Chapter 2
Chapter two
Annette
To carry a basket of strawberry tarts and not eat a single pastry was an admirable triumph, though the temptation to steal one was ever present as I walked the road to Margaret’s cottage.
She lived a quarter mile from Kenwick Castle, my family’s country estate, and I visited her as frequently as the weather would allow.
Margaret and I had been friends for longer than I could remember, and upon returning from London after each Season, it was her company I sought most.
We would spend hours together, me relaying the latest gossip and fashion from Town and she filling me in on all the local news. This exchange must be made over a fresh batch of strawberry tarts, a custom we had come to adhere to with perfect proficiency.
It had been four months since my family left London, departing early due to Father’s declining health. Having gone to visit family in the north, Margaret had not been here upon my return, but late last evening, she had sent word of her arrival.
Likely, she would desire rest after such a long journey, but I could not bring myself to wait.
I needed to see her. We had so much to discuss, but more than anything, my worry for her well-being required relief.
Months were far too long to go without seeing her for myself, especially given the circumstances in which I had left her.
I followed the well-maintained path leading to the cottage, allowing the fingertips of my free hand to brush over the tops of the grass blades to either side.
Flowers dotted the area as well, the late blooms soon to disappear with the cooling weather.
Margaret’s home and gardens had a whimsical glow about them, like something out of a storybook.
A happy one where the heroine lived in peace with all manner of charming creatures.
If only Margaret’s life were a reflection of such rather than the complete opposite.
Adjusting the basket on my arm, I stopped in front of the door. I rapped lightly and awaited Margaret’s butler to open it. The cottage was far smaller than Kenwick, of course, but not so small that it operated without the help of several servants. Margaret lived quite comfortably.
Or she would, were it not for—
The door swung open to reveal a dark coat paired with a blue waistcoat, one too fine to belong to Margaret’s butler. There was also a neatly tied cravat and a pair of brooding, dirt brown eyes that seemed capable of noting every flaw I possessed.
“Mr. Wilcot,” I said, failing to hide the disdain in my voice.
He crossed his arms over his chest and scowled down at me. “Miss Apsley.”
Neither of us exchanged a proper greeting, and when I realized the man was content to simply sneer at me, I pressed on. “Is Margaret at home?”
She was, I knew, for Mr. Wilcot rarely let his wife go anywhere without him.
He studied me, his eyes cold and calculating.
I did not shrink under his scrutiny, something I promised I would never do.
For Margaret’s sake, I would stand strong against her husband.
I was all she had left in this world, and I would not allow him to bully me out of a relationship with my dearest friend.
“What do you want, Miss Apsley?” he practically growled. “We’ve only returned last night and could use some rest before being imposed upon.”
“Does Margaret agree that my visit is an imposition?” I ask innocently. “We always meet to discuss our time apart. I’ve been eagerly awaiting her return, and I should like to hear all about your visit north.”
The trip had been Margaret’s suggestion, and Mr. Wilcot had agreed for the mere fact that his brother had recently come into a large sum through a rather successful investment.
Naturally, Mr. Wilcot wished to join in his brother’s celebration, which—Margaret and I had hoped—would prove a distraction for the men and provide a respite for her as she spent time with her husband’s mother.
“Perhaps you would prefer if she joined me at Kenwick so we do not disrupt your peace with our chatter,” I suggested. “She is welcome to visit today or anytime tomorrow for as long as she would like.”
The man’s eyes widened ever so slightly. I knew he would reject the offer, which inevitably forced his hand. Mr. Wilcot had not allowed Margaret to call on me at Kenwick in over a year, and the only way to keep my father from intervening was to allow me to visit.
“No. Margaret will remain here.” He straightened his coat. “I am on my way out. Enjoy your visit, Miss Apsley.”
“I thank you, sir.”
Mr. Wilcot grunted as he slipped past me. I saw myself inside and found Margaret in the drawing room. She held an embroidery cushion but stared out the window, her gaze distant. She did not note my presence until I stood in front of her.
“Annette!” Margaret tossed her needlework aside and wrapped me in an embrace. “How good it is to see you!”
