But Henry saw the satisfaction underneath because he knew about gossips. She’d been hunting for this.
CHAPTER 6
Margaret sat in the carriage, Henry’s coat still draped over her knees, and tried to make sense of what had just happened.
She’d been caught with a man. Again. The familiar dread should have swallowed her whole. The memories of that first scandal—the balcony, Mrs. Winthrop’s accusatory stare, her father’s cold fury—should have crushed her.
But they didn’t.
Because this was different. This time, she’d actually kissed him; had wanted to kiss him. Had felt something real instead of performing politeness with a stranger.
Henry had offered for her because he wanted to before they’d been caught, not out of duty or to salvage her reputation. Before Lady Thornby appeared with her theatrical gasping and Schadenfreude in her eyes.
It was madness. She’d known the man for hours. A single evening of conversation and dancing and absurdly funny discussions about peas.
And yet…
Something in her chest felt settled. Certain. As if her heart recognized something her mind was still trying to understand.
She pressed her fingers to her lips, still tingling from his kiss. Her first real kiss.
Henry had followed her into the dark and had listened to her clumsy confession about never really being married in all the ways the word implied. He was the first person to see her as extraordinary instead of ruined. Moreover, he had promised to write her terrible poetry. A smile tugged at her mouth despite everything.
The carriage door flew open, and she looked toward the house where her younger siblings were waiting. Matthew’s face appeared at the door, which was unlike him. He looked white with panic, eyes wild.
The warmth of the evening evaporated like smoke.
“Mags, come quick. Something’s wrong with Mr. Foley!”
Oh no, her elderly father-in-law!
Margaret didn’t wait for the footman. Gathering her skirts, Margaret scrambled out of the carriage. Her hand slammed against the front wall to signal the driver to stop and let her out.
“What happened?” Her voice came out sharp.
“After you left, we did exactly as you told us.” Matthew’s words tumbled over each other. “Supper was the same, but he started complaining about his stomach. Gripe, he said. So Tessie made him tea.”
Poor boy. They’d been so desperate to prove they could manage without her.
“What was in the tea?” Margaret’s mind raced through their meager supplies. Chamomile. Mint. Nothing that should cause?—
“That’s just it.” Matthew’s voice cracked. “When Tessie came back with the cup, he’d already cast up his accounts. And he was shaking. Trembling something awful.”
His face flushed red even in the darkness. “I didn’t know what to do. I ran for Dr. Bromwell, but he wasn’t home. Then I tried Mrs. Manley, but she’s in the next village with a birth.”Tears pooled in his eyes. “I couldn’t find anyone, Mags. I tried, but I couldn’t?—”
“You did exactly right.” Margaret gripped his hand. Squeezed hard. “That’s what you were supposed to do. I’m here now.”
Matthew stood barefoot in the yard—he must have run outside when he heard the gate—his nightshirt no match for the cold.
But inside, she was cursing herself.Oh no, no. This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have been gone for so long.
The one night in three years she’d taken for herself, and this happened. It was foolish and selfish to let a duke woo her when her family needed her. When Mr. Foley needed her. The house of cards she’d built for her life couldn’t withstand her absence and survive the disruption of wanting something for herself. Thus, she mustn’t. Her family needed her.
She ran into the house, back to her old life. Dreams of the glittering ballroom and the tender kisses of the handsome duke fell away before she even entered. Their cottage door wasn’t locked. It never was. She shoved it open hard enough that it banged against the wall.
“Tessie?” she called for her younger sister.
“In here!”
