“Not in so many words,” he admitted. What an imbecile he was.
Helen rolled her eyes, looking heavenward for patience. “Nathaniel Aaron Upchurch. What am I going to do with you?”
“I suppose you would have me write her a sonnet or some flowery nonsense.”
She shook her head. “Actually, I don’t care for poetry. Just tell her how you feel. Tell her the truth.”
He nodded, thinking of all he should have said.
“Well?” she asked, brows arched high.
Nathaniel hesitated. “Well, what?”
Helen chucked a pillow at him. “Go and tell her!”
Dodging it, Nathaniel turned toward the door.
“Oh,” Helen began, “and tell her I need her to...”
Nathaniel paused, hand on the latch.
Helen sighed. “I suppose I shall have to give her up in that regard. Such a pity. My hair has never looked so good.”
She winked and shooed him from the room.
———
Nathaniel first went downstairs and looked in the public rooms where Margaret usually worked that time of day but did not see her. So he mounted the taboo back stairs to the attic once more. If she wasn’t there, he would have to brave the servants’ hall.
Reaching her room, he knocked, but no one answered. The door creaked open from the pressure of his knuckles. She’d left it unlatched.
He gingerly pushed the door wide. “Margaret? It’s me.”
Silence.
He stepped inside and his heart plummeted. The bed had been stripped bare. No hand towel hung on the washstand, no spare apron on its peg. The room was empty. Lifeless.
She was gone.
He trudged back downstairs, then increased his pace, hoping he might yet catch her belowstairs.
Hudson hailed him as he crossed the passage toward the servery, his face lined with concern. “I was just coming to find you, sir. I have a note for you. From Nora.”
Hudson handed Nathaniel the sealed paper. “It was inside her letter to Mrs. Budgeon and me. Giving notice.”
“Dash it,” Nathaniel muttered and squeezed his eyes shut. He took the letter into the library to read it in private.
———
Dear Mr. Upchurch,
I hereby give you notice that I am leaving Fairbourne Hall and returning to London. I know this may confuse you after our recent conversations, but I hope, should you hear news of me that surprises you, that you will not think the worst of me.
I want to thank you for allowing me to stay under your roof even after you knew I had no business being there. I learned a great deal from the experience. I learned that my long list of faults includes the tendency to judge people by first appearances and to judge wrongly. I learned much more as well. I learned to love your sister and understand your brother and, dare I say it, to admire you. It was a foolish, shallow girl who turned down your offer two years ago, and a wiser young woman who has learned the meaning of regret. There is nothing to be done about that mistake, nor that regret now, but I did want you to know.
I wish the best of health and happiness to all your family.
M.E.M.
