But she did hear, “Wait. What’s that?” and slowly looked up.
Helena had frozen, pointing at a space between the trees. She looked nervously at Margaret and shushed her.
In the silence, Margaret heard it now. The faint sound of voices. She blinked away her tears and stared through the trees. In the faraway distance, where the river curved around the valley, two figures were standing on the bank. A woman, turned partially away from them, was stepping toward a man. He was of average height with dark hair. It was impossible to make out their features clearly, though Margaret recognized the green coat the woman wore.
“That’s Isadore,” she whispered.
Helena squinted. “Miss Bell? Who is she speaking to?”
“It must be Mr. Hawthorne,” Margaret said, wiping away her tears. “He went out walking this morning.”
They watched in silence, not breathing, as the two figures approached each other until they formed a single dark shape on the riverbank.
“He kissed her,” Helena said.
Margaret felt her stomach twist. “But he is in love with another woman.”
And more importantly,she thought, she is Alexander’s sister.
CHAPTER 19
It had long turned to evening, and Alexander’s study glowed with firelight. Half-consumed logs crackled in the hearth. Outside, the wind howled over the grounds. He sighed at the repeated distractions, trying in vain to concentrate on his correspondence to London. Another howl, and he ripped off his signet ring, placing it beside his pocket watch on the desk.
Stretching his fingers, he reached for his quill again just as someone appeared at the door.
“Whatever it is, whomever it concerns,” he said, “it can wait.”
“What if it concerns a kiss?” came Margaret’s voice.
Alexander lifted his eyes from the parchment. He was immediately caught off guard by her appearance. Margaret stepped inside and pushed the door shut behind her. The hemof her cloak was dusted with dirt and grit, her hair slightly loose from its combs. Her cheeks were pink from the cold outside.
“Have you been walking at a time like this?”
“I took a stroll after dinner, yes. The weather was not terrible when I first set out, and the moon was almost full. I hurried back once the rain started.” She unclasped her cloak and let it hang around her shoulders. “Am I interrupting anything important?”
“You are... But I will excuse the interruption if you explain yourself immediately.”
He couldn’t deny the way his heart had skipped a beat at her question. He hadn’t forgotten their wedding day. There had been no time to revisit her request since. He watched her sway into the room, sweep the cloak off her shoulders completely, and throw it over an armchair. It seemed unlike Margaret to be so forward, even if a dark part of him wanted to oblige her every improper whim.
His quill returned to its holder, and Alexander leaned back in his chair.
“You will not like what I have come to say,” she suggested.
“I doubt that very much.”
She paused, smiling for the first time in what felt like days. That morning, she had seemed genuinely hurt by his outingwith Isadore, and he was glad she had unburdened herself. He had already sent a letter to her mother inviting the viscountess and Miss Eliza to stay. It would not improve relations with Carlisle, but it might make Isadore uncomfortable; however, for Margaret, he would do whatever it took to set her mind at ease.
The fire cast golden shadows across her face. When she turned, the light shifted, and her expression changed. “I saw Miss Bell this morning,” she said, “with Mr. Hawthorne.”
He shifted his weight on the chair, confused. “Should that surprise me?”
“I do not know. They were at the edge of the river, alone.” A pause, and he tensed. “I saw him kiss her, or she kissed him. I’m not entirely certain. But it did not look as though either of them regretted it.”
“You’re certain it was them?”
“I wouldn’t come to you with rumors.”
"No, you would not.”
