Chapter 2 #2
Still chuckling, he turned and started to talk to his other neighbour.
Margaret could feel a blush coming on just at the thought of any gentleman watching her, but her curiosity got the better of her, and she glanced up.
Mr Brown was now entrapped in what appeared to be a lengthy monologue about her children by the portly woman beside him, and he was gazing, glass-eyed, at her as she spoke.
Now was the opportunity to look at him, and Margaret’s eyes flickered over him quickly, as though attempting to memorise his features.
He was dressed in rather plain clothes, smart and clean.
The candlelight shone in his light brown hair, almost golden.
He looked young, a little older than herself perhaps, but his eyes…
There was something interesting about his eyes. They looked old, as though he had seen too much. Had he perhaps fought in a war? It was not uncommon these days to see gentleman with a far off look in their eyes when they thought no one was paying them any attention.
He had a handsome jaw, Margaret mused, and a mouth that –
Samuel Brown’s eyes met hers and she flushed darkly, eyes dropping down to her plate.
She felt the heat in her cheeks drop to her neck, and as she glanced upwards she saw to her horror that he was still staring at her.
His mouth was opening. He was going to say something and she would be forced to respond.
“Ladies, shall we withdraw?” The captain’s wife had risen from the other end of the table, and Margaret breathed a sigh of relief that was almost audible.
She rose hastily, allowing her Great Aunt Sabrina’s complaints that she had not helped her up wash over her, and thanked God silently for intervening. She did not think that she could have borne another second of Mr Brown’s fierce gaze on her. It made her feel hot, and prickly, and…desired.
Margaret flushed as she offered her Great Aunt her stick. She had never felt desired before, never been pursued, or courted, or even spoken to in that way. What made her think that Mr Brown’s intentions were anything like that?
Her answer came as she and Great Aunt Sabrina walked around the table, following in the footsteps of Mrs Goodwin the captain’s wife. Mr Brown’s eyes followed them each and every step that they took, and she was almost sure that it wasn’t her companion that was drawing his eyes.
What had she done wrong to attract his attention so?
She was left alone with her thoughts for a full twenty minutes as she sat silently in the captain’s drawing room. The other ladies, around eight or nine of them, twittered on genteelly about the weather, and the food, and the latest young ladies to receive their token for Almack’s for the season.
Margaret could not get Mr Brown’s eyes from her mind. It was as though he was still watching her, still examining her with those piercing hazel pupils. She had to consciously prevent herself from looking up when the men entered.
The two young gentlemen who had pushed ahead of herself and her Great Aunt at the dock moved immediately to Miss Genevieve Harrington and Miss Emily St. Clair. Margaret had herself noticed them with great interest at dinner; two renowned great beauties, cousins, with fifteen thousand pounds each.
But not so Mr Brown. As soon as he entered the room, he made straight for her.
Margaret found her breathing slightly impaired, rushed, fluttering, as though she could not take in enough. What was happening to her?
“My dear lady, with the lack of a formal introduction from the captain, you must allow me to introduce myself,” he said with a dazzling smile to her Great Aunt Sabrina, and he dropped into a low bow which gained the older lady’s approval. “I am Mr Samuel Brown, your humble servant.”
“Oh, Mr Brown, how delightful,” cooed Great Aunt Sabrina. “I am the Honourable Miss Sabrina Worthington, and I am enchanted to make your acquaintance.”
The nod of her head was perfunctory and she did not rise from her seat, but it was not expected. What was expected was her introduction of Margaret to the young man, and she flushed at the very thought of it.
But the introduction did not come. Mr Brown glanced at her with a knowing smile which made her colour again, her hands clasped together in her lap, but though he waited, he was not introduced by Great Aunt Sabrina.
Margaret cringed at her Great Aunt’s rudeness, but there was nothing else to do but take matters into her own, rather unwilling, hands.
“A-And I am Miss Margaret Berry,” she said in a quavering voice, finding it much easier to focus on Mr Brown’s cravat than his face.
“My word girl, you are very forward,” scolded Great Aunt Sabrina, with a raised eyebrow to Mr Brown. “I do apologise sir, but in all the years I have had her, I have never managed to raise the girl to a high enough level of etiquette.”
Margaret burned at the shame of it all, but Mr Brown did not seem to notice her embarrassment.
“‘Tis the state of young ladies today,” he said in overly exaggerated sad tone, as Miss St. Clair laughed at a joke from the other side of the room. “Perhaps I can relieve you of her company, Miss Worthington, by taking her for a turn about the room?”
“Absolutely not, this cannot be!” was what Margaret wanted to say. Instead, she found her voice saying quietly, “N-No thank you, Mr Brown.”
But of course, it was not to be.
“Nonsense girl, a bit of company would do you good, and I own myself glad to be rid of you,” Great Aunt Sabrina said sharply. “I wish to play whist and you are such a poor player, you will just be in the way. Off with you.”
No greater mortification she had ever known, but it was more than Margaret was capable of to refuse her. Standing and feeling very conscious of how close Mr Brown was now that he had offered her his arm, she took it and they started to walk very slowly around the edge of the large room.
His arm was warm, and strong, and Margaret clung to it rather like she would cling to a branch in a river when drowning. Her breathing rose and so did her temperature, her heart fluttering painfully in her chest.
“How are you enjoying your journey on the Adelaide, Miss Berry?”
Margaret heard his question, but barely knew how to answer. “Very well, thank you, sir.”
They passed Miss Harrington who glanced up at Margaret briefly but then slid her gaze to something far more interesting.
She was not upset by such indifference. She was well accustomed to it, and it was the company of Mr Brown that upset her balance so. What did he want with her?
“And are you vising the South of France, Miss Berry, or are you emigrating?”
His voice was low, deep, and like honey: soft and warm and if you paid too much attention to it, you could sink into it.
Margaret glanced at him and blushed slightly.
To think that such a delicious voice could come from a man as him.
It was more like how she imagined the Prince Regent would speak, or an earl.
“It really is none of your business,” she found herself saying, and she clapped her free hand over her mouth as soon as the words were out. So lost in her thoughts had she been that Margaret had spoken not only without her typical stammer, but with absolute honesty.
There was surprise in his eyes now, but he smiled at her as though he had uncovered gold in a pebble. “Now that I did not expect,” Mr Brown said quietly, grinning at her. “So there is some fight in you, under all that servility.”
Margaret pulled her arm away and curtsied. “I am tired, Mr Brown, and will sit down. Thank you for the turn about the room.”
Without waiting for a response, she turned around and walked over to a chair near the fire that was mercifully both empty and far from any other passengers, but no sooner had she seated herself than she found the chair opposite occupied – by Mr Brown.
“I apologise for my rudeness,” he said in a low voice, “if I was rude. I would…I would like to get to know you better, Miss Berry.”
“I do not want to be known better,” Margaret said stiffly and rose, seating herself near the whist table as her Great Aunt crowed at winning another hand.
But Mr Brown seemed unwilling to take no for an answer. He had followed her, and seated himself beside her. Margaret could feel his gaze on her as though it was a candle flame moving across her skin, burning it.
“Well then,” he said in a low whisper, a handsome smile spreading across his cheeks. “Now I am determined.”
Margaret tried with everything within her to resist looking up, but she could not help it. Her eyelashes fluttered upwards, and she saw the spark of a challenge in his piercing hazel eyes.