Chapter 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

T heodore kicked the front door of his house open. Fortunately, it was so late that neither Yates nor his butler was in the hallway waiting for their return home.

He marched across the hallway, with Margaret hurrying on behind him, few candles flanking them to offer feeble white light on their return.

“Theo, please?” she called after him. “Can’t we just talk of what has happened here tonight?”

He hastened into the sitting room, snatching off his frock coat. He folded it as neatly as he possibly could, then laid it down over the back of a chair.

“What has happened between you and your mother that she would shout at you so? That she would do this to you, too?”

“What?” He turned to face her, startled as her hand reached up toward him. There was a clean handkerchief in the palm of her hand, and she used it to mop the blood from his cheek.

Momentarily, he leaned into her hand. It was a soft touch, something he was so unused to, that he felt starved of such touches. He closed his eyes as she mopped it away.

“Explain it to me. Please,” she begged in a low voice. “You don’t have to shut me out so.”

He jerked his head back. That soft touch was suddenly gone. Any sort of warmth that had accompanied it evaporated fast.

She has seen far too much of me.

He thought of all the emotions he had felt since she had come into this house. The worry, the fear, the concern, the laughter… she had wormed her way under his skin. What could that lead to?

He may have had no liking for his mother, even less liking for her sanity, but she was right in one regard.

This was never to be a marriage of love.

“We have done what we needed to accomplish,” he said coolly to Maggie as her hand fell limp at her side with the bloodied handkerchief clutched tight in his grasp.

“What do you mean?”

“We have attended two events recently. We have presented ourselves as a married couple. Any hint of scandal between us will now be gone.” He stepped back from her. “There is no need for us to continue to live together anymore.”

“What?” Maggie dropped the handkerchief.

Fearful of blood ending up on his floor, he hastened to snatch it up. He stuffed it into his pocket, so the blood could no longer be seen.

“I shall leave. First thing in the morning.” He walked toward the door of the sitting room.

“Leave? What do you mean leave?” She grabbed hold of her skirt, lifting it high in order to run after him. He hurried across the hallway, reaching the bottom step of the staircase, just as she caught up to him. “You can’t just leave this house.”

“I have other houses. You have made this one your home.” He sneered, looking around the house. “Let it be your home. I’ll find my place elsewhere.”

“You cannot just leave like that!” She scrambled up the stairs faster than him, halting in front of him, her arms out wide to block his way. He had never seen her in such a flustered panic, the whites of her eyes now pink. “We were building a home here together.”

“Is that what you thought?” Theodore knew there was only one way out of this. She had seen him at his lowest now, and he couldn’t bear it.

He was better alone. Better when it was just him and the ghosts that haunted him from the past. Letting Margaret into his life now, was too much.

I have to get rid of her.

“You were wrong.” He leaned toward her, making his voice as dark as possible. “Do you not remember what I told you the other day? I have a heart of stone. If you thought we were making a home here together, that is because it is the illusion I was building for the world to see. To protect our reputations. That is all.”

“No.” She shook her head as she blinked rapidly. “I do not believe that.”

“Why not?” he snapped.

“Because tonight, you held onto me. When your mother walked toward us, I felt the fear, even as you closed down any expression on your face. And your hand… Theo.” She leaned toward him as her mirrored her movement, leaning away. “You held onto me. You didn’t want to let me go.”

“That was a mere stiffening of my body out of anger at seeing her there. It was nothing more. It certainly…” he deepened his voice. “Had nothing to do with you.”

He walked around her, heading toward the top of the stairs.

“Are you saying you have never felt anything for me?” Her words made him halt on the top step. He slowly turned back to face her.

Maggie’s cheeks were red, the tears pooling in her eyes now she hadn’t let them fall yet.

“Never anything?” She took a single step up. “All those mornings smiling in my company as we read the paper together. When you caught me as I fell from the ladder. When you held my waist tonight. Not one of these times did you feel anything from me? Not once?”