“It has been an age,” I said when we pulled apart. “We have so much to talk about. I simply could not wait another day. I hope you will forgive me for visiting so soon. You must be exhausted from your travels.”
“A little, but I am so glad you’ve come.” She pointed to the basket on my arm. “Are those what I’m hoping they are?”
“Of course! I’m offended you would think me capable of breaking our tradition. Besides, I am not one to turn down a fresh tart.”
“That is true. I have never seen you say no to them.” Margaret gestured toward the settee. “Please, sit down. I will call for tea.”
“You must tell me about your trip,” I said once tea was served. “Was it as successful as we hoped?”
“Indeed, it was,” Margaret replied as I withdrew a stack of tarts wrapped in a white cloth from the basket. I uncovered them, careful to keep their positions. My friend watched curiously as I removed the top tart and set it aside, isolating it from the rest.
“We cannot eat that one,” I explained. “You know I enjoy my tarts, but there is another at Kenwick Castle who enjoys them more than I, and quite frankly, he is due some comeuppance.”
Margaret shook her head. “Will you and Mr. Apsley never cease this game? Surely you must grow tired of pranking one another.”
I scoffed. “It is no game. My brother declared war on me the moment he put toads in my slippers. I was four. Four, Margaret! What sort of brother would do that to someone so innocent? He will not have the last battle. Victory shall be mine, even if we must continue until we die.”
“I suspect you would find a way to best him even in death,” Margaret mumbled. She was, perhaps, correct. I could be persuaded to haunt Rus should I die before him. But that was neither here nor there.
“Tell me more about your trip.”
Margaret sipped her tea, then helped herself to a tart. “I spent most of my time with Mr. Wilcot’s mother. She is a kind woman. It was nice to have a reprieve for a few months.”
“And when not with his mother?” I pressed.
Margaret’s brows furrowed, but she hesitated to respond. Her reluctance was answer enough, and I sat back against the cushion with a huff.
“I am fine, Annette. Truly, it was not so bad. Things were better.”
“Only because you were not forced to spend every waking moment with him. I imagine he did not wish for his dear mother to know of his faults. Of his disgusting behavior. Bruises would have raised suspicion, though I wonder if even Mrs. Wilcot would say anything to her charming boy.”
I spat the phrase as though it were rotten meat. Mrs. Wilcot had praised her son on several occasions before he and Margaret wed. Praise far from deserved.
“That is not fair to her,” Margaret said quietly, clasping her hands in her lap. “She does not know how he is now.”
“Are you certain? I find it difficult to believe he was not like this before your wedding. This change is not the consequence of your marriage. I refuse to let you believe that.”
Margaret winced but did not deny the accusation.
She believed herself responsible for the dramatic change in her husband.
He had seemed the perfect gentleman during their courtship—kind and charming, always ready with an easy compliment and words more poetic than Byron could create. He had seemed to love her.
All of it had been a lie, an act to deceive Margaret into accepting him.
My jaw clenched. “Something must be done.”
Margaret sighed. “You know as well as I that there is nothing to be done. And even if there were another course, I am not certain I would take it.”
Exasperation filled my tone. “You cannot mean to say you still love him? After everything he has done?”
Margaret pulled in her lips. Part of me wished to scream—to demand she see reason. But screaming would not help Margaret, and it would not do for the servants to overhear our conversation. Although, I doubted any of them were unaware of their master’s nature.
“Enough about me,” said Margaret. “I wish to hear all about your first Season. Did any gentleman catch your eye?”
Memories of a dark alley filled my thoughts, but I pushed them away.
“No, I cannot say they did. London is as dull as I predicted; the gentlemen worse than I anticipated. Honestly, my parents wasted far too many pounds on my coming out. A dinner here with our family and close friends would have sufficed.”
Margaret’s shoulders slumped. “All that time in Town and not a single moment of excitement to share with me? I confess myself disappointed.”
I leaned closer to her, lowering my voice. “Fear not, I did have a little excitement. You recall the agreement I made with my parents?”
“Yes, of course. You were determined to see it through, and it seems you have held up your end.” Margaret smirked. “Unless you wish to tell me you are engaged?”