But not between the woman and another man.
“How lucky I am for your concern," she said.
“If you were truly lucky, your name would not have featured in the papers at all.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“That is my question as well as yours.” He cocked his head when she looked his way. “Did you write to them? Was it you?”
Margaret gawked at him, shaking her head slowly back and forth. The air grew thick with tension as he waited for her answer. Things had not been so dissimilar the night he had almost kissed her. How could he stand to be so near to her, casually occupying her father’s favorite armchair, if he thought so little of her?
“I did not write to anyone.” Margaret crossed her arms, abandoning her chore. “And before you ask, I do not know who did. I told no one of my stay with you. The informant must have come from your own estate.”
The duke looked unimpressed. “You are forgetting Lady Jane, Mr. Plim?—”
Margaret could not believe what she was hearing. She stormed over to him, standing directly before him, so close he could have grabbed her and pulled her into his lap. She didn’t care about propriety – only about putting him in his place.
“They would never have betrayed me”, she said, staring down at him. “Do you trust everyone in your own life with that much assurance?”
Her hands trembled at her side. The duke looked like he had a thousand things to say, and not one of them would have been worth the breath. His eyes roved her form as she waited for an answer.
“No,” he said, rising suddenly. “I trust no one.”
It should not have stung, and yet Margaret felt it like a slap. Her chest heaved with her breaths, standing only inches from him. Her body tingled as he lingered there, watching her, waiting for her to... What?
To move.
She stepped aside, turning toward the fire so she didn’t have to look at him. He said nothing before he left, exiting through the door. Margaret stood in the quiet he had left behind, the uncomfortable warmth of his presence already fading, along with all assurances for her future.
Her mother had asked her to select the man most likely to rescue her.
But Margaret was no closer to believing that either of them would.
Alexander was grateful to find the entrance hall clear of Baron Faversham as he prepared to leave. Margaret had set him on fire with her questions and demands, sabotaging herself with the baron and expecting Alexander to pick up the pieces.
He hadn’t said the obvious: that if she couldn’t ensnare the baron, then Alexander would have to marry her instead. He hoped she did not see that as an alternative worth considering.They could not stand to be in the same room together without engaging in a fight – or worse.
Lady Pembroke emerged through the front door, and he started. She was so unlike Margaret it was difficult to believe they were mother and daughter. Appearances aside, Viscountess Pembroke struck him as a calculating and conventional woman. It also struck him that she was likely the one who had matched Margaret with Baron Faversham, ignoring his many faults so long as their union saved her family.
“You are leaving, Your Grace?” she asked, standing in the doorway. A carriage was heard driving off outside. “But of course, you are. I will keep you no longer. I only hope that Margaret was accommodating while I saw Baron Faversham out.”
“Exceedingly so,” Alexander lied, stepping around the viscountess to leave.
“I know that she can be difficult.” Katherine’s emphatic tone made him pause, and he turned from the open doorway to look at her. She stepped toward him with her hands steepled in a prayer. “It has not been easy for her since her father left. She was not always this way, I assure you. And I would be remiss, as her mother, if I did not make it known to you.”
Alexander glanced over his shoulder, choosing to allot the viscountess a few more moments of his time. “No,” he replied. “She is quite changed from my scant memories of her.”
“I do not know what transpired in the country.” Katherine lowered her voice, glancing up the stairs behind them. “And honestly, I do not want to know. But Margaret’s father is gone, and I alone must lead my two daughters through this life with what little wisdom I have. So, I will do what he would have done, and ask whether you would not consider...” She wore the same expression as Margaret when discussing something that made her uncomfortable. “Are you not looking to take a wife yourself, Your Grace?”
He didn’t owe Katherine an answer, but he was inclined to provide her with one, ending the business of the day once and for all. Just as he started to speak, a shape moved at the top of the stairs. A little girl had crept onto the top step, halfway hidden behind the guard railing on the landing. She was a miniature version of the countess, with pale pink skin and blonde hair. But she had a curious spark in her eyes that reminded him of Margaret, discernible even in the shadows where she hid.
Alexander did not remember the girl’s name. Maybe Margaret had never provided it. But the sight of her made him reconsider his answer to her mother.
“It is not out of callousness that I have avoided the topic,” Alexander said, carefully constructing his reply. “Your daughter deserves a chance to forge her own path. I will not force her into a marriage with me, as it would likely be miserable for us both. We are no match for each other.”
Like a flame to a flame, we only burn.
“I understand,” Katherine replied. “And I thank you for your honesty, Your Grace. I agree that Margaret should be given the chance to decide her own future. But I fear she no longer knows what future it is she desires.”
