Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
M argaret pulled the needle and thread through her torn reticule. Now that she’d stitched up the horrible cut in the fabric, she could start placing beads over the top. It was only her in the morning room, and though she sincerely enjoyed the company of the other ladies of the house, this moment to herself was as appreciated as it was timely. Beadwork always calmed her and helped her to focus or let go of anything frustrating or upsetting.
Today, she had two things she needed help letting go of.
The first was her anger at learning Lord Abernathy had taken his wife’s brooch and then staged things to look like a robbery. If he needed the funds so much, why not just sell the jewel and keep silent about it? No one would have been the wiser if he’d not drawn such attention.
Margaret’s lips pursed tightly as she stitched first one and then a second bead into place.
The way he’d blamed her yesterday at breakfast made her blood boil every time she thought about it.
The sooner she found it within her to forgive him and move on, the better. Though she was certain such was going to take more than a single Christmas holiday.
The second thing she was trying to let go of, however, was not something she was confident she wished to forget.
Even if she did want to forget, she doubted she ever would.
And that was the memory of Mr. Rockwell holding her close as they’d hidden last night.
His nearness had been overwhelming—his arms wrapped firmly around her waist, the heat of his body pressing against her in the narrow space. There had been a safety in his hold, a feeling of belonging that sent her heart racing not from fear, but something else entirely.
How could she ever forget the low, reassuring timbre of his voice in her ear? Or the way his breath had tickled the nape of her neck when he’d leaned in closer, their faces inches apart?
It was ridiculous, of course. Just before leaving England, Margaret had laughed at Lizzy’s wild prediction of a grand, sweeping romance during her time abroad. Margaret couldn’t believe it. Why would she have?
Disappointment had visited her too often. Every time she’d thought she could open her heart, she had been let down. Her most recent disillusionment had involved a man by the name of Mr. Gibbs. What a disaster that had almost been. If not for Lizzy…well, Margaret shuddered to think what kind of a life she would be living now.
Then, after so many, many hopes ending in frustration, could she possibly open her heart once more?
Mr. Rockwell was proving to be everything she hadn’t expected—steadfast, caring, and surprisingly kind beneath his gruff exterior.
Margaret blinked a few times, realizing she’d grown completely still, the fabric and needle motionless in her hands. She slowly lowered them to her lap and rested back in her seat.
The truth was, she could open herself up to Mr. Rockwell. She’d always been cursed with a surprisingly resilient heart. But if she did, she wasn’t at all sure she could manage being disappointed by him.
Mr. Rockwell very well might be the one who could break her indomitable heart for good.
The door opened and Lady Emily strode in, a determined clip to her footstep. “Lady Margaret,” she said, “please tell me that you are as tired of being cooped up in this house as I am.”
“It has been a trying few days.” Though there had been moments which had been thrilling.
“Have you heard?” Lady Emily asked, depositing herself in the chair directly across from Margaret. “My father is insisting Mr. Stein have the entire house searched. Again.”
Margaret’s hand froze mid-stitch. “For the brooch?”
“Yes. He says he is determined to find it today or…I don’t know. Someone will be made to pay.”
That was certainly beyond the pale. If a man wished to secretly sell his wife’s brooch, then he should at least have the decency to leave off searching for the jewelry after a day or two. It was quite insensitive for him to drag this ordeal out.
Margaret pierced her needle through the fabric in her hand and tugged the next bead forcibly into place.
“I know,” Lady Emily said, suddenly brightening. “We should go ice skating today. There’s a small pond on the grounds, and it would be the perfect excuse to get us out of the house and away from all this unpleasant business.”
“I have not ice skated in years,” Margaret said.
Lady Emily clasped her hands together. “Oh, please say you will come.”
Margaret had a quick vision of herself skating alongside Mr. Rockwell. The thrill that accompanied it was anything but small.
“Perhaps,” Margaret said slowly. “For a little bit.”
But then the vision in her mind shifted, and all she could see was herself tripping and ending up splayed out, unladylike, across the surface of the ice.
Maybe this was a terrible idea.
Lady Emily jumped to her feet. “I shall tell Miss Yates and my brother and his friends immediately. What a festive party we shall make.”
The young woman hurried toward the door. Reaching it, she paused and turned back toward Margaret. “Should I invite Mr. Rockwell, do you think? He does not strike me as the sort of man who would enjoy ice skating, but one never knows, I suppose.”
