17. Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Seventeen
Margaret steadied the rifle just below her shoulder with her finger settled on the trigger.
“Pull!” she shouted, and Mr. Agnes released the clay target into the air.
Margaret closed her left eye and concentrated on the target.
Then she pulled the trigger and watched the clay object explode into the air; a cloud of red dust followed.
The rifle kicked slightly, but with her father behind her, he placed his hand behind her back, steadying her.
She lowered the rifle as she heard the applause of her sisters and mother.
Margaret handed the rifle to Eugene, her lips spreading into a large grin. “That’s seven out of ten. You have indeed lost, Lord Burton.”
“And you stand in third place,” Roger bragged to the man, his rifle balanced over his shoulder.
Eugene didn’t appear enthused, but he forced a smile. “Ah, but if we were in Yorkshire, you both would indeed have been beaten at ‘around the clock’.”
“I apologize we didn’t use pheasants. But I see a target that isn’t alive is too tough for you,” Margaret teased.
Her father chuckled and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Now, now, Margaret. Being cruel and insulting our guest is not very nice . . . but indeed I am proud that my daughter defeated an aristocrat.”
Mr. Baldwin sighed, resting the butt of his rifle under his armpit. “This was a good show, but I agree with my nephew. This isn’t quite as competitive as England’s. One day we must have a real shooting party.”
“Perhaps so,” Eugene said. “Possibly next spring at Sumberton. You all must come.”
A rush of heat swam through Margaret’s cheeks, and she moved a strand of hair behind her ear.
She couldn’t shake away the thought that Eugene was possibly prophetic.
Perhaps they would be at Sumberton next year, but that was based entirely on his feelings towards her and whether she was willing to leave everything behind and follow him to England.
Here he was before her, a charming man any woman would be lucky to have.
Yet now being faced with the possibility of moving across the world, he seemed further from the Eugene she knew and more as Lord Burton.
“Even if we were, I’d still beat you,” Margaret said proudly.
Eugene’s cheeks reddened, and Margaret couldn’t help but feel pride. And Roger was there too, watching her prove herself to be a strong-willed woman. But things were different between them now. It felt as though their earlier days as enemies never existed.
“I didn’t know you had it in you,” Roger said. A smile displayed across his face.
“Thank you, Mr. McKinley. Maybe it will make you think twice before critiquing me at work.”
“Hold on,” Daddy said. “You still must mind us and do your work. There will be no showdowns in my office.”
Mr. Agnes appeared beside them, taking the rifle from Margaret’s grasp.
“If you don’t mind putting them away, Mr. Agnes, I’d be very grateful,” Daddy said.
Mr. Agnes nodded. “Very well, sir.”
Margaret’s father sighed and tipped his hat. “Now, I must see to my wife.”
He left for the picnic area where Margaret’s sisters and mother were having tea beneath a large maple tree with Grandmama. Now, Margaret was between the two men she had grown close to. She looked at Roger, who was removing his gloves.
Seeing him again in her family’s environment and conversing civilly with him had changed their situation a great deal.
And the night before, she had replayed every moment they had at the dinner party—specifically the way they said goodbye.
She hardly thought about Eugene then, and every conversation they had that night had become a blur.
However, it couldn’t mean anything. Roger was her coworker and friend—nothing more. Eugene was standing beside her, looking down with a smile. He was the one she needed.
But he would take her away. Was her fortune so important that she’d abandon her family and the land she loved? Virginia was a part of her, and what would happen if that was replaced with Yorkshire and the English aristocracy?
“I daresay, you might be a better shot than me,” Roger said with a chuckle.
Margaret’s cheeks warmed. Why did Roger have to be so kind to her now? When they were at each other’s throats, everything was easier. She couldn’t loathe him anymore, and now she definitely couldn’t—
“Well, I did beat you,” Margaret said swiftly.
“What if I told you I let you win?”
Margaret placed both hands on her hips and huffed. “You are a poor sport, sir. Just admit I beat you.”
“Never.”
Margaret opened her mouth to deliver a sarcastic remark, but Eugene caught her off guard by gently taking hold of her arm.
“Miss Nicholson, would you care for a walk?”
Margaret looked back at Roger.
“You are excused,” Roger said with a nod.
“A walk sounds quite wonderful,” Mr. Baldwin said, patting his forehead with a handkerchief. “I’d join you two, but it is quite warm out here. Enjoy yourself while I sit under the shade.”
Mr. Baldwin walked ahead, carrying his rifle over his shoulder.
Margaret observed the area, noticing Roger had disappeared, proceeding along the river walk, away from their direction.
A deep sadness filled her soul. She hated to see him leave.
Roger bent and retrieved a stone, skipping it across the running water.
Margaret sighed softly. If only she had a reason to speak to him again.
They understood one another, and that was hard to find in company.
However, conversing in such a manner wasn’t possible with Eugene around, including her observant grandmama who was insistent she’d use the day to her advantage of obtaining the fortune.
So, Margaret straightened her posture and put on a smile.
“Where shall we go?”
“I was hoping through the garden. Would you care to? I know how much you love flowers.”
Margaret nodded. “Of course.”
As they widened the distance between her and Roger, Margaret was conflicted—more than she had been when she accepted the duty of finding a suitable husband.
She didn’t understand how much her feelings were changing after three weeks in Richmond.
What she had with Eugene weeks ago was real, genuinely so.
She would think about him night and day, and her stomach would flutter each time he came near her.
He had made her nervous, but these unsettling nerves were from how uncomfortable she was.
It seemed she didn’t care for him—not in the way she used to.
Eugene had been a man who was easy to talk to.
He was understanding and honest, and she poured out her soul to him from the day they met.
But now, he was none other than Lord Burton, the one who could unlock her fortune.
