For three days after Sebastian departed, Margaret had remained in bed, unable to eat, feeling dead inside, until Penelope finally had taken drastic measures and brought the children to her chamber. Penelope had not asked any questions or even made any comments. She’d mentioned that she’d told the other guests that Margaret had caught a cold and did not wish to spread it.
On the fourth day, Margaret had risen and dressed and assisted Penelope with her duties as hostess. Her heart had ached, and she’d felt utterly empty, but she would not allow herself to wallow indefinitely.
Not for the first time in her life, she forced herself to go on—to smile and laugh and be sociable despite the despair that filled her heart. She was rather good at it, really.
Nonetheless, by the time the last coach filled with house party guests drove away from the manor, she and Margaret and Hugh had all breathed a great sigh of relief. It was a wonderful thing to welcome guests for a few weeks of games and good food and conversation and company, Penelope had announced, but it was equally as wonderful to wave goodbye.
Margaret had not told Sebastian goodbye. It haunted her sometimes.
“Shall I leave you alone to read it?” Penelope’s voice drew her back to the present. This wasn’t the first time her sister-in-law had gone out of her way to allow Margaret more privacy.
“No. No. It’s likely nothing.” And to convince herself, she added, “He’s probably asking about the ring.” It sat in her brother’s safe. She hadn’t understood why he’d left it sitting atop her wardrobe beside the book he’d loaned her. She’d almost wondered if it was because he needed to remain connected with her somehow--no matter how tenuous. The ring would be returned to his family, but she would keep his book. She’d read it twice and imagined the words as they must have played in his mind—the seeds it had planted there.
George had written weeks ago, demanding the ring’s return, insisting his new wife was anxious to take possession of it. Remembering Miss Drake’s love of fashion, Margaret doubted that that was the case. Rather than hire a courier, however, Hugh had responded that they would return it at their convenience. He’d told Margaret not to worry. He would deliver it personally when next he was in London.
“Or perhaps he has poured out his heart and is declaring his undying love,” Penelope offered with an ironic glint in her eyes.
Margaret was coming to appreciate Penelope’s sense of humor and couldn’t help but smile and wince at the suggestion. “Highly doubtful.”
And yet a foolish part of her heart longed for just that. Despite his age. Despite his dreams. Despiteherdreams. How had he come to mean so much to her so quickly?
She swallowed hard and then slid the opener along the end of the envelope. She was not fool enough to imagine that he loved her. He was young, handsome, and charming. Likely he’d already forgotten much of their time spent together. It was possible he’d already moved on to someone else. Some available woman in London.
She blinked away the stinging in her eyes as she withdrew the letter from its envelope.
The left edge was torn, and she recognized the paper from one of his journals. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine his scent, but she knew it must be her imagination. He’d been gone for over a month now. Forty-two days to be exact.
London, Dated November 20th, 1828
Dear Maggie,
Never has there been a road longer than the highway between Land’s End and London, especially when every damn step my horse took carried me farther from you. Ambivalence lengthened my journey. I cannot tell you how many times I contemplated turning around, going back for you, persuading you to see matters my way.
But you were right.
I wasn’t going to write you, initially. Even now I wonder if I will mail this. But I promised I would share my adventures with you and I’ve failed you in so many ways that I’ll be damned if I’ll fail you on this.
The Diana is magnificent, a work of art, literally. The builder commissioned a carving of a woman reaching forward from the stern. She reminds me of you standing on the cliff, the wind in your hair, not afraid of anything.
The issues with the propellers have been resolved, and we’ve managed to hire an experienced and enthusiastic crew. We’re set to sail tomorrow and the person I most want to celebrate with is on the opposite side of England. You’ll think me foolish, but I walked past your townhouse in Mayfair today. I thought it might make me feel closer to you. Call me foolish but I could almost pretend you would emerge on the front step.
God damnit, Maggie, you should be here. I’d have delayed my journey for you. I’m so damn mad at you, and it doesn’t make sense.
I miss you.
Yours,
Sebastian
His voice soundedin her mind as she read it, making him seem like he was in the same room and not thousands of miles away. She returned it to the envelope, knowing that later she’d read it over and over again.
Penelope was watching her. Her sister-in-law knew some of what had transpired between her and Sebastian, she had guessed some of it, but Margaret had only told her they’d formed an attachment.
“He wanted me to return to London with him—to continue our affair,” she admitted, and Penelope didn’t look the slightest bit shocked. She only nodded, encouraging Margaret to go on.
“I told him no.” She couldn’t stop the tear that escaped past her lashes. “Before everything happened, we agreed that he’d write to me to share his adventures.” She lifted the letter. “He doesn’t wish to break his promise.”
Penelope nodded again.
