Chapter 14
The carriage door shut with a firm click, sealing them into a quiet.
Margaret settled opposite her mother as the horses lurched forward. The movement was steady, the rhythm familiar. Outside, London rolled past in orderly procession. Inside, the silence stretched.
Her mother removed her gloves first.
“It is an impressive house.”
“Yes.”
“And well run.”
“Yes.”
Margaret smoothed an invisible crease from her skirt. Her mother watched her.
“You are thinking.”
“I often do.”
“About the house?”
“No.”
“Then about what? If I were you, I would be thinking of the fact that you would be running that household one day. It is magnificent.”
“I am thinking of Miss Eliza, whoever she is.”
Her mother’s expression did not change.
“It was a servant’s mistake and nothing more.”
“It did not sound uncertain.”
“Servants are frequently certain about the wrong things.”
Margaret looked down at her hands. She wanted her mother to be right, but something had remained with her that she wished had not.
“He interrupted very quickly. The Duke, I mean. It was as though he felt a need to stop it before much could be said at all.”
“He maintains discipline.”
“Yes, but–”
“Margaret.”
“I am only asking.”
“And I am answering. We will not doubt the gentleman that is taking care of us so well.”
The carriage turned a corner; the wheels struck a rougher stretch of stone before smoothing again.
“It could have been anyone,” her mother continued. “A cousin, or a neighbor, or a former guest that he had thought of in a moment of confusion.”
“He said she was not expected.”
“That seems clear enough.”
Margaret leaned back against the seat.
“But he did not explain who she was.”
“He was not required to.”
“He is courting me.”
“Yes.”
“And yet there are names in his household I have never heard. Surely if it was of importance, he should tell me?”
Penelope’s voice softened, though it remained firm.
“You are not yet mistress of that house. Besides, it only proves that she is not of any importance, does it not?”
The words settled heavily. She wanted her mother to be right.
She did not want to think badly of the Duke, for he had been so kind to her.
She wondered, for a moment, if she was simply trying to find a flaw in him so that she did not feel so intimidated by him.
She wanted to be more human, but a mystery woman was not quite the problem that she wanted to discover.
“I know that this has all been sudden,” her mother sighed. “But you must not look for shadows where there are none. It is unfair.”
“Are you certain there are none?”
“I am certain that if there were something improper, it would not be announced by a foolish footman in the entrance hall.”
Margaret almost smiled at that.
“Men of his position are discreet,” Penelope added.
“And you are certain of that.”
“Yes.”
Margaret turned her gaze toward the window. London blurred past in muted tones of stone and smoke.
“He did not seem flustered,” she said.
“That speaks well of him.”
“Or of practice.”
Her mother’s tone sharpened slightly.
“Margaret.”
She looked back at her mother.
“You must decide whether you trust the man,” her mother said. “Not the servants. Not the corridors. The man.”
Margaret absorbed that in silence.
“I do,” she said at last.
“Then let it rest.”
The carriage rolled onward. Margaret watched her reflection faintly in the glass. She had had a wonderful evening, as she always did when she was with him, and yet the name had been spoken so familiarly.
She folded her hands together in her lap.
“It was likely nothing,” she murmured, almost to herself.
“Yes,” Lady Fairleigh said firmly. “Nothing.”
Margaret nodded, but as the carriage slowed before Fairleigh House, she found that the word did not seem so believable.
Margaret dismissed her maid earlier than usual.
The room felt smaller at night. The candlelight softened the corners, blurred the cracks along the ceiling she had known since childhood.
She removed her earrings slowly, placing them in their dish with deliberate care.
Miss Eliza. It was nothing, of course, but it did not feel like it.
A knock came at her door.
“Come in,” she said.
Poppy slipped inside without waiting for further permission, closing the door behind her. She wore her usual bright smile, and was still in her new gown as though she had been somewhere herself all night.
“I knew you would still be awake.”
“I usually am.”
Poppy crossed the room and perched at the end of the bed, skirts rustling. She had removed her elaborate pins, and her curls fell freely around her shoulders.
“Tell me everything,” she said expectantly.
“Well, as you know, the house is enormous,” she said without preamble.
“The house?”
“Yes. I could lose myself in it for days. The staircase alone is larger than our entire hallway.”
“And yet you do not seem overwhelmed.”
“Should I be?”
“I would be.”
“You are overwhelmed by ribbon.”
Poppy threw a cushion at her for that. Margaret set aside her necklace and turned slightly toward her sister, whose cheeks were now pink.
“Mama said you walked beside him so easily,” Poppy continued. “As though you belonged there.”
“It was only dinner.”
“It was not only dinner. Mama said that she saw a Duke who watches you as though you are the only person in the room.”
Margaret stilled.
“She is imagining that,” she said gently. “It is wishful thinking, you know how she can be.”
“I do not think it is that, Maggie.”
“Yes, and you are predisposed to romance.”
“I know when my sister is happy, actually. You are happy, yes?”
Margaret hesitated.
“I am content.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“Happiness is not what matters most to me, Poppy.”
“It should be.”
“Security must come first.”
“For you,” Poppy said. “Perhaps.”
“For all of us.”
Poppy shook her head slightly.
“You always say that.”
“Because it is true.”
“It may be,” Poppy replied, “but that does not mean it is everything.”
Margaret looked at her more closely now. She always saw Poppy as her baby, and she had always protected her fiercely, but she done it so much that she forgot that her sister was of age, and not quite as dim as she thought.
“Very well, what should I be in want of?”
“Being chosen.”
“We ladies are always chosen.”
