Alexander rose to his feet, thinking. He had noticed Bastian and Isadore growing closer, but he had assumed their friendship was entirely innocent. Bastian was his closest friend, and he was aware of the sensitive situation with Isadore. A romance, on top of everything else, seemed ill-considered on both their parts.
He braced a hand against the desk and sighed.
“Perhaps I should not have told you.”
“Is this why you went walking?”
“Partly. I was trying to decide whether I should say anything. Was I mistaken?”
“No. It's better you did.” He paused, eyeing his signet ring. “I do not know what to make of this. Bastian swore to us that he is true to Miss Dawson-Duff.”
“Love is a strange thing,” Margaret said, folding her arms tightly across her waist. “Perhaps Miss Bell is an incomparable in his eyes. They seem to have grown remarkably close, remarkably quickly. And there is a chance he thought this would make you happy—a match between him and your sister.”
“When so much is yet uncertain?” Alexander asked grimly. “It was a foolish thing to do, and I expected Bastian to know better. And Isadore... I suppose it only proves how little I know her.”
Margaret’s gaze followed him as he circled the desk. “She has not been raised the daughter of a duke. Perhaps she feels that the rules of propriety which govern our acquaintances do not yet concern her. But Mr. Hawthorne does not strike me as the sort of gentleman to abuse a woman’s vulnerability, or naivety...”
“No, never.”
“Then it must be love.”
Alexander answered with silence, then, “I must speak to him.”
He walked toward the door. Margaret moved quickly, stopping him before he could open it. She placed her hand on his chest, pushing him back gently, sliding between him and the door to lock the door handle in place. If she had been anyone else, he would have been outraged. But this was Margaret, and he knew her intentions were only pure.
“You should not go now,” she said, shaking her head. “Questioning him out of anger will only make things worse. If theirs is a fledgling romance, we do not want to intervene without considering the consequences. And if it isn’t, if I have misinterpreted what I saw, then I do not want to make things awkward between them by speaking out of turn.”
“But something must be said, Margaret. If she is ruined, or he is heartbroken?—”
“Then allow me to investigate in your stead,” she said after a heaved breath. “They will see me as the neutral party, but the same cannot be said for you.”
“You would speak to Isadore on my behalf?”
“I would. I think that would be much more prudent.”
They lapsed into silence as her hand lingered on his chest. He was standing so close that he could see a droplet of rain on her lashes and feel her body pressing against his. He could have kissed her then, wanted to more than anything, but it wouldn’t have been right, not until she asked him again.
She dropped her hand, saying nothing, and he stepped back, creating space between them. He nodded, agreeing for her to act as she saw fit.
“Then I trust you to intervene at your discretion.”
“Thank you.”
“You really should have your maids take your cloak,” he said after a moment, rubbing his face.
She pointed toward the garment on the armchair. “It’s drying there, isn’t it? It wasn’t very wet to begin with.”
Alexander tried not to laugh, but it escaped him anyway. “I am merely concerned for your health,” he said.
“Mostly trying to change the subject.”
Margaret conceded her defeat, taking her cloak from where she had left it and carrying it with her to the door. She lingered a moment, and he debated asking her to stay. But it was late, and he really did have letters to write.
“No more midnight promenades,” he ordered, watching her smile as she left.
He returned to his desk and reclaimed his quill. He stared down at the half-composed letter he had been writing, unable to focus for an entirely different reason now. He thought of Margaret, and his heart clenched.
Suddenly, a sound caught his attention. Alexander glanced over his desk, across the room. Someone had slipped something beneath his door.
