by Cheryl Holt
“How do you like living out in the cottage with your Aunt Joanna?” Miss Ralston asked.
“I like it very much. It’s perfect for us.”
“How long have you been there? I don’t recall what your aunt told me.”
“We moved to the area when I was a baby, so it’s been almost ten years.”
“You’re nine?”
“Yes.”
“You weren’t born here?”
“No.”
“Where were you born?”
“I’m sure you’ve never heard of the town.”
“Tell me anyway.” Miss Ralston’s tone was very sharp.
Clara peeked up at her. The woman’s lips were pursed so tightly that Clara wondered if she’d been impertinent, and she was suffering from the strongest perception that she shouldn’t provide the name of the spot, but she said, “It was Telford.”
“Telford!” Miss Ralston practically spat it out.
It was obvious she yearned to pry out other information, but Clara peered down the street, and Joanna was coming toward her. She sighed with relief.
“There’s Joanna,” she said. “I have to go.”
She rushed away, and when she reached her aunt, Joanna appeared very worried.
“What were you chatting about with Miss Ralston?” she asked.
“Nothing. I bumped into her by accident.”
Joanna glared at Miss Ralston, and Miss Ralston glared back, her expression scary to witness, then she whipped away and climbed in her vehicle.
“I don’t think she likes us,” Clara said.
“I don’t think she likes anyone. It’s not just us.”
“She looks like me. Did you notice?”
Joanna blanched. “No, I didn’t notice. It’s your blond hair making you seem similar.”
“Mine is prettier than hers.”
Joanna chuckled. “You need to work on your humility.”
They headed for home, and it was Clara’s favorite part of the day—when she had Joanna all to herself.
“Miss Ralston is so grouchy,” she said, “and Captain Ralston is so nice. Will he like being married to her?”
“We probably oughtn’t to speculate about it. Their life at the manor isn’t any of our business.”
“Do you know what I wish would happen? I wish he’d marry you.”
“Why would you even ponder such a peculiar notion?”
“He’s sweet on you,” she said, “and I saw you kissing. He wouldn’t kiss you unless he was very fond.”
“We’re not ever mentioning that, remember? Besides, he has a path that’s quite different from mine.”
“I bet he’d be much happier wed to you than her.”
Joanna stopped and stared up at the sky, as if she was searching for guidance from the heavens. Ultimately, she said, “Could we not talk about him?”
“I like talking about him, but we don’t have to.”
“Let me tell you something much more interesting. It’s a fun surprise.”
“Ooh, I love surprises.”
“I met a man on the lane by our cottage. A Mr. Periwinkle? He’s a reporter for a London newspaper. He is writing a story about me.”
“About your healing or your clairvoyance?”
“About the shipwreck! It’s the twentieth anniversary, and people are curious about how I’ve fared over the years.”
“There will be an article in the newspaper? Are you positive you’d like that? Your past won’t be buried then.”
“He claims their readers have fretted over how my life unfolded, if I’ve been safe and cared for, and I’d like to assure them that it’s been grand. I’m tired of hiding my identity.”
“I’ve never understood why you were so wary. If I’d been a Lost Girl, I couldn’t have been silent about it.”
“Guess what else.”
“What?”
“He’s planning a reunion—for me, Caro, and Libby!”
Clara had frequently heard about the three of them, how they’d been rescued by Captain Ralston’s father. She thought it was the most thrilling tale ever, and it was so hard to bite down on the truth. She was forced to keep many secrets about Joanna, but her being a Lost Girl was the most difficult one of all.
“After it’s in the newspaper,” Clara said, “will I be able to discuss it?”
“Yes.”
“Finally,” Clara mumbled.
She could never figure out why it was such a huge issue. It concerned Joanna’s mother leaving England in such a hurry, and the memory distressed Joanna. Clara had hated to conceal it from Captain Ralston. During his visits, Clara could barely stop herself from blurting out, Don’t you realize how Joanna is connected to you?
“Can we confess it to Captain Ralston now?” she asked. “He’ll be excited, don’t you think?”
“I’ll tell him about it next time I see him. He shouldn’t read about it in the newspaper without having advance warning. He might faint and hurt himself.”
Clara laughed. “When is the reunion?”
“It’s not scheduled yet. Mr. Periwinkle will write to apprise me.”
“May I attend with you?”
“Absolutely,” Joanna said. “And I was debating whether we should have a holiday. I promised you a summer trip to Bath. What if we went there for a few weeks?”
“To Bath? Really? I can’t imagine how marvelous it would be.”
