Margery, however, startled her by murmuring a few words to the waiting groom and closing the door. She faced Lenora, her countenance grave.
“Are you certain you’re up for this?”
“It’s just sketching, Margery.”
“That’s not what I was referring to and you know it.” Her friend paused, then said in a rush, “What’s going on with you and Mr. Ashford?”
Lenora fought against reacting to the stab of pain in her chest. “Nothing at all,” she managed with what she thought was impressive calm.
But Margery was not about to be fooled. “Lenora, don’t lie, not to me. I know there’s something going on between you.” She reached across the carriage, placing a hand over Lenora’s. “If you prefer Peter, you can break it off with Lord Redburn. You made no promises, after all—”
“You know I cannot,” Lenora exploded, pulling back from Margery’s touch. Guilt bloomed hot; she’d never talked to Margery thus. She pushed it brutally aside. Her very sanity was at stake.
“I’ll be disowned,” she continued more gently, unable to look at her friend’s face, knowing the hurt that would be there. “You saw the contents of my father’s letter. I cannot escape this fate, even if I wanted to.”
“But you don’t want it!” Margery burst out. “Lenora, you must know, my grandmother and I would provide you with a home.”
“And am I to live on your charity for the rest of my life?” She looked at Margery, willing her to understand. “When Aaron died, and your father decreed you should live with him, did you do it? Or did you insist on living on your own terms?”
Margery sucked in a breath, pain flashing in her normally mild brown eyes. “This is different,” she replied. “None of this is on your terms. But…” She seemed to struggle, before blurting out, “But if Mr. Ashford were to marry you, you wouldn’t have to worry about your father’s threats—”
“Peter will not have me!” The words burst from her. She clapped a hand over her mouth, desperate to hold back anything else that could give away the secret agony of her heart. But it was too late, for Margery understood only too well what those words meant.
“So you do love him,” she whispered.
Lenora nodded miserably.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you lie to me?”
Tears sprang to Lenora’s eyes at the pain in her friend’s voice. “You felt so guilty over suggesting our trip to the Isle. I’d hoped to protect you from more.”
“Protect me?” Margery gave a disbelieving laugh, grabbing Lenora’s hand. “You silly, misguided thing, you’ve no need to protect me.” She paused and frowned then. “But what do you mean, he won’t have you? He’s said as much?”
Defeated, Lenora slumped back against the plush squabs. “Yes, Margery. I practically begged him to admit there could be something between us. And he was very adamant that there was nothing.”
Margery stared at her, stunned. “Then he’s a fool,” she whispered.
“I’m the only fool in this.” When Margery made to speak again, Lenora held up a hand. Her emotions were hanging by a thread as it was; if Margery continued worrying away at it, Lenora feared her control might snap.
“Let’s talk of it no more. Please.”
Margery must have heard the barely banked desperation in her voice, for she pressed her lips tight and, squeezing Lenora’s hand, gave her a look of utter sadness before nodding and opening the carriage door.
Right away Lord Redburn was there, holding out his hand to help them down.
“My dear Miss Hartley,” he murmured as she placed her fingers in his, “you are looking a trifle pale. Are you certain you’re well enough for this outing?”
The man was far too kind, far too good. He deserved a woman who could care for him. Not Lenora, whose heart was a fractured thing.
Just then Peter stepped into view. She had a brief glance of his hard features before he turned away.
Setting her shoulders, she attempted a smile for Lord Redburn, who was waiting patiently for her answer. She would make certain the man never had cause to regret chaining himself to her.
“I’m well enough, my lord. There’s nothing a bit of fresh ocean air can’t cure.”
He laughed, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners, and waved an arm out at the sea, where it crashed far below the cliffs. “That you have got in abundance.” Then he bent his arm toward her, his gaze warm and affectionate on her face. “Shall we?”
She nodded, placing her fingers on his sleeve. Ignoring the pang in her chest that wished it were quite another arm she was holding.
