At least . . . I hope that is true . . . that we are friends?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Is that what you want?”
“Of course.”
He stepped from the stoop and walked toward her, studying her as he neared.
Unnerved under his scrutiny, she rushed on, “I am glad you’ve come. I’ve been thinking about y—Uh . . . H-how is Lewis?”
“He is doing well.”
“I am glad to hear it.” She hesitated, then gestured toward the house behind him. “Would you like to come in . . . again?”
He winced up at the house, then looked over her shoulder. “How about a turn in the garden instead?”
The day was chilly and the garden spent. But she said, “Of course. Just give me a moment to collect my shawl.” She stepped past him toward the door.
Murdoch, as if sensing her intention—or eavesdropping—hurried out with her shawl and draped it around her shoulders.
“You ran out before I could announce him,” he whispered. “Did I do right in allowing him to wait?”
“You most certai
nly did. Thank you.”
He leaned near. “From Maidstone, miss?”
She nodded, quaking with nerves and excitement.
The butler bestowed a rare smile.
Together Margaret and Nathaniel crossed the street and entered the long oval garden at the center of the square. Walking beneath a canopy of autumn-red maples, they crushed dry leaves with each step.
Nathaniel abruptly began, “You know you nearly killed me, don’t you?”
Margaret gaped up at him. “Killed you? How?”
He clasped his hands behind his back. “You were barely gone a day when we heard Marcus Benton had changed course and married a different lady.”
She nodded. “An American heiress.”
“I know that now. Hudson and I have our ways. But you gave me a few dashed miserable days, I can tell you.”
Her heart tingled at the thought. “I’m sorry. I thought of writing . . . but, well . . .” Her words trailed away.
He nodded. “You don’t know how I thanked God when I learned the truth.”
He gestured toward a park bench, and she sat down.
He crossed his arms and remained standing. “Will you ever be able to come back to Fairbourne Hall, do you think? I imagine it could be somewhat awkward for you.”
Come back? How did he mean? As maid, friend, wife? She decided to tell the truth, hoping it wouldn’t spoil her chances. “It would be awkward, I’m afraid.”
“Even for a visit, perhaps?”
A visit . . . Then he was not thinking of asking her to marry him. Disheartened, she murmured, “Perhaps a short visit.” She would, after all, like to see Helen again.
Sitting there surrounded by late autumn color, Margaret breathed in great draughts of crisp November air and breathed out a prayer. Be thankful, she told herself. Nathaniel is here. . . . There is hope.
“I would have come sooner,” he said. “But I had something very particular to attend to first.”
“Oh. I see.” She didn’t see but hoped he would explain.
“As soon as that was taken care of, I came.” He sank onto the bench beside her. “And of course, I had to see you today, on your birthday.”