It had been four months since my family left London, departing early due to Father’s declining health. Having gone to visit family in the north, Margaret had not been here upon my return, but late last evening, she had sent word of her arrival.
Likely, she would desire rest after such a long journey, but I could not bring myself to wait. I needed to see her. We had so much to discuss, but more than anything, my worry for her well-being required relief. Months were far too long to go without seeing her for myself, especially given the circumstances in which I had left her.
I followed the well-maintained path leading to the cottage, allowing the fingertips of my free hand to brush over the tops of the grass blades to either side. Flowers dotted the area as well, the late blooms soon to disappear with the cooling weather. Margaret’s home and gardens had a whimsical glow about them, like something out of a storybook. A happy one where the heroine lived in peace with all manner of charming creatures. If only Margaret’s life were a reflection of such rather than the complete opposite.
Adjusting the basket on my arm, I stopped in front of the door. I rapped lightly and awaited Margaret’s butler to open it. The cottage was far smaller than Kenwick, of course, but not so small that it operated without the help of several servants. Margaret lived quite comfortably.
Or she would, were it not for—
The door swung open to reveal a dark coat paired with a blue waistcoat, one too fine to belong to Margaret’s butler. There was also a neatly tied cravat and a pair of brooding, dirt brown eyes that seemed capable of noting every flaw I possessed.
“Mr. Wilcot,” I said, failing to hide the disdain in my voice.
He crossed his arms over his chest and scowled down at me. “Miss Apsley.”
Neither of us exchanged a proper greeting, and when I realized the man was content to simply sneer at me, I pressed on. “Is Margaret at home?”
She was, I knew, for Mr. Wilcot rarely let his wife go anywhere without him.
He studied me, his eyes cold and calculating. I did not shrink under his scrutiny, something I promised I would never do. For Margaret’s sake, I would stand strong against her husband. I was all she had left in this world, and I would not allow him to bully me out of a relationship with my dearest friend.
“What do you want, Miss Apsley?” he practically growled. “We’ve only returned last night and could use some rest before being imposed upon.”
“Does Margaret agree that my visit is an imposition?” I ask innocently. “We always meet to discuss our time apart. I’ve been eagerly awaiting her return, and I should like to hear all about your visit north.”
The trip had been Margaret’s suggestion, and Mr. Wilcot had agreed for the mere fact that his brother had recently come into a large sum through a rather successful investment. Naturally, Mr. Wilcot wished to join in his brother’s celebration, which—Margaret and I had hoped—would prove a distraction for the men and provide a respite for her as she spent time with her husband’s mother.
“Perhaps you would prefer if she joined me at Kenwick so we do not disrupt your peace with our chatter,” I suggested. “She is welcome to visit today or anytime tomorrow for as long as she would like.”
The man’s eyes widened ever so slightly. I knew he would reject the offer, which inevitably forced his hand. Mr. Wilcot had not allowed Margaret to call on me at Kenwick in over a year, and the only way to keep my father from intervening was to allow me to visit.
“No. Margaret will remain here.” He straightened his coat. “I am on my way out. Enjoy your visit, Miss Apsley.”
“I thank you, sir.”
Mr. Wilcot grunted as he slipped past me. I saw myself inside and found Margaret in the drawing room. She held an embroidery cushion but stared out the window, her gaze distant. She did not note my presence until I stood in front of her.
“Annette!” Margaret tossed her needlework aside and wrapped me in an embrace. “How good it is to see you!”
“It has been an age,” I said when we pulled apart. “We have so much to talk about. I simply could not wait another day. I hope you will forgive me for visiting so soon. You must be exhausted from your travels.”
“A little, but I am so glad you’ve come.” She pointed to the basket on my arm. “Are those what I’m hoping they are?”
“Of course! I’m offended you would think me capable of breaking our tradition. Besides, I am not one to turn down a fresh tart.”
“That is true. I have never seen you say no to them.” Margaret gestured toward the settee. “Please, sit down. I will call for tea.”
“You must tell me about your trip,” I said once tea was served. “Was it as successful as we hoped?”
“Indeed, it was,” Margaret replied as I withdrew a stack of tarts wrapped in a white cloth from the basket. I uncovered them, careful to keep their positions. My friend watched curiously as I removed the top tart and set it aside, isolating it from the rest.
“We cannot eat that one,” I explained. “You know I enjoy my tarts, but there is another at Kenwick Castle who enjoys them more than I, and quite frankly, he is due some comeuppance.”
Margaret shook her head. “Will you and Mr. Apsley never cease this game? Surely you must grow tired of pranking one another.”
I scoffed. “It is no game. My brother declared war on me the moment he put toads in my slippers. I was four.Four, Margaret! What sort of brother would do that to someone so innocent? He will not have the last battle. Victory shall be mine, even if we must continue until we die.”
“I suspect you would find a way to best him even in death,” Margaret mumbled. She was, perhaps, correct. I could be persuaded to haunt Rus should I die before him. But that was neither here nor there.
