Chapter 18 #2
Margaret placed a hand on her stomach, and a warm smile lifted her lips. “Even a marriage such as mine would be worth it, I think. I have always longed to be a mother.”
The desire for children was not something I could claim until recently.
Perhaps it was a combination of Father’s poor health and realizing my brothers and sister would likely one day wed.
They would have families. Even the recent marriages of my cousins, Amelia and Grace, played a role in my reconsideration.
They were nauseatingly happy with their spouses and proof that not every marriage was fraught with lies.
But my fears persisted. How could they not when, each time I visited Margaret, I was reminded that not every marriage turned out so well.
Not always did love prevail, and sometimes people said and did things simply for their own gain.
There were never guarantees that any match would result in happiness.
And I had proven incapable of discerning which matches would be filled with happiness and which would not.
I shook away my thoughts. “How are you feeling, by the by? I should have asked that the moment I arrived.”
Margaret swatted the question away. “Oh, I am perfectly well. The sickness has been tolerable and not something I even desire to discuss. You still have not told me why Lieutenant Paget specifically has made you consider marriage.”
I laughed. “You are relentless! Perhaps I do not wish to tell you.”
It was good to see Margaret smiling so much. “That is a lie, Annette Apsley. You are desperate to confide in someone. I could sense it the moment you walked through the door. Now, as your best friend and confidante, I demand an answer.”
“What can I say? The man may tease me, but I know him to be an honorable gentleman. We share the same ideals, and he gets on well enough with my family. He has no great amount of wealth, but his income is sufficient to sustain us. Father approves of him.” I shrugged.
“But I suppose what is most important is that I do not think he would ever…”
My eyes darted to Margaret, and my words trailed off. Despite my unfinished sentence, Margaret smiled wryly in understanding. “You do not think he would be demanding.”
Demanding was not precisely the word I would use, but I had realized long ago that Margaret did not often admit, even to herself, how controlling and horrendous her husband could be.
I suspected much of it was a form of self-preservation—denial, as if lingering on the truth of her circumstances might drain the little happiness she managed to find.
“Yes,” I agreed, unwilling to burden her with more. “He values freedom. A man who does so surely would not inhibit my own.”
Margaret nodded. “He sounds like a wise choice for you if ever there was one.”
“Perhaps. Although, he did not seem particularly fond of me riding bareback or finding me with my hair in disarray. I may be too wild for his tastes.”
“What makes you think he is not fond of it?”
“He has found me in such a state more than once and stared at me with such…I cannot even describe it. He cannot like the idea of a wife who would behave so improperly, especially if he means to involve himself deeply in politics. I would be a stain against him.”
Margaret’s lips twitched. “I would not discount his staring just yet. At any rate, you can act the part of a lady when it is required of you. I am certain he never saw you uncouth while in Town.”
“I suppose that is true.” I met Margaret’s gaze. “This is all nothing more than talk, you understand? It is not as though the man has proposed to me. Or has any inclination to.”
Except that statement niggled at me. The truth was I did not know what Edward thought.
At times, I wondered if he had ever considered our relationship could be more than friendship.
The intense way he looked at me, the intentional touches and flirtatious comments—did he know of Father’s reason for inviting him here?
Was that why he had come, or was the decision simply to place him closer to Adda and Hollinsby?
I nibbled on my lip. The latter made far more sense, of course, and I hated the way that disappointed me. Should I not be upset with the idea that he came at Father’s request and with the intention of proposing despite knowing it went against my desires?
“You will keep me informed on your progress, will you not?” Margaret reached for my hands, her eyes pleading. “To learn you are engaged would bring me such joy.”
I forced a smile. “Of course. I shall visit you in a few days, but do not set your hopes so high as an engagement. The lieutenant and I are barely friends, and even that is often on unstable ground.”
The way Margaret grinned, I feared she would not heed me, and I left the cottage no closer to peace of mind or a reinstated resolve against marriage than I had when I arrived.
It should have agitated me to have been so thoroughly thwarted in my plans, and yet the more I considered new possibilities for my future, the less my frustrations rose to the surface.
