16. Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen
Roger stared into the mirror for a long while. He shook his head and flattened his lips.
You’re a fool. You’re no hero. They owe you nothing.
He adjusted his tie. You’re a failure. Do you really think she likes you?
All she feels for you is pity. Roger aggressively ripped the tie from his neck.
He was fooling himself. He had failed his brother, and he was destined to fail the Nicholsons.
It was only a matter of time until he snapped.
If Miss Nicholson was smart, she’d ignore him and see their relationship as strictly business.
They shared no friendship. Miss Nicholson pitied him, and so did Mr. Nicholson.
The only reason Roger got the job was because he was a veteran who had a bachelor’s degree.
He was capable of the job but not to be inside their opulent home.
However, neither Mr. Nicholson nor his daughter had a pettiness about them; they seemed human.
Roger had read in the newspapers about Mr. Nicholson being disowned and living a middle-class life, but that wasn’t what mattered. What mattered was that Roger’s only duty was to work for them, not to befriend their daughter or sit at their dining table.
Roger removed his coat, but his movements were interrupted by a sharp whistle. He turned to see Graydon standing in the doorway, a smirk on his face.
“Don’t you look nice.”
“I’m not going.”
“Why not?”
Roger huffed, folding his coat. “Think hard.”
“Mr. Nicholson invited you into his home, Rodge. It’s not every day someone gets that chance.”
“He thinks I’m a hero,” Roger said sharply, leaving the coat on his bed. The words left a bitter taste in his mouth. Some hero. “He believes I saved his family business.”
“Well, you did,” Graydon admitted. “You’re the only one who stayed.”
“He doesn’t owe me anything.”
“Who said he did? They’re just being nice. I mean . . . if I was in your shoes, I’d sure go.”
Miss Nicholson’s hazel eyes and sweet smile entered Roger’s brain.
Thinking about her disappointment shattered his heart.
If he cared for her, truly, he wouldn’t go.
He’d only cause more problems. After all, he had already gotten his brother killed.
It wouldn’t be long until Miss Nicholson was in trouble again, and he wouldn’t be there to save her, unlike the time in the street.
It was better to leave her behind than to make her a responsibility through friendship.
“Roger,” Graydon said softly. “I know how you feel. I’ve lost people, too, but those people don’t want to see us squander our lives because they died.”
“Stay out of this!” Roger shouted. “You didn’t see what I saw! My brother died because I wasn’t there to protect him!”
“You can’t protect everyone,” Graydon snapped. “The sooner you accept that, the better. Let go of the past and your guilt. You deserve a new beginning.”
Graydon stormed out of the room. Roger sat on his bed and unbuttoned his cuffs and shirt.
He sighed, seeing the fancy jacket next to him.
Miss Nicholson was counting on him. She had begged him to consider coming.
Roger had accepted, and Mr. Nicholson seemed delighted.
He had mentioned the dinner and menu twice during work.
They would be disappointed in him if he did not come.
Roger sighed and rebuttoned his attire. He grabbed his coat and looked in the mirror as he fastened his tie.
Wearing a fancy suit wasn’t normal for him, but it seemed appropriate for the occasion.
The last time he wore a nice outfit was for black-tie poetry readings.
Roger bought a ticket once to see T. S. Eliot in Boston, but that had been canceled because America had declared war, and Roger had enlisted.
When Roger finished getting ready, he found Graydon seated at the dining table, munching on a sandwich. A grin flashed across Graydon’s face as he spotted Roger.
“What made you change your mind?” he asked, his mouth full of bread.
“Don’t ask.” Roger retrieved his fancy trilby hat.
“Say hello to Marjorie for me.”
Roger paused. Marjorie? First name acquaintance already? “Be careful with her,” he warned.
Graydon chuckled. “What makes you think I won’t be?”
Roger raised his eyebrows. “Don’t toy around with her. I don’t want this reflecting on me. She’s my boss’s daughter.”
Graydon stood from the table, walking over.
He placed his hand on his chest. “I give you my word. This time is different. Yes, I have danced with and courted many ladies, but Marjorie . . . She’s incomparable.
Yes, she’s young, but she’s someone I have longed to spend my life with.
I never wanted a woman to remain at home and care for the children.
Marjorie has a love for adventure and the thrill of life. I want this to work. It has to.”
Roger patted his friend’s back. “I trust you.”
“Thanks, Rodge. Go have fun.”