Something in his chest ached. He had to get rid of this pain.

Now. Let this be done, now!

“Not once,” he mimicked her words, standing as tall as he could as he adjusted his lapels, so everything laid perfectly neatly. Her lips fell open, but she said nothing. “Don’t you see?” he muttered, taking a step toward her, so he towered over her. “I have tried to warn you, again and again, Margaret. I am a monster. I have no heart. If you pinned any hope on me, that was your own delusion. The day I proposed to you, I made it clear what this was –”

“You kissed my hand that day,” she murmured, as a tear rolled down her cheek.

“Because it is the done thing. Don’t be a fool, Maggie.” It was a slip to use her nickname, but he corrected himself quickly, standing tall and retreating up the steps again. “I’m as twisted as they come. If you didn’t heed my warnings, that is your own fault. I’ll be gone in the morning.”

He turned and walked away, marching across the corridor. Something locked tight in his stomach, the sickening feeling growing worse the more he walked away. He heard Margaret’s breath hitch. He nearly turned back. He was so close to giving into the temptation of looking at her, but he defied his own wishes, refusing to give in.

He heard her breathing wrack now as she gave way to all her tears. It made him walk away as fast as he possibly could, practically running toward his chamber.

As he reached his room, he kicked the door shut and tore off his tailcoat. He folded his up, obsessively neatly, then placed it down on a stool. In his haste, he made a mess of his folding. He grunted in annoyance, folding once again, then snatched off his cravat, doing the same with that. He became frantic, undressing as quickly as he could, placing everything down as cleanly and as neatly as he could.

As he took off his shirt, he caught his toilette box and knocked it onto the floor. The glass bottles shattered into pieces, his shaving brush rolling away across the rug.

Furious, he threw himself down onto the bed, holding his hands over his face as he breathed heavily.

“What a god-awful night!” he snapped, yelling the words into his hands.

How had everything come to this? Yet now he had made up his mind, there were no doubts about his decision. He would rise as early as he could in the morning, ask Yates to pack his things and send them onto wherever he went next. He had a country seat in Buckinghamshire. That was perhaps the best place to go now, to get some distance between him, Margaret… and Catherine too.

It took many minutes for Theodore to gather himself and stand up, tending to the mess he had made on the rug. The whole time he was cleaning, he kept looking back at the door which adjoined to Margaret’s chamber. He waited, listening attentively, to see if she would return to her chamber, but there were no tiptoeing feet, no stifled crying, no creaking of floorboards.

She has not come to bed.

For some reason, this mattered. When he eventually undressed fully and climbed into bed, he found he couldn’t sleep. He sat up in bed and stared at the adjoining door, trying to hear when Margaret would come to bed.

The moonlight glinted through the curtains, the white orb drifting across the night sky, but not once as that light moved was there a sound next door.

Maggie never went to bed.

Margaret hovered outside of the carriage, looking across the estate to where she was certain she had seen the figure.

Was it in my imagination?

“Yates?” she whispered to the footman who held out his hand, offering to help her into the carriage that awaited her. “Did you see that man?”

“What man, Your Grace?” At once, Yates jerked his head away, looking out across the grounds to where Margaret had been staring.

She turned to point toward the figure, but there was no one there. Her hand fell limp at her side as she looked at the fresh snow fall and the trees that were now waving in the breeze.

It had been the same, every day for the last four days since Theodore had left. She had been so certain there had been someone watching her from the grounds, but between her sleeplessness and the number of hours she had spent crying, she didn’t put it past her own mind to imagine such a thing.

“Never mind,” she whispered to Yates. He offered a sympathetic smile then helped her up into the carriage.

“To your father’s house?”

“Yes. Please.” As Margaret sat back in the carriage, she refused to look out across the estate again, just in case she caught a glimpse of that shadowy figure standing between the trees.

It’s my imagination. That’s all.

When she reached her father’s house, she stepped down quickly, only to find Yates was now the one standing stiffly, staring into the distance.