Unlatching the gate, I left the cottage behind me and took the path toward Kenwick, my thoughts a whirl of considerations I’d once avoided.
I could marry. I could have children. Indeed, the former no longer seemed such a burden if it gave me the latter, especially if I was not required to sacrifice all of my independence to do so.
Even the idea of being with Edward did not produce the discomfort I once expected.
In fact, any unease had been replaced with an excitement and an anticipation so filling it made my heart race at the mere thought.
It was not love, I reminded myself. I did not love Edward Paget, but I did admire him, both his handsome features and his passionate determination to pursue change. There was a difference, was there not?
I believed so, and I would cling to that belief. For as much as I had begun to trust the lieutenant, I still preferred to guard my heart to some degree. I wouldn’t become entirely insensible. At least, not until I had ascertained whether Edward might ever be romantically inclined toward me.
And if he was? Well…
Warmth spread through my chest. I attempted to tamp it down, along with the smile pulling at my lips.
“Well, now, someone is in a happy mood.”
My feet halted as I looked up and found Mr. Wilcot standing in the path ahead.
His hair and clothes were disheveled, and his cravat hung loosely over his shoulders, untied.
The top three buttons of his waistcoat were open, revealing his neck.
It was not the first time I had seen him in such a state, as he often returned home this way after a bout of drinking at one of the nearby inns.
“Been to visit Margaret, I presume?” Even as he said his wife’s name, his eyes raked over me, a devilish glint in them that twisted my stomach.
I lifted my chin. “I have, and now I am on my way back to Kenwick. So, if you will excuse me.”
He remained in place as I approached, requiring me to shift to the side of the path to pass by him. I sensed his eyes on me, and I fought a shiver of uneasiness when I skirted around him. I exhaled a breath, but my relief was too soon. His hand wrapped around my wrist, pulling me to a stop.
“Release me,” I said in a firm tone that hid my swelling anxiety.
A crooked smile filled his lips as his eyes wandered over me again. “You’re always visiting Margaret. Or do you come to my home for another reason?”
His breath carried the smell of alcohol, and the scent churned my stomach.
I tugged my hand, testing his hold, and his grip tightened.
I had been around this man before while he was drunk, but it had never been without Margaret’s presence.
We were alone on the path, and for the first time in my life, I regretted not bringing along my maid.
“What other reason would I have, sir?” I asked through gritted teeth.
He took a step closer. Instinctively, I matched him with a backward step of my own.
He chuckled when I scowled at him and yanked on my arm.
I stumbled forward—stumbled into him, my free hand landing on his chest. My pulse pounded in my ears, and I shoved hard against his waistcoat, but his arm wrapped around my back, pinning me against him.
“Release me,” I demanded, though the words were more timid than before.
“And if I don’t?” His tone held a challenge, and while the man was clearly inebriated, that did not mean I could hold my own against him. Mr. Wilcot was not small in stature, nor had his carefree life at the tables and excessive drinking diminished his muscular frame.
“My father will—”
“Will what? Word has it, your old man is ill. Certainly too sickly to call me out. Besides, doing so would only declare you ruined.” He leaned forward, and I held my breath to avoid the pungent smell of spirits. “If you refuse to stay away, then can I be blamed for being seduced?”
His nose nuzzled the skin at my neck. I shoved hard against his chest once more, but the effort did nothing with his tight hold.
Bile rose in my throat. I refused to become his victim, as Margaret had.
Reaching up, I dug my nails into his bare neck.
Mr. Wilcot pulled away from me with a yelp.
I fisted my hand, and with as much force as I could muster in my current position, swung my arm and punched him solidly in the jaw.
Pain erupted in my hand, and I cried out.
The impact was enough to loosen his hold, though it had not done more than cause him to stumble backward a pace.
I spun away and shot forward, lifting my skirts to prohibit them from hindering my escape.
Arms wrapped around my middle, lifting me from the ground, and when I screamed, a hand covered my mouth and nose.
I struggled against him, but I was no match for his strength.
I was destined to become a victim.