“Know what? Where is he?”
“On his wedding trip about now, I should imagine.”
Wedding trip—so soon? Her stomach knotted. She was too late!
“I can’t believe it.” Her mind reeled. She had missed her own sister’s wedding. Margaret found herself murmuring to no one in particular, “I did not even know... or attend her...”
Sterling’s lip curled. “We couldn’t exactly send you an engraved invitation, could we? Unless we sent it... what, in care of Fairbourne Hall?” He slumped back in his chair. “Surprised you’d care anyway. Didn’t know you were even acquainted with”—he said the name with distaste—“Miss Jane Jackson.”
“Jackson?”
“I know. I couldn’t believe it either. To marry an American, whose father is in trade?” He snorted. “Though Mr. Jackson is highly successful by all accounts. All Marcus had to do was marry the horse-faced daughter and he becomes instant partner.” Sterling snapped his fingers. “Furthermore, he shall inherit the lot of it through his wife when the old man dies.” He shook his head. “The fool has gone against my express wishes and ruined all my plans.”
Margaret blinked hard to clear away the dreadful images of sweet Caroline bound forever to Sterling’s puppet-nephew. How stunning to discover Marcus had shed his uncle’s influence and developed gumption while she’d been gone. “I’d think you’d be happy. You wanted him to marry a rich woman and he has.” And thank God that rich woman would not be her.
Sterling grimaced. “And he shall be rich. In America, not here.”
Ah...where Sterling could not wheedle his way into his nephew’s purse. She lifted her chin. “Well, good for him. And Caroline?”
“Gone back to her precious seminary, I believe.”
What a relief.
Benton rose and swayed. His cravat listed, askew. His face was less handsome when mottled and slack. “Now, Margaret. You’re a good girl. I know you will do your duty by your family. You don’t want to see us all starve, do you? I’m sure we can come to some amicable arrangement. With your money and my able management, we’ll deal very well together.”
Margaret leaned away from his foul breath and squared her shoulders. “I will help my mother, and provide for my brother and sister. But you, Sterling, will not see a farthing. I heard what you told Marcus to do to me.” She shook her head and forced a gentle tone. “If I were you, I would retrench and learn to live within my means. But if you are unwilling or too proud, then you can starve if you like. I have far more important things to do with my inheritance.”
———
Margaret went back upstairs to her room to await her mother’s return. Her relief over Caroline’s escape was tempered by the nagging thought that she had left Fairbourne Hall in vain. And without proper notice in the bargain. She rolled her eyes at herself—still thinking like a responsible servant. Worse yet, in her panic to try and save her sister—an unnecessary intervention as it turned out—she had once again refused an offer of marriage from Nathaniel Upchurch. A man she loved. Would he ever forgive her? She feared she had hurt him irreparably, that he would never ask a third time. How impulsive she had been. Again.
What should she do now? She could not return to Fairbourne Hall as a maid, nor could she return as herself—an uninvited guest. How brazen that would be. She could pay a call on Helen, she supposed. But Helen would guess her real motivation for the visit. And how could she face the servants as herself? How strange that would be.
She could write Nathaniel a letter... though correspondence between unmarried ladies and gentlemen was considered improper by many. Of course such a minor indiscretion paled in comparison to her other recent acts. Even if she dared write, what would she say?“Em... sorry about running off like that. All for nothing it turns out. Would you care to repeat your proposal?”
She consoled herself with the fact that at least she had left word where she was going. He knew where she was if he wished to contact her. She would wait.
Wait for what? To reach her twenty-fifth birthday, gain her inheritance... and then what? Yes, she still looked forward to providing for her brother and sister. But her mother? She was less certain that relationship could be restored. Margaret felt betrayed—disappointed that her mother had fallen in with Sterling’s schemes. On the other hand, her mother might very well be disappointed in her, for endangering herself and the family’s reputation by running away.
A soft knock interrupted her reverie. Her heart lurched until she reminded herself that Marcus Benton was on a ship bound for America.
“Come in.”
The door opened slowly, and her mother appeared, expression cautious, still clad in walking dress and pelisse, from whatever errand had taken her out that afternoon.
“Margaret,” she breathed. “How glad I am to see you, safe and sound.”
Joanna Macy Benton hesitated at the door, making no move to embrace her daughter, perhaps unsure of her reception.
“I want to apologize, Margaret,” she said. “I am so sorry you did not feel safe under our roof. That you felt you had no choice but to flee. I don’t know what I could have done, but I should have done something to make certain Marcus paid you no improper attention.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Her mother winced. “You can’t have lived with me this last year and not know why. It’s no excuse, but you saw how Sterling was, how disapproving and critical. I have tried to work out what I did wrong to lose his good opinion. I’ve done everything I could think of to win back his approval, his admiration, to no avail.”
“I know.”
“He is my husband, Margaret. But there comes a point when a woman must protect her children even in the face of her husband’s displeasure. I did not stand up to him when that point came, and I am sorry. I hope someday you will forgive me.”