“What is it?” she asked him, her voice strained with concern.

“Nothing.” Yates shook his head then forced a smile, turning back to face her. “We shall wait here for you, Your Grace.”

“Thank you.” Margaret still followed his gaze. Had Yates been staring at that distant rider? Was someone following them? Or had he been looking at that shadow, that looked rather like a man, now standing between the trees?

It’s all in my mind. I fear I am losing my sanity!

Margaret hastened into the house as quickly as she could. She handed her pelisse and gloves to the butler, then moved toward the voices in the house. She could move with no great energy or enthusiasm though, despite her determination to come. The last few days of heartbreak had left her weary.

As she entered the sitting room, she found her sisters all sitting around, clearly doing their best to ignore their father, in their own way. Louisa had retreated to the window seat to read, Alexandra was perusing some accounts books, and Penelope sat near their father, playing clock patience with a pack of cards and repeatedly glancing at James.

“Ah, she remembers us I see, at last!” James turned to face Margaret on arrival.

Louisa closed up her book at once. Perhaps she saw what James did not see, the tear stains on Margaret’s face and the pink cheeks.

“What has happened?” Louisa asked.

“Happened? She has recalled she has a family, that is what has happened!”

“Oh, Father,” Alexandra hissed in his direction. “Look at Margaret. Can you not see something is wrong?” She left the account books behind and stood, quickly moving toward Margaret and taking her hand, drawing her into the room. “What is it?”

“He’s gone,” Margaret murmured.

“Gone? Who?” Penelope asked, pushing her cards away.

“My husband. Theodore.” Margaret looked between her sisters, determined not to let anymore tears fall because of that man. “He has decided we have done our duty in appearing as a couple. Now he insists we live apart. He has gone.”

Louisa covered her mouth in shock as Alexandra gripped her hand tight. Penelope capitulated back to her chair, clearly so in shock that her legs could no longer keep her standing.

“Gone?” James spluttered, moving to the edge of his seat. “But then…” He started shaking his head. “If he is not there, with you, he would not send money.”

“Is that all you can think of?” Alexandra whispered in horror, her voice strangely hollow. Margaret gripped her hand tight.

“I’m thinking of her reputation, too.” James was in danger of falling out of the chair now. “Margaret, this cannot be allowed. If the ton discover you are living apart, they will talk. They will believe one or both of you will be being unfaithful. No, no, this must be remedied at once. You must have done something.”

“Done something? Done what?” Margaret said, stepping forward in alarm.

“I do not doubt you did something.” James shrugged. “Go to him and apologize for what you did. Men like that. Show you are humble and apologetic, and he will return to you at once. Just show you are sorry for the mistakes you have made.”

Something snapped inside Margaret as she stared at her father. It was a feeling rather like being plunged into ice cold water. Shaking, she released Alexandra’s hand and stepped toward her father, finding a loud voice that she had not used with her father in a long time.

“I didn’t do anything wrong!” At her loud voice, Penelope cowered back in her chair and Louisa stared, open mouthed. “I only ever did what was right. I tried to be a wife to him, and Theodore didn’t want that. He didn’t want me. That is hardly my fault, is it?”

Her father opened his lips to say something, but she raised her hand, cutting him off.

“You are my father,” she snapped. “For a change, just for once in your life, would you try and be on my side instead of making me into your enemy? Because I never have been your enemy, Father. Never! I’ve been disappointed in you. Gutted because of you, but I have always wanted you to be the loving father I remember you being when I was a child.”

“Margaret –” He stood to his feet.

“Don’t reprimand me now. I could not bear it.” She broke off, her breath hitching sharply as the tears she had vowed not to let fall suddenly came.

Feeling small in that room full of her family, she hid her face in her hands. When a pair of arms enclosed around her shoulders, she presumed it must have been Alexandra, until she realized it was not someone shorter than her, but taller than her. She lifted her head, amazed to see that it was James.

Her own father was hugging her tightly.