Chapter 10
MARGARET LOVED HER HOME. Three stories of white oak surrounded by flowers—her flowers. She’d planted every one of them. Every springtime, she was like a mother hen waiting for them to bloom.
While the Townshends’ home Edgewood was a splendid estate and she’d been offered a permanent home there, it was only because she’d taken to Douglas and Abigail Townshend that she’d felt comfortable there at all.
Without a doubt, she still preferred her own home.
It was hers. The staff was hers. The history of the house was hers.
And it was every bit as splendid as Edgewood.
And goodness, she was glad to be home. Her staff had missed her, too. A few of them ran out the front door to greet her. Her cook, Gussie, was even tearful.
“Finally I won’t feel guilty anymore about making my most superb dishes while you aren’t here to enjoy them,” Gussie told her, then scolded lightly, “You were gone much too long, Lady Margaret.”
“It was necessary, to accomplish all I set out to do,” Margaret rejoined. “I assume the wine shipment arrived without any trouble?”
“Indeed. I’ll even open a bottle tonight to celebrate your homecoming.”
No sooner did Gussie go back in the house than Margaret’s groom arrived and breathlessly exclaimed, “Thank God, m’lady. Now that beast of yours might behave again.”
She was amused. The man was fond of referring to her mare as a beast. She couldn’t imagine why. Sweet Tooth was as sweet as her name—when Margaret was around.
“I’ll be back to my usual agenda tomorrow,” Margaret informed him, “but I’ll visit her this afternoon.”
“Thank you, m’lady. And she’ll be saddled and waiting for you in the morning.”
It took a while to speak to each servant.
She ignored none of them. And they’d all come out to greet her before she even got in the door.
Florence, her housekeeper, was the last to arrive.
She was the newest member of the staff, though she’d grown up at White Oaks, too.
She’d taken over the housekeeper position five years ago when her mother retired from it.
And like Edna, she treated Margaret with a greater familiarity than the rest of the staff.
They’d actually played together as children.
While each of the servants had glanced curiously at the two men and the boy accompanying her, some more than once, only Florence asked, “Shall I prepare extra settings at the table tonight? Or rooms?”
“Both,” Margaret replied. “I’m going to have guests for a while.”
Florence nodded, then leaned closer to whisper, “Is that who I think it is?”
She was looking at Sebastian, of course.
Still mounted on his stallion, he’d merely sat there observing the homecoming, his look as inscrutable as ever.
Yet there was still that sinister air about him that prohibited discourse and would probably have most people running in the opposite direction if given a choice.
She wasn’t even sure what it was about him that made him so—unapproachable. She wasn’t shy by any means, but even she felt nervous when she was around him, so she could just imagine how others reacted to him. And no matter how many times she’d spoken to him now, it got no easier.
Margaret pulled Florence aside to answer her. “Yes, it’s him. But we need to keep that to ourselves for the time being. He doesn’t want anyone to know he’s back yet, so we’ll oblige him in that regard.”
“Not even his family?”
“Especially not his family.”
“Why’s he back, then?” Florence asked.
Margaret didn’t answer, just stared at her housekeeper until Florence finally got the point and humphed, “Fine. Keep it a secret. What do I care? I’ll make sure the others keep quiet about him, if it looks like anyone else realizes who he is.
They probably won’t. I barely recognized him m’self. Goodness, he’s—changed.”
That was an understatement, but Margaret merely nodded.
She felt bad about keeping secrets from Florence.
She hadn’t even told her friend the real reason she’d gone to Europe because she knew Florence would try to talk her out of it.
She’d never been secretive before, never had a reason to be, for that matter.
Clandestine just wasn’t her cup of tea, just the opposite.
She was forthright by nature, sometimes to the point of brazenness.
It had even seemed as if she had sneaked home, and in fact she had.
In the last century, Edgeford had grown from a sleepy village to a thriving little town that now supplied most of the needs of the gentry in the surrounding area.
It was on the way from Dover to White Oaks, yet they’d avoided it completely, as well as any other homes on the way.
She’d suggested that Sebastian ride in the coach as they neared home, in case they passed anyone who might recognize him, but he’d declined and merely told Oliver to follow him.
They hadn’t stayed on the road for the last half mile.
“Timothy, lad, it’s time for you to earn your keep,” Margaret heard Sebastian say as she approached him. “John and I will be recognized, but no one knows you, so go around and find out what you can about my family.”
Margaret bristled for a moment. She liked the boy, had learned from John how Timothy came to be with them. She didn’t like how he was being used, though, and would have taken Sebastian to task if she didn’t notice how delighted the lad was to be given such responsibility.
So she said instead, “Come inside first. My housekeeper will show you to your rooms. It’s also approaching time for dinner, so you might want to wait until the morning before you begin any investigating.”
Timothy had to glance at Sebastian first for his approval before he ran into the house. Margaret turned, caught Sebastian with his brow raised at her.
“You don’t think he can handle the task?” he asked.
“He’s a bit young to be doing your job, isn’t he?” she countered.
“Not a’tall. And part of my job is assigning tasks to whoever is most likely to succeed at them.
In this case, he’s the only one among us who isn’t known here.
He’s also young enough to pry innocently and have it appear as no more than a child’s curiosity.
Be assured, Maggie, I’ll even put you to work if I deem it necessary. ”
That sounded rather unsavory, or maybe it was just his tone that made it seem so.
Still, she hurried into the house and out of his presence.
Being around that man was exhausting, indeed it was.
It wasn’t just the attraction, which she fought hard to ignore, but the way he made her so nervous, queasy, all aflutter, which in turn roused her defenses and made her argumentative.
Good grief, she was the sweetest person!
She’d been told so by countless people. But not around him.