Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

IN WHICH OUR HEROINE EMBARKS UPON A NEW QUEST

Margaret Dashwood was a sight, and she knew it. She stomped back to Barton Cottage along an empty country lane, wiping away angry tears, her bonnet thoroughly forgotten. Although no one was in sight, she knew the neighbors would be gossiping about her before day's end, and she didn't care.

How dare he? How dare he come back now and make a mess of the life I've just cobbled together?

She paused at a farmer's fence to look out across the fields beneath the brilliant morning sun.

What did he expect would happen? Did he really think I would wait for him for seven years… without even knowing of his affections? He went away, giving no hint of his true feelings, no promises or assurances. To think that he could now return and confess and claim my hand is pure folly!

Margaret pivoted away from the bucolic scene. She plucked a tuft of grass and began shredding it between busy, angry fingers.

And he didn't spare a thought for how I felt all those years! Never thinking about how I would have come with him if he'd asked. All he had to do was say the word …

Margaret's thoughts skidded to a sudden halt. She looked up, her eyes wide, yet unseeing.

I would have gone to India with George, had he asked. I was lonely without him. Margaret's heart raced, as if she were on the verge of something monumental.

For so long, she had believed that her feelings about George's departure were limited to jealousy and the boredom of not having a friend with whom she could share her true interests. But then, she recalled the fear she had felt when long periods passed without a letter from him and she was in mortal terror that something awful had happened. She recalled the prayers she had whispered in church every Sunday for his safety. She recalled that every time she looked into a potential suitor's eyes, she compared them to George's. And she was forever turning gentlemen down because in her heart of hearts, none of them could measure up to George.

Margaret's hand flew to her mouth, stifling a small gasp. Oh, no. I cannot be in love with my oldest friend… can I?

Even as she thought it, she knew it was true.

"Margaret!" the subject of her thoughts called out from just down the lane.

Margaret spun in place and spied George coming toward her, her bonnet clutched in his grasp. Throwing all caution to the wind, she ran down the road to meet him. His eyes widened in surprise.

Coming to a sharp halt before him, her chest heaving from the sudden exertion, Margaret demanded, "Why didn't you tell me before you left?"

George's countenance softened. "Because I was afraid. I didn't know if you returned my regard. I didn't feel that I had the right to court you yet. Not until I had made something of myself. I had nothing to offer you back then."

"You had yourself!" Margaret snapped. "I would have come with you! I would have waited for you!"

George took half a step back, stunned. His mouth hung open slightly, his lips twitching around words he couldn't find .

"I will not be left behind again." Margaret adjusted her posture, standing up as straight as she could, chin out, shoulders back.

"You… you what?"

"I will not be left behind again," she repeated. "I will not watch my closest friend go away into dangers unknown and hardships unnumbered. Not when I can be by his side to share in his pain and hopefully lessen it through my presence." A gentle smile rose on her lips. "After all, we are comrades in arms, are we not? Knights should share their quests to make them more bearable. And, well, if your fellow knight is also your wife, all the better, I suppose."

Margaret's bonnet landed in the dirt with a soft thud, and suddenly, George's hands were on her face, cupping her cheeks, pulling her in for a kiss that was like none other she had experienced. She melted into his lips as stars exploded behind her eyes. Her hands came up to grasp the front of his shirt, pulling him in closer. She wanted to touch and feel all of him against her. Her heart was racing again, but for an entirely different reason than fencing and fighting.

They broke apart with a gasp and simply stared at each other for a moment, a new understanding passing between them.

Finally, George bent to retrieve her fallen bonnet with a chuckle. As he placed it upon her head, he noted, "I suppose we will be the subject of wild gossip by lunchtime."

"Of that, I am certain," Margaret agreed, threading her arm through his.

As they turned to walk back to Barton Cottage, George asked, "Are you sure… about everything? Consenting to be my wife? India? It's a difficult life."

"I would rather face a thousand hardships with you than a lifetime of comfort without you." Even Margaret was shocked by the fierce honesty of her words. She meant every single one of them. For the first time, thoughts of her future filled her with excitement and energy, rather than boredom and resignation.

"Poor Weston. He seems a good sort. I hope he's not too put out by the sudden transfer of your affections. "

"My affections were never available to be given away. They were bestowed upon a brave knight long before Mr. Weston presented himself to me. I simply did not realize it until my knight returned and recognized himself as the prince he had been all along." Margaret glanced up at George with a wicked smile. "Besides, I don't think Mr. Weston will be too deeply saddened by the loss. He spent more of our courtship—if you can call it that—talking to Mama than to me."

George nodded sagely. "Who knows? Perhaps another lady would be willing to trade the name of Dashwood for Weston—just a lady closer to his own age."

Margaret and George both threw their heads back and laughed as they continued down the lane arm-in-arm, two knights united not just by a quest but by their deep affection for one another.