Roger knocked on the Nicholsons’ door, not knowing if it was the right one.
There were many doors to choose from, but since this was the largest, he assumed it was the main entrance.
Roger’s face burned when the butler opened the door.
How foolish of him to think that Mr. Nicholson himself would answer.
The man led him inside the grand ordeal of a home.
The ceilings were high and the broad walls were decorated with multiple paintings, some of people, some of nature, and a few abstracts.
Captivated by the view, Roger couldn’t keep up with the butler.
It amazed him how differently the Nicholsons lived. Roger wondered what the Nicholsons would think about his apartment—pure disgust no doubt. Maplebrook was a luxury, a place that every person dreamed of living.
The butler opened a door to the drawing room and bowed. “Mr. McKinley has arrived.”
As Roger entered the room, he was captivated by the sight of Miss Nicholson seated on a sofa, surrounded by her sisters, parents, and another woman he assumed to be a relative.
Roger’s heart skipped a beat as his eyes settled on her turquoise gown that went off her shoulder, exposing her pale skin.
It was much simpler and longer than the one from the night before.
She looked absolutely stunning in anything she wore, but this sight took him aback.
She appeared more refined in the luxurious drawing room, wearing a gown that would be considered rather inappropriate for work.
A sparkling glare came from each side of her face—diamond earrings that reflected the light.
In a room full of Nicholsons, he longed to set her apart—to call her Margaret.
He ached to utter the syllables, to feel each consonant and vowel form on his lips.
But it was improper. She wasn’t “Margaret” to a low-born man like him.
She’d forever be Miss Nicholson. But for tonight, he’d address her as such in his mind.
She wasn’t to fit in; she was to stand out.
“Mr. McKinley, how good it is to have you join us,” Mr. Nicholson said, approaching him. A woman Roger assumed to be his employer’s wife—who was almost a spitting image of Margaret—walked alongside him. Mr. Nicholson reached forward to shake Roger’s hand.
“Delighted to be here, sir,” Roger said, shaking his hand. “Thank you for the invitation.”
“Let me introduce my lovely wife, Anna,” Mr. Nicholson said.
Mrs. Nicholson reached forward, shaking his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. McKinley,” she said with a soft voice, followed by a smile.
“Come sit with us,” Mr. Nicholson said, pointing ahead.
Roger followed him and took notice of the plush mauve chairs and a piano next to a large grand window.
“These are my other two daughters, Marjorie and Evangeline,” Mr. Nicholson said, referring to Margaret’s sisters who sat next to her on the sofa.
“Nice to meet you,” Roger said.
“And this is my mother.” Mr. Nicholson turned his attention to a silver-haired woman whose neck was adorned with a diamond necklace, along with her ears that bore two large ones.
“Nice to meet you too . . . Mrs. Nicholson.”
The woman’s upper lip twitched briefly before her mouth opened, releasing a burst of laughter. “Oh, Collin, what are we to do with two Mrs. Nicholsons under the same roof?”
Roger’s forehead broke out in sweat. What a fool he was not to recognize that he was destined to be the clown of the evening. This wasn’t just a supper; it was a dinner party, and he was completely out of place.
“I hope I did not offend you, ma’am,” Roger quickly apologized. The room grew hotter by the minute.
“Not at all, dear.”
“Do sit down,” Mr. Nicholson’s wife said.
Roger sat in a chair that appeared to be comfortable, but instead, it was stiff.
“I do hope my granddaughter is behaving well,” Mr. Nicholson’s mother said.
Roger glanced over at Margaret. He never wanted to avert his eyes. If he possessed a portrait of her, he’d never look away. “She is, ma’am. Miss Nicholson is a hard worker. You should be proud.”
“I am,” the older Mrs. Nicholson said. “I’m proud of all my lovely granddaughters. I only wish they would focus more on charity work rather than careers.”
“Grandmama, please,” Margaret begged. “Let’s not argue over this. Mr. McKinley is our guest.”
“Very well,” the older Mrs. Nicholson huffed.
The door opened again, disrupting the moment, and everyone’s attention was moved to the doorway. The butler appeared again, giving off a slight bow.
“Lord Burton of Sumberton has arrived.”
A hush fell over the room as a man near Roger’s age entered the room.
He was taller than Roger and had an undeniably attractive look—tall stature, broad shoulders, chiseled jawline, and neatly combed sandy-blond hair, parted to the right.
It was almost predictable that he held a title, unmistakably that of an English aristocrat.