“Not like that! Being noticed is pleasant, and being selected for convenience is practical, but being chosen because someone cannot imagine the room without you in it… that is different.”
Margaret’s pulse shifted faintly.
“You believe that exists,” she said.
“Yes.”
“For everyone?”
“I hope so. Life would be rather miserable if it did not, do you not think?”
Margaret studied her sister’s face. There was no calculation there, no awareness of ledgers or unpaid accounts, only a belief that love was real and tangible, something that she could reach out and take for herself.
She envied her sister for that. She wished that she could still cling to the fragile naivety that Poppy possessed.
“And if it does not?” Margaret asked quietly.
“Then I should like to marry kindly. If not a love match, I will marry my greatest friend.”
Margaret rose and crossed toward the window, drawing the curtain back slightly. The street outside lay in shadow.
“You speak as though you expect such fortune.”
“I do,” Poppy said simply.
“Why?”
“Because you are proving it is possible.”
The words caught her off guard.
“I am proving nothing.”
“You are,” Poppy insisted. “He is powerful, and he is admired. He could choose anyone, and yet he has chosen you. That has to mean something, and that something is already more than most will ever know.”
Poppy rose from the bed and crossed the room, standing beside her at the window.
“I hope,” Poppy said softly, “that when my turn comes, it will feel like that.”
Margaret looked at her.
“Like what?”
“Like I am truly wanted, and not a mere convenience.”
The simplicity of it pierced her more cleanly than any dramatic declaration could have. Had she been given such a luxury, it was what Margaret would have wanted for herself, but it was not meant for her.
“You will be chosen, just as you wish to be,” Margaret said firmly.
“How can you possibly know?”
“Because I will not allow it to be any other way.”
Poppy smiled at that.
“You cannot oversee my future forever.”
“No,” Margaret replied. “But I can help shape it.”
Poppy studied her, then leaned forward and embraced her suddenly Margaret stiffened only for a moment before returning it.
“You always take care of us,” Poppy murmured.
Margaret closed her eyes briefly.
“I intend to continue.”
When Poppy drew back, her expression had softened into something almost solemn.
“I hope I marry for affection,” she said.
Margaret held her gaze.
“You will,” she said.
After Poppy slipped from the room, Margaret remained standing by the window.
Miss Eliza still lingered at the edge of her thoughts, but Poppy’s words had shifted something.
If marriage was a negotiation, she would ensure she got the very best deal.
If it was for protection, she would ensure it extended beyond herself. And if preference was involved…
She straightened. If that were the case, then she would not be merely suitable. She would be indispensable.
The following morning, Margaret woke before the maid knocked.
For a moment she did not remember why her thoughts felt so alert. Then the house returned to her in fragments– Ravensmere’s staircase, the polished floors, the name spoken in the entrance hall.
Miss Eliza.
It hovered briefly at the edge of her mind, but she did not allow it to take root. Instead, she sat up, drew back the curtains herself, and let the pale morning light spill across the room. The day was clear, which given that she was to attend a garden party was a good sign.
If there were whispers to be silenced, she decided that she would silence them herself, if the Duke did not do so for her of course. Her maid entered soon after, surprised to find her already awake.
“You are early, Miss.”
“I am excited, I suppose.”
The gown chosen for the day lay across the chair, pale green, fitted perfectly. It was one of the new ones, and her personal favorite. She dressed without hesitation. By the time she descended, Emily was already at the breakfast table, a book open but unread before her.
“You seem prepared for battle,” Emily observed.
Margaret paused, looking at herself in the mirror.
“Is that how I appear?”
“Yes.”
“That was not the intention.”
“It rarely is.”
Margaret took her seat opposite her.
“Do you disapprove of it?”
“On the contrary, I think it is perfect. I have wanted you to dress as though you belonged for a long time now, Margaret, and I am thrilled that you are beginning to do so.”
“Then why do you seem so wary of everything?”
“I am not wary, I simply… Well, I know that people will talk, and it is all well and good to say that it is because they are envious of your position, but it does not make it any easier to hear my sister spoken ill of and being unable to say anything about it.”
“I know that it is not ideal, Em, but we cannot retreat each time something is difficult. If I withdraw at the first sign of disquiet, I will teach them all that I am easily unsettled.”
“And you are not?”
“No.”
The word came without effort. Emily studied her for another long moment.
“So I am not to defend you, yes?”
“Precisely. It will not be too terrible, and it will only be about me. You should know that I do not care what they have to say about me, truly, so there is no harm in it. It is only talk. It is not as though any real action will come of it.”
“You make it sound like Parliament.”
“Oh, no, certainly not. It is more consequential than Parliament.”
At last, she earned a small laugh.
“Today will be crowded,” Emily said at last. “There will be eyes everywhere.”
“Good.”
“You do not mind that?”
“I welcome it.”
Emily tilted her head.
“Why?”
“Because the more I am seen, the more normal it will become.”
The words lingered between them. Emily nodded slowly.
“Then I will stand near you.”
“You need not.”
“I know. I want to.”
Margaret reached across the table and briefly squeezed her sister’s hand.
“I am not doing all of this blindly,” she said.
“I hope not.”
“I promise you that I am not.”
Emily studied her one last time, then closed her book entirely.
“Very well,” she said. “Then let us prepare to be observed.”
Margaret rose, as did her sister. The doubt had not vanished, and the name still hovered somewhere in the recess of her thoughts, but it no longer felt destabilizing.
If there were a question, she would answer it in time.
For now, there was a garden, a crowd, and a duke who had chosen to stand beside her.
And she intended to ensure that no one mistook her place there again.