Page 125 of Not a Fine Gentleman

Chapter 37

As early morning sunlight peeked into the kitchen windows of Tarrington House, Margaret sat carefully piping macarons onto a pan.

“Ah, bien,” Monsieur Beaufort said encouragingly as he inspected her work. “All the same size. They will cook the same.”

After briefly adjusting her hold on the parchment, Margaret focused on making little circles with the soft dough.

“It is lovely to have you here, madame, but I think we both miss your friend Monsieur Jackson, no?”

Freezing for a second before she resumed her work, Margaret took her time answering. “I don’t expect he’ll be back for any more flour fights or macarons. Or anything else, for that matter.”

“A pity.” Mercifully, he said nothing more about Connor.

After Margaret finished, she set down the parchment and looked up at the chef who looked like he was about to burst but didn’t dare pry. “Did you ever marry, Monsieur?”

“No, madame. Came very close once, but… no.” His expression revealed his heartbreak.

Margaret nodded in sympathy. They worked side by side for several minutes until the pans of macarons were tucked into the oven.

Monsieur Beaufort eyed her. “Nothing helps heal a broken heart quite like a new adventure.”

Margaret perked up as much as possible for a person existing in that space between apathy and despair. “I hope so. I’ve always wanted to visit France, Spain, Germany, Italy, Greece… perhaps even sail to Egypt.” The anticipation she’d expected to feel would surely arrive when she boarded Jared’s yacht, and they set sail.

He made a French gesture with his hands. “Ah, bien. As you English say, that may be just the thing.”

“I was happy to learn I can afford it without having to rely on the charity of my family. I never wish to become a burden to them.”

He nodded. “I will miss our time together. If you run out of money, perhaps I could persuade my lord to hire you as my assistant macaron-maker.”

Margaret laughed softly—the first in far too long.

It was strange that less than two months ago she’d barely known of Connor Jackson’s existence. Now, she was learning to live without him.

It would be the last time she gave her heart away. But at least hope flickered in her that she’d one day laugh again and feel a measure of joy.

Monsieur Beaufort gestured to the bracelet encircling her wrist. “Lovely.”

Margaret fingered the jewelry that now had the memories of two people attached to it. “My sister gave it to me. I never took it off until I had to… well, suffice it to say, I was without it for a time. I didn’t think I’d ever see it again.”

“Then you found it.”

“Mr. Jackson found it and returned it to me.”

He took a seat across the table from her. “He must have known it was special to you, non?”

She nodded. “He did.”

He had clearly gone to a great deal of trouble to retrieve it for her. And despite her caustic note to him, she didn’t believe for a moment that he’d done it for payment.

Why had he done it?

After thanking the chef for his time and company, she went back upstairs, where her maid, Taylor, had begun packing Margaret’s trunks with the newly arrived clothing from her modiste. Margaret nodded in satisfaction at the lovely colors—nothing black, thank you very much.

The thought of being even further away from Connor smote her already wounded heart.

Still, she was an Amesbury. She’d marshal on somehow.

An hour later, with a box of fresh macarons under her arm, Margaret took a long look around the hall of her family’s London house. Cole and Alicia had left yesterday for the country. The rest of the family had left moments ago and would meet her at the docks to send her off. Margaret’s trunks had been loaded into the waiting carriage, and the servants were putting sheets over the furniture and preparing it for near vacancy in the family’s absence.