"We were only talking," Isadore said after a moment.
"Hm... It is not my wish to argue, Miss Bell, and I do not mean to make you uncomfortable with my questions. But it did not look like merely talking to me," Margaret replied, sharper than she meant. "You were standing close, and I thought I saw... a kiss.”
"And what if it had been a kiss?" Isadore suddenly snapped, straightening on the horse. She refused to meet Margaret’s eye. "He is a kind gentleman, and he listens to me. Why is any of this your business besides?”
“Because these things are important,” Margaret protested softly, trotting closer. “This sort of liaison affects more than just the two of you. His Grace, for instance, should be made fully aware if you have intentions of marriage?—”
“Marriage?” Isadore laughed—a dry, condemning laugh that knocked Margaret off-balance. “What in the world are you thinking? It was a kiss, Your Grace. There is no use discussing it further, and certainly not with Mr. Hawthorne. Neither of us needs your permission to meet with anyone in a garden. And all this for a kiss, no less. I can hardly believe what I’m hearing.”
Margaret blinked, alarmed by Isadore’s tone. “This is not an attempt to change your feelings. You are free to do and feel as you please. But this is the way of things in our world. You must be honest in your actions and affections if you intend to remain here.”
“Was that a threat?” Isadore stilled. “If I do not behave, you will have Alexander send me away?” Using Alexander’s name felt like an attack. “Do you really think you have that much influence over him? You have only just married into this family; you have no more rights than I do when it comes to staying here. How could even say such a thing?”
Margaret recoiled. She groaned as Thalia began shifting under her, restless. “I think you are quite mistaken, Miss Bell.”
“I don’t think so at all.”
“And the factors of my marriage are not yours to know.”
“And yet my relationship with Bastian should be made common knowledge? Why are you owed privacy but not me? You speak of Alexander as if you own him, as if you know his mind. But that’s not true, is it? I’ve seen the truth for myself. You barely spend any time together. Maybe that’s all this is... You are jealous, afraid Bastian might see something in me that your husband does not see in you!”
The accusation struck Margaret like a slap. "That is a low thing to say."
"Obviously, you think I am low already," Isadore shot back. “All this, everything you had said today, luring me here to question me... You look at me like I'm beneath you. But I never asked to be brought here. I never asked to be scrutinized like this. I won’t apologize for my actions. If Alexander is concerned aboutMr. Hawthorne and me, then he can ask me himself instead of sending you."
Before Margaret could stop her, Isadore jerked Selene’s reins and galloped away. Margaret sat still for a moment, shocked at the outcome of their ride. She watched Isadore’s form retreat, guilt rising within her. Isadore’s words had been cruel, but perhaps Margaret was to blame. For fact of being a duchess, even formerly disgraced, Margaret had all the power. Isadore was right to be frightened. Margaret could destroy her—but she wouldn’t.
“Miss Bell, wait!” Margaret cried, snapping Thalia’s reins.
Thalia refused to move. Margaret spurred her on harder, cursing under her breath. Beneath her, Thalia tossed her head, agitated. Another kick, and Thalia finally shot into a ride, racing after Selene through the woods.
The mare surged forward, hooves thundering against the ground as bare branches clawed at Margaret’s exposed face. The air stung her cheeks, but she barely felt it, her focus locked on the flash of Isadore’s borrowed riding habit vanishing between the trees.
“Isadore!” she called again, but the wind obscured her cry.
The path narrowed suddenly, and Margaret gasped. Mud splashed up her side as Thalia galloped forward, not stopping despite Margaret’s protests. She leaned lower in the saddle, dodging a low-hanging branch by inches. The trees blurredaround her, a tangle of shadows. She had no idea how far they’d gone or where they were headed, only that Isadore had disappeared from sight, and the path before her was unfamiliar.
Then, without warning, Thalia jerked sideways. Margaret didn’t see what spooked her—but she felt the jolt in her spine, the twist of the saddle under her. The world tipped violently as Thalia reared up...
The reins were pulled from Margaret’s hands as she slipped, plummeting from the saddle and hitting the ground hard.
The air rushed from her lungs all at once. Something sharp pulsed in her ribs as she struggled for breath. The trees swayed overhead, still hissing, the sound of hooves retreating until there was only silence.
Margaret tried to sit up. Pain lanced through her side. The forest tilted again.
“Please,” she breathed, as her eyes closed of their own volition.
CHAPTER 20
The wheels of the carriage crunched over the drive. Alexander leaned back in his seat, readjusting his gloves, squinting through the window at the overcast sky while Bastian finished recounting the details of their last stop in Salisbury.
“But naturally,” Bastian was saying, “Whethery insisted the motion will fail in the Lords. Who knows whether he has the right of it—always speaking, that one, but never quite speaking well. It’s a wonder they let us go after we ran into them in the square. Nothing worse than a country politician, that’s what Father says, and when there are four of them together...” He audibly shivered. “Good to be home.”
Alexander’s mind had wandered, thinking of Margaret—the knowledge she had shared with him last night, and that damnable letter. He reached into his vest pocket, checking it was still there, when Bastian’s tirade came to an abrupt end.
“Something wrong?” Bastian asked.
Alexander extracted his hand quickly and made a point of adjusting his jacket. “Nothing you need concern yourself with,” he replied.