She couldn’t connect with him as she did with Roger.
She could tell Roger anything about herself and the accident.
With Eugene, she was closed-lipped, trying to be the most proper-bred woman, as Grandmama instructed her to be.
“I’m rather glad we had the party this lovely afternoon. I see now there are other things you can win . . . other than my heart,” Eugene commented.
Margaret’s cheeks flushed at Eugene’s comment. She needed to focus and keep the mindset she had weeks ago. If he had said this then, she would have been ecstatic that her plan was working. For some reason, that was before Roger . . .
“There are many things you do not know about me, Eugene.”
“I have noticed.”
“And what have you noticed?” Margaret pressed. Could he see right through her? Could he see her heart was in a mess?
“That you are unpredictable,” Eugene explained.
“Others may see you as merely a woman, but I see you are more than that.” Eugene paused in their path and took Margaret’s hands in his.
Margaret’s heart hammered against her ribs as she waited for the rest of his speech.
“I see you as the one I have been dreaming my whole life to meet. You are a remarkable woman, Margaret.”
Margaret didn’t know how to respond. Her mouth became increasingly dry, and each time she longed to swallow, her throat tightened. Had he said these things a week ago, she would have fainted into his arms, but now she stood there, unable to respond.
“Forgive me. I have spoken boldly again,” Eugene apologized.
“No,” Margaret said. “I’m just in shock, is all.”
“Would you care to sit?” Eugene said, referencing the bench close by.
Margaret nodded, and she followed him. They sat in silence for a minute or two, just taking in the view of the garden and her family in the distance.
She caught a small glimpse of Evie, seated on a picnic blanket beside the riverbank, speaking to Mr. Agnes, whom Evie called Sidney.
Margaret had yet to see them together. There were indeed sparks flying—sparks that had disappeared between her and Eugene.
Or had they ever been there at all? Perhaps it was her desperation her father had warned her of.
“I’ve never seen Evie so happy,” Margaret remarked, trying to remove the silence between them.
Eugene looked closer. “How quaint. I never thought the man would be a catch.”
Margaret giggled. The man was rather awkward, but so was Evie at times. They were a match made in Heaven, it seemed like. “Well, at least Evie has taken interest in someone. I hope Mr. Agnes will give her a boost of confidence.”
Then, at the worst timing, Roger came into her line of view.
Margaret had been engaging in a steady conversation at last, and now she was distracted.
Roger was speaking with her father. Margaret’s heart slowed as this man’s presence calmed her.
But she peered away quickly. She had to fight whatever these foolish feelings were.
Look at Eugene. Think about your first moments.
And she did. She tried to remember everything. His kiss. His embrace. The night at the theater. Eugene was perfect in every way, and exactly who she needed.
“You’ll have to come by more often,” Mr. Nicholson said to Roger.
“This place is beautiful, more beautiful than I could imagine,” Roger said.
Maplebrook brought him back to the times before the war—simple, perfection.
It was calming and peaceful, just the place Roger had been missing.
He looked in the distance towards the garden where Margaret sat with Lord Burton.
She was the picture of beauty and was the one who was providing him with more light than he had in a lifetime.
It had been merely a day since he had focused on the darkness that had consumed him.
However, Lord Burton was there, threatening it.
Margaret may have been raised middle-class, but Maplebrook reminded Roger of who she was.
She was a Nicholson, almost close to royalty.
That is what the papers always read. Her family were socialites, always making the headlines.
Even though Margaret had been left out, she was born for it.
Her mother had once been known as Richmond’s princess.
That was a world Roger didn’t fit in with. But Lord Burton did.
“She’s a special girl,” Mr. Nicholson said, removing Roger from his thoughts.
Mr. Nicholson observed Margaret as she spoke to Lord Burton.
Nothing alarming was happening. It was a casual conversation between each other .
. . but in a romantic setting. The family had mentioned nothing about a proposal or an engagement, so Roger assumed Margaret was free.
But could this be the moment? He looked over at the older Mrs. Nicholson, who was observing their every move from a distance with a large grin on her face.
“This past week was the most I’ve ever seen Margaret smile,” Mr. Nicholson said. “It has been nearly five years since I’ve seen her this happy.”
Roger nodded. “I’m glad she is happy.”
“I assume she has told you about the automobile accident.”
Roger sucked in a breath. What would her father think about their budding friendship? Wouldn’t that be what this was called? After all, they had shared the inner demons they kept hidden. “She has.”
“That was a hard day, getting that telegram,” Mr. Nicholson said. “The doctor said she’d never regain her sight. We were thankful that she didn’t have any other serious injuries but seeing her in that state almost tore me to pieces.”
“She’s been through a lot,” Roger said. “You and I know what she's going through.”
Mr. Nicholson sighed. “Yes, we do. But seeing her grow happier gives me hope that we’ll improve.
” He stayed silent for a moment, taking in the view of the river rippling in front of them.
“It seems sometimes we won’t experience those happy days again.
You and I have seen things that have destroyed every bit of light and happiness that was within us. We’re walking dead, you and me.”
“Aye,” Roger agreed.
“I don’t want to see my daughter’s happiness crumble,” Mr. Nicholson expressed with a serious tone. “I don’t trust that man.”
Roger raised a brow. “Lord Burton?”
Mr. Nicholson peered in Lord Burton’s direction. “Yes.”
“What has he done?” Roger asked with the most concern. His heart throbbed hard against his ribs. His fists curled. If this man was trouble, he’d risk his life to shield Margaret from him.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. But you can’t tell me something’s not sitting right.”
Roger nodded. However, he wasn’t sure if he was agreeing because he wanted Lord Burton out of Margaret’s life or if he, too, sensed something unsettling.