Margaret nearly said that, yes, she certainly ought to invite Mr. Rockwell. But then she caught herself. She’d spent most of their travels trying to evade the tall, imposing man. Perhaps her first inclination had been wiser than she’d originally given it credit. If the more time she spent with him the more she found herself attached, then some time apart would no doubt be best.
“I think you are right,” Margaret forced herself to say. “I do not believe it is the sort of outing Mr. Rockwell would care to join.”
Lady Emily quickly agreed and hurried out of the room.
Then again, Margaret hadn’t once successfully evaded Mr. Rockwell’s protective presence so far. It wasn’t as though they could all slip from the house without him learning of their plans. Moreover, much had happened since she’d tried to leave the shop in Lichterwald without his notice. Much had changed between them.
She supposed she would just have to wait and see what he did. Would he leave her to join the others on the ice, or would he still insist on watching over her as her brother had insisted he do?
Eager to forget the image of herself tripping on the ice, she instead let her thoughts wander to the woman who’d just left her. Lady Emily had said “My brother and his friends,” quite as though Mr. Oliver Thrup meant very little to her.
So, either she was unaware of his affections toward her, or she was exceptional at hiding the truth.
But how did one go about learning what it was?
Margaret supposed she could just ask the young lady outright. However, though they had become friends during their travels, she didn’t feel they were exceptionally close.
Hopefully, if Lady Emily didn’t already, she would one day return his affections. Margaret could not like the idea of Mr. Oliver Thrup’s feelings being unrequited. She’d faced that heartache several times herself and knew just how sad and lonely it could make one feel.
She stood and placed her reticule back into her sewing box, along with her needle, thread, and beads. She would like to know better if Lady Emily returned Mr. Oliver Thrup’s feelings, if only to distract herself from her own uncertainties regarding Mr. Rockwell.
Because the more she grew attached to him, the more she was convinced if she allowed herself to truly fall for him, it would be a love from which she would never recover.
A light, brisk wind skipped over the frozen pond. Margaret took in a deep breath. Coming had been the right thing to do. Her head was feeling clearer already.
“The sun is so bright,” Miss Yates said from beside her. “I hardly feel the cold at all.”
Margaret smiled. “It is ever so nice to be out of doors after having been inside for so long.”
They sat down atop a fallen log lying near the ice and tied blades onto their boots.
Lady Emily, Lord Ingram, and the Misters Miles and Oliver Thrup had decided to join them. As far as Margaret knew, Mr. Rockwell had no plans to join them. Lord Abernathy had not been thrilled when he’d first learned of the excursion, and there was enough of a to-do made over the idea that Margaret was certain Mr. Rockwell knew of her being here. But she hadn’t seen him at all that day and so could only suppose he’d decided not to join them.
The realization had made her far sadder than she’d anticipated.
It was a clear indication she was growing too attached. It was time she took serious steps to separate herself from him.
Ice skating without Mr. Rockwell was a good first step.
With blades strapped to their boots, the three women held on tight to one another as they took the couple of steps from the log to the pond.
Margaret stepped out onto the ice, and letting go of Miss Yates, she pushed off. The wind rushed by, pricking at her cheeks and nose. A small laugh escaped her. Why had she not done this in so long? She set her feet at an angle and spun back around to face Lady Emily and Miss Yates.
The two ladies were still holding tight to one another as they slowly inched their way across the ice.
Lady Emily wobbled, nearly tipped backward, and let out a shriek. Just as she appeared to be going down, she grabbed tighter to Miss Yates and righted herself.
“I’m afraid I have not had much experience with this,” Lady Emily called with a giggle.
Margaret skated back toward them.
But Mr. Oliver Thrup got to Lady Emily before she did and extended his arm. “May I be of assistance?”
Margaret silently applauded Mr. Oliver Thrup.
Lady Emily wrapped her arm around his. “I confess I thought this would be rather easier than it’s proving to be.”
“Is this your first time, then?” he asked.
“Yes. Isn’t it terrible? I feel I ought to be as brilliant a skater as Lady Margaret clearly is, yet I have never done this even once.”
“May I explain how best to do it, then?” he asked.
“I would dearly appreciate it.”
Margaret quietly motioned for Miss Yates to hold back slightly so that Lady Emily and Mr. Oliver Thrup might have a little time together.
After a few lines of instruction, Lady Emily was skating far more smoothly. Gliding across ice was nothing like walking across land. Since Mr. Oliver Thrup had pointed out how to angle her feet so she might push off more effectively, she was skating quite well for this being her first time.
