The hired conveyance rumbled over the roads as Maggiepressed a hand to her roiling stomach. Perhaps her idea had not been a goodone, she acknowledged now, for the carriage she’d been able to procure aftersending Sandhurst’s back to Denver House was appallingly creaky and old. Itsmelled of sourness, must and horse dung. The combination of swaying, rumblingand odors made her horribly nauseated. To add to already dismal matters, the skieshad opened up in a bitter torrent of rain, and the carriage had a leaking roof.But she hadn’t wanted her husband to find her. She was not simply leaving him,she was disappearing entirely. Oh, she didn’t fool herself that he would botherto find her, but she didn’t want it to even be a possibility.
She certainly hoped they would soon reach Lady Needham’sestate, for she couldn’t bear to be trapped within the carriage for muchlonger. At least the unpleasantness of her surroundings was somewhat serving todistract her from the ache in her heart.
Maggie had never felt more broken in her life. She felt likea teacup that had been hurled from a rooftop to shatter into infinitesimalshards below. She was reminded of the poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning,MyHeart and I.You see, we’re tired, my heart and I. We dealt with books,we trusted men, went the verses. Yes, Maggie’s heart was tired indeed. Shehad trusted Simon, and in so doing had fallen headfirst into her own demise.Andin our own blood drenched the pen.The poem rang so terribly true to her.
“Stop this carriage!”
A familiar voice, commanding and arrogant and yet beloved asever, broke through her uneasy thoughts. Simon?It cannot be.She movedfrom the uncomfortable bench to press her face against the dingy window. Shewas afraid to hope, terrified that somehow she had conjured him. Perhaps shewas dreaming, and any moment she’d fall to the dirty floor of the carriage andwake up to the awful realization that Simon still loved Lady Billingsley and he’dhappily live the rest of his life without Maggie.
But no. There he was. Her foolish heart swelled with joy.Crouched low over his horse, a fierce expression etched on his handsome face,he looked like a marauder of old. A hero torn from the pages of a book she oncesighed over.
He had followed her. Relief mingled with love, slipping overher like a warm blanket. “Stop,” she called to the driver. “Stop at once.”
The carriage groaned to an unsteady halt and she was alreadyon her feet, throwing open the door. Simon dismounted when he saw her, closingthe distance between them in three long strides. He caught her waist in analmost punishing grip, hauling her down from her perch. “Damn you, Maggie. Whatthe hell were you about, leaving me without a bloody word?”
She searched his face, hoping to find tenderness there butfinding none. Somehow, she hadn’t anticipated his anger. As she’d played outhis reaction in her mind, she had expected his relief. She had hoped for hissadness. She had not thought of rage, but it was an irate husband glaring downat her now, demanding answers.
“I wrote you a letter,” she managed, holding on to his arms.
“A wrong-headed nonsensical piece of shite,” he declared.
Dear heavens. She had done it this time. While she wasgratified that he hadn’t wanted her to leave after all, she didn’t knowprecisely how to mollify him. She decided to begin with the heart of herleaving. “Lady Billingsley gave me your correspondence. I read it all, and Icouldn’t bear for you to be apart from someone you obviously loved so much.”
“You might have asked me,” he countered. “You could havecome to me, Maggie. Why did you not?”
“You never wanted me from the first,” she reminded him. “Iknow you certainly never loved me.”
“A man can change, by God.” His grip on her tightened as hegave her a slight shake as if to shock some reason into her. “Haven’t you everthought of that?”
She was trapped in the vibrant-green depths of his gaze. “Ithought you had changed. But then Lady Billingsley appeared, and you seemed sotorn. I care enough for you that I didn’t want to stand in the way of yourhappiness.”
“Don’t you see?” He took her face in his palms then, drawingtheir mouths impossibly near. “You are my happiness.”
Her heart soared. “Me?”
“You,” he confirmed. “I don’t know how the devil ithappened, but somehow you’ve managed to rot my brain.”
Oh dear. That didn’t sound very romantic at all. She frownedat him. “I’ve done nothing of the sort.”
“The hell you haven’t. Before I stepped on your train atLady Needham’s, I was perfectly sane. I didn’t need laughter or dancing in therain or a wife at my side. But then a beautiful poet with hair the color offire had me making love to her in the bloody library and on a hill in themiddle of my estate and on the breakfast table and everywhere else I possiblycould. And she made me realize I’m not the man I thought I was.”
She flushed at his mentioning of their lustful adventures.“You’re not?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Because the man I thought I wascould live without Margaret Emilia Desmond, a woman who is kind even when shebloody well shouldn’t be, who made me feel at home for the first time in years,a woman who broke her arm when she was a girl and never once cried.”
Tears pricked her eyes. He had remembered. He had rememberedeverything. And perhaps he had felt an answering love growing within him aswell. It wasn’t precisely a declaration, but it would do.
“I thought I could live without you,” he said again. “But Icannot. Come home with me, Maggie.”
He wasn’t asking, but she didn’t care. That was Simon’s way,all gruff blustering without a hint of persuasion. No, he had not told her heloved her. But he had followed her, and he wanted her back. It would definitelydo, she decided again.
“Yes,” was all she said, and then she was in his arms, hismouth on hers. She was precisely where she wanted to be.
* * * * *
Something was amiss. Maggie could detect as much the momentthe hired carriage rolled to a stop before Denver House. Servants were millingabout outside in an uncharacteristic flurry. Before she could even think, thedoor to the carriage flew open to reveal the shocked face of their butler,Milton.
“My lord,” he greeted them, his voice carrying a distinctthread of worry. “I regret to say there has been an incident.”
