Chapter 22 #2
He remembered her explanation. Margaret is French for “daisy”. Which meant she had managed to decorate the home with Margaret’s.
"However, can I keep her off my mind now?" He rolled his eyes and continued down the hall.
But as the scent of lavender hit him, he took a deep breath. A calm came over him. Then he felt a sudden jolt of annoyance.
"Of course, she is right about this as well. Blasted."
* * *
The following afternoon, Margaret had almost convinced herself that Ravenfield House no longer felt entirely unfamiliar.
The flowers she had insisted upon now brightened the corridors, sunlight streamed through windows that had once seemed perpetually dim, and Hugh's laughter could occasionally be heard from the nursery.
She was sitting in the parlor having tea when the butler announced that her father had arrived, and Margaret sprang to her feet with such enthusiasm that she nearly overturned the tea table.
"Papa!" she exclaimed, hurrying towards him as Bernard entered the room.
He smiled broadly and opened his arms, and Margaret threw herself into his embrace with all the affection she had felt since childhood.
"My darling girl," Bernard said warmly, holding her tightly before drawing back to inspect her face. "Look at you. A duchess! I have been away only a short while, and somehow you have become entirely grown up."
Margaret laughed. Her father had always been a gentle, soft-mannered man, more comfortable listening than commanding, and despite his years he possessed a trusting nature that had occasionally made his daughters worry for him.
He had loved their mother deeply, and after losing her, he had found his greatest comfort in Iris, Camelia and Margaret.
Seeing him now, standing in the elegant parlor of Ravenfield House, Margaret felt a familiar ache of affection.
"Bring another pot of fresh tea," she told the servant.
"Of course, Your Grace," he bowed and left the room.
"I have missed you dreadfully, Papa" she told him, taking his arm and leading him towards the chairs. "I am so pleased you have returned safely from your trip. How was it?"
"Very pleasing and productive," he said.
"You must sit and have tea and tell me all about it," she said as she took a plate and served him a tart.
The servant entered with another pot and cup and set it down on the table.
"Tell me everything." Margaret poured her father a steaming cup and handed it to him.
"I met with merchants in the north to bring some wool south to London for quite the bargain," he said cheerfully.
"Oh, that is very good," she said.
"It is. The journey was not good on my old bones. Always jostling and jolting in those carriages. Quite the discomfort that I look forward to every coaching in simply to be still for a night," she said.
"Oh, Papa. You must take care of yourself. A hot bath to soak your bones with lavender will help immensely," she said.
"That is a very good idea," he said. "Your mother used to love a lavender bath as well."
Margaret could see the forlorn emotion in his eyes as he thought about his late wife.
"I miss her too," she said, reaching out to touch his hand.
"As do I," he said.
"Speaking of family. I have something rather important to show you, that I think will cheer you up," she said.
Bernard's eyebrows lifted with immediate curiosity. "Important? Has Pierce bought you another horse? Or another house?"
"Neither," Margaret replied, unable to suppress her smile. "I want you to meet someone."
Her father looked startled. "Someone?"
Margaret turned towards the door. "Mrs. Norris?" She called out loudly. A moment later, the housekeeper appeared in the threshold.
"Yes, Your Grace," she curtsied.
"Would you ask the nanny to bring Hugh down, please?"
"Of course, Your Grace," she left to her duty.
Bernard blinked. "Hugh?"
Margaret nodded, and the expression that crossed her father's face was almost comically delighted.
"The little fellow?" he asked.
"The very same."
A few minutes later, the nanny entered carrying Hugh, who was dressed in a neat little outfit Margaret had insisted upon after discovering that his wardrobe had once consisted almost entirely of gowns.
Bernard rose immediately. His entire face seemed to brighten when he saw the child, and Margaret felt her heart swell as though she were witnessing something precious.
"Oh, look at you," Bernard exclaimed, holding out his arms. "Come here, my boy."
The nanny carefully passed Hugh into his grandfather's embrace, and Bernard held him with surprising confidence.
Hugh stared at him for several seconds before giving a delighted little laugh.
Bernard's eyes widened with wonder. "He laughed at me!"
Margaret laughed as well. "He likes you."
"I should hope so," Bernard replied, settling Hugh more securely against his chest. "I am his grandfather. I shall be spoiling him rotten in order to purchase his proper respect by the time he is two."
Margaret shook her head. "I am afraid you shall do just that."
Bernard looked down at Hugh solemnly. "Do not listen to your mother. Grandfathers are permitted to spoil children."
Margaret's heart gave a little flutter at the word.
Mother?
She had grown so accustomed to caring for Hugh that she hardly noticed when the title slipped naturally into conversation.
Yet hearing Bernard refer to her that way made the reality of it settle more firmly inside her.
She had not given birth to Hugh, and she had certainly never expected to become devoted to a child so quickly, but somehow the little boy had become woven into her life.
"Oh, he has his father’s eyes. How remarkable," Bernard smiled.
Hugh reached up suddenly and seized a handful of Bernard's beard.
Bernard froze.
Margaret stared at him for a moment before laughter escaped her. "Oh, Papa."
"Your son has attacked me," Bernard declared, attempting to pry Hugh's tiny fingers loose. "I have been betrayed by my own grandson."
Hugh tugged again.
"I think he likes it," Margaret said, laughing harder.
"I assure you, Margaret, this is not the sort of affection I encouraged."
Hugh laughed again, and Bernard's stern expression immediately dissolved into delight. "Very well, then. You may pull it. Only because you are my grandson."
Margaret watched them with a smile that she could not suppress.
Her father had lost so much when her mother died, and for years she had wondered whether he would ever again find a source of happiness that did not remind him of what he had lost. Now Hugh sat happily in his arms, tugging his beard while Bernard laughed as though he had been given the greatest gift imaginable.
"You look very happy," Bernard said suddenly, glancing at Margaret.
She looked at him, surprised by the observation. "I am."
He smiled softly. "I am proud of you, my darling. More proud than I could ever properly say. You have entered an entirely new life, and yet you seem determined to make it a good one."
Margaret's eyes grew warm. She looked from her father to Hugh and then around the room, where flowers stood in every vase and afternoon sunlight spilled across the carpet.
For one strange, wonderful moment, she could almost imagine that this was not merely a marriage of convenience. This was a family.
Her father was laughing with her husband's son. Hugh was reaching for her father as though he had known him forever. And she was standing in the middle of it all, feeling a happiness that had arrived so quietly she had barely noticed it.
Margaret swallowed and smiled.
Maybe, Ravenfield House is beginning to feel like home after all.