Without saying anything, Margaret and Miss Yates chose to skate farther toward the opposite end of the pond, to give them space.
“I’m glad Lady Emily thought to have us go skating today,” Miss Yates said after a while.
“As am I.”
“Are you?”
Margaret slowed at the unexpected question. “Please explain your meaning.”
“It is only that…” Miss Yates dropped her gaze. “You have seemed rather distracted today. I cannot tell if you are upset or lost in thought.”
She supposed it was a little of both. Upset with Lord Abernathy and lost in thoughts of Mr. Rockwell.
Oh, so very lost in her thoughts of Mr. Rockwell.
Margaret obviously could not tell Miss Yates all she and Mr. Rockwell had done together since the disappearance of the brooch, but neither could she pretend all was well. Miss Yates knew her too well by now.
“I suppose,” Margaret said, “I am still a bit out of sorts after my argument with Lord Abernathy.” Miss Yates had witnessed the disagreement, so it wasn’t as though she was divulging anything new in that regard.
Miss Yates’s brow creased deeply. “He was most unpleasant, was he not? I would not have thought him capable of being so insensitive.”
Insensitive and deceitful. Lady Abernathy still had not left her room since the brooch had been discovered to be missing. Was she hiding in her room because she knew her husband’s scheme and was ashamed? Or was she in the dark like everyone else and upstairs fretting over the loss of a beloved piece of jewelry?
Either way, Lord Abernathy was a cad for putting his wife through this.
“Is that all that is bothering you, my lady?” Miss Yates asked
Had the woman picked up on the shift in feelings Margaret had for Mr. Rockwell? She thought she’d kept her uncertainty to herself, but one never knew.
“It is only,” Miss Yates hurried to add when Margaret didn’t respond, “I saw that you received a letter from your niece yesterday. It was not bad news, was it?”
Ah, that. Normally after receiving a letter from Lizzy, Margaret could think on very little else. Only ten years separated Margaret and Lizzy, and they’d grown up rather like sisters. Lizzy was very dear to Margaret indeed.
“No,” Margaret said, “she and her new husband are quite well, thankfully.” What she didn’t tell Miss Yates was that Lizzy had asked, yet again, if this trip had turned into the “grand, sweeping romance” she’d predicted it would.
Before now, whenever Lizzy had brought up her belief that Margaret was bound to find love on this trip, Margaret had dismissed the notion out of hand. She’d been on the shelf for far too long.
But, after last night and the way her heart had skittered and fluttered at Mr. Rockwell’s touch…
She could not tolerate lying to Lizzy, but neither could she dismiss the idea any longer either.
Just imagine if Lizzy ever learned that Mr. Rockwell’s first name was Benjamin when she had predicted Margaret would someday marry a man by that very name, just over a year ago. It was strange to think back on that night. She and Lizzy had sat beneath the stars, wishing for love but both feeling as though it may never happen.
But soon thereafter Lizzy had found a gentleman who was perfect for her.
And now, did Margaret dare hope that she may have as well?
Regardless, Mr. Rockwell’s first name was something she planned to never divulge to Lizzy.
“I think,” Margaret said instead, “I shall write her back this afternoon. If I know Lizzy at all, she will find particular delight in learning we are staying in a lovely house just outside of a town whose name means ‘Forest of Light.’”
“The name is beautiful, isn’t it?” Miss Yates agreed.
“Yes,” Margaret said, drawing in a deep, brisk breath. “I truly am glad we came out today,” Margaret said, feeling lighter than she had in days. It was a miracle what a little sunlight and some fresh air could do. “I think skating is exactly what I needed.”
“Of a certain. I—”
A deep crack interrupted Miss Yates’ response.
Margaret’s gaze darted toward the ice. White veins spiderwebbed out from beneath her. Terror wrapped a hard hand around her chest at the sight. The initial sound of ice cracking was followed by several echoing cracks.
Her eyes came up and met Miss Yates’s. The woman’s face was white as the snow on the bank several strides behind them. Margaret could not stand the thought of Miss Yates being hurt on her account. Miss Yates would not have been here if not for her. Not on this pond, not at Mondstein Herrenhaus, not even in Bavaria.
Margaret placed her hands against Miss Yates and shoved her as hard as she could. The woman’s arms went wild as she screamed, but Margaret’s push sent her far enough away.
She breathed out a small sigh of relief knowing her friend would be safe.
And then the ice gave out beneath her and Margaret plunged into the freezing water below.