“I assumed that would be your opinion. Maybe we’ll investigate the prospect. We’d have to determine where to stay, and how much it would cost, in order to decide if we can afford it.”
“What if Mr. Periwinkle contacted you while we were away? What if you missed the reunion?”
“Believe me, I won’t let that happen.”
Sandy was about to bank the fire in the hearth when a knock sounded on the door. It was soft and furtive and, without checking, he could predict who it was.
His initial instinct was to ignore her. What good could come from answering?
The boys were in bed, and it had been a long day, but then, they were all long days. An enormous amount of effort was required to run the estate, and he was exhausted. He had to do his own job, plus Kit Boswell’s, so he was always overwhelmed.
The knock sounded again, a bit louder, and he sighed with resignation. He was thirty and a widower, yet it felt as if he hadn’t matured a whit from when he’d been sixteen and had first fallen in love.
As if a magic spell was pulling him over, he went to the door and eased it open. Margaret was standing there, and they exchanged a hot look, then she murmured, “Well? Will you invite me in or not?”
“I shouldn’t.”
“But you will.”
She smiled the smile he’d never been able to resist, and he grabbed her wrist and dragged her inside.
“Are your sons asleep?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Perfect.”
He wasn’t sure what she wanted this time, but she was an expert at torturing him. During her prior visit, she’d suggested they sneak upstairs to frolic. He’d been stunned by her proposition, but he was also kicking himself for refusing. It had been the only proper reply, but oh! Just once, he’d like to push them to an outrageous conclusion.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Mrs. Howell?” His tone was very sarcastic.
“I searched for you all day, but you are so adept at hiding. I couldn’t find you anywhere, and we have to have a serious chat.”
She’d brought a satchel, and she held it out. He took it from her and asked, “What’s this?”
“Champagne and chocolates.”
“What are they for?”
“We have an important issue to resolve, then we’ll celebrate.”
“What will we be c
elebrating?”
“You’ll figure it out shortly.”
Obviously, she planned a surprise, but he couldn’t bear her surprises.
They were still trudging down the road they’d walked when they were adolescents. She was a Ralston, and he was a Ralston employee. He was a servant who served her family. There were so many obstacles separating them that she might have been living up on the moon. Their circumstances were that far apart.
When he’d heard she was a widow and coming home to stay, he’d told himself they were older and wiser, so their youthful impulses would have fled, but after he’d kissed her, he couldn’t deny that he was more besotted than ever, which had him worried about his sanity.
Wasn’t it a sign of madness to keep doing the same thing over and over, but expecting a different result? If he wasn’t careful, he’d wind up committed to an asylum. His warped relationship with her would drive him to that sort of bad ledge.
He tossed a log on the fire to get it burning again, then he emptied the satchel. There were two chairs by the fire, a small table between them, and he put the champagne and chocolates on it. She’d even included glasses and plates.
As he fussed with the treats, she removed her cloak and hung it on the hook by the door, and he noted that she’d dressed as if she was off to attend a fancy party. Why would she have? He wouldn’t try to guess.
In many ways, he knew her better than anyone, but in many other ways, she was a complete mystery.
Her gown was a pretty blue color, and the shade set off the blue of her eyes so they were particularly striking. Her hair was intricately styled, with braids and curls and a jaunty feather dangling in the back. Her slippers and fan matched her gown, and he was a tad unnerved by the display.
She sauntered over—yes, she definitely sauntered—then she pointed to one of the chairs and said, “Sit down.”
“Uh . . . all right.”
“I’m going to talk for a bit, and you’re going to listen. Then when I’m finished, you’ll give me the correct response.”
“I hope I’ll be able to.”
“I have no doubt about it. You’ve never failed me in the past, and you’re not about to fail me now.”
He sat as she’d commanded, and he stared up at her, terrified over what she was about to convey. He prayed it wouldn’t be a hideous request. She was horridly spoiled, and it wouldn’t occur to her that she might seek a favor he didn’t dare supply.
She studied him tenderly, as if he was greatly adored. He melted when she looked at him like that. No one else ever had. Not even his deceased wife who’d been fond, but who’d possessed no heightened affection.
“How long have I known you, Sandy?” she asked. “Twenty-eight years?”
“Yes, if we start counting from the day you were born.”
“When did we first become friends?”
“I remember it so clearly. I was five and you were three. You fell and skinned your knee in the garden. You’d snuck away from your nanny and were outside when you weren’t supposed to be. I helped you up and escorted you to the manor.”
“Really? Is that it? I don’t recall the incident. How old would you say I was when I initially realized I was in love with you?”
He shifted uneasