“That accursed woman has infiltrated my thoughts,” he mumbled, pushing away the lingering image of Miss Pembroke in the garden as he began the walk to his study.
He was intercepted on the way by the butler carrying in the mail. His liveried form darkened the corridor, bowing formally for the duke as he extended a silver tray. A shiver ran down Alexander’s spine as he glimpsed the penmanship on the letter.
“That will be everything,” he told the butler, before proceeding into his study and locking the door behind him.
Another letter from Ripley.
Alexander sliced through the wax seal with his letter opener, replacing it on the desk where it clanged gratingly in his ear. He froze as he read Ripley’s latest note, going over the words five times before they sank in.
“Your sister lives,” Ripley had written.
“Journey to London immediately.”
CHAPTER 7
As soon as Mrs. Cooper led her inside the London house, Margaret was greeted by a near tropical burst of heat. The foyer was much warmer than outside – and much warmer than Margaret remembered leaving it. She fanned herself and looked around, heat rising to her cheeks, making her nauseous, and she immediately cast off her Spencer coat.
“Thank you,” Margaret said as the housekeeper took the jacket from her, sweeping it over her arm. “You can leave those here," she told the butler, Mr. Rathbone, who had been sent for Margaret’s things and was carrying her trunks indoors.
Rolling up her sleeves, Margaret looked around in confusion. The house was oddly quiet.
“Where is my mother? And where is Liz?”
“Miss Eliza will be upstairs,” Mrs. Cooper replied, smoothing Margaret’s jacket as she spoke. Her forehead was glisteningwith sweat. Margaret definitely hadn’t imagined the heat. “The little miss will be beside herself with joy to see you home, Miss Pembroke. She has been waiting so very patiently for days for your return, asking every morning when you would come back.”
“Poor thing. In that case, it is a good thing I left much earlier than planned,” Margaret said, marching toward the drawing room where she expected to find her mother. But once inside, the room was empty. “Mrs. Cooper?”
“Lady Pembroke...” The housekeeper hesitated, focused on Margaret’s jacket. Her grey brows drew together. “She has retired to her solar.”
“What?” Margaret frowned, immediately charting a new course through the house. “But that room has not been occupied for months. Was it not almost empty? What could Mother possibly have to do in there?”
As Margaret approached the solar, the answer soon became clear. The room was boiling hot, a fire roaring in the hearth as light streamed through the windows, illuminating her mother’s lounging form on the sofa as she pored over a magazine. The furniture that had been moved out of the solar for safekeeping had been restored to its usual place, along with her mother’s precious plants. What exactly had her mother been up to in Margaret’s absence?
“You’ve returned,” Katherine said as Margaret knocked on the door. She sat up and set down what looked to be the latest edition ofThe Lady’s Monthly Museum,though Margaret couldhave sworn they had canceled their subscription months ago. “And look how full of life you seem, my dear. Wiltshire has restored your spirits, just like I hoped.”
Either Katherine was being purposefully dissembling, or Margaret looked much better than she felt. Lady Jane hadn’t taken kindly to Margaret’s request to leave early, convinced that something untoward had happened at Somerstead Hall. She had threatened to ride to the manor herself to discover what the duke had done, but stopped only when Margaret begged her to leave the matter be. Margaret had walked nothing but a trail of pain and embarrassment between Salisbury and London, and now Lady Jane was cross with her, too.
But Lady Jane will forgive me with time,she thought.And hopefully the duke will be spared her wrath. I swore to him that Lady Jane would keep my stay at Somerstead Hall a secret. He is a strange and complicated man, but he did save me after all. Now I fear the worst for him.
Whether he deserved her fear was another matter entirely – hardly mattered at all, since she would likely never see him again. But that didn’t mean Margaret had stopped thinking about him. She could still feel his breath ghosting her lips, wishing despite knowing it was wrong that hehadkissed her that night. One moment of folly to hold onto, before she resigned herself to becoming Baron Faversham’s wife.
Now Margaret was feeling hot for an entirely different reason. She cleared her throat and redirected her attention to her mother.
“I certainly am delighted to see you, and of course, excited to reunite with Liz,” Margaret said, stepping tentatively into the room. “But I cannot say I feel nearly as energized as you proclaim me to be...” She waited a moment, but her mother didn’t try to fill the silence. “Is there anything you need to tell me?”
Her mother looked around, then shrugged. “I cannot think of anything, Little Meg.”
“No? Not a thing?” Margaret scoffed and pushed up her sleeves. “Mother, I could cook an egg on Mrs. Cooper’s forehead it is so hot in here. I thought we agreed to keep the fires to a minimum.”
“We had... a sudden influx of wood,” Katherine said, like that was in any way credible.
“Wood from where? I scarcely imagine you went out with an axe and procured some yourself.”
“Oh, why should it matter? Is it not so nice to feel comfortable in one’s own home?”
“You and I have a much different idea of comfort.”
Margaret paused, looking toward the crackling hearth, when something else caught her eye. There was a fresh vase of flowers on the coffee table and what Margaret thought was a new potted plant in the corner. It seemed her mother’s frivolity hadn’t ended with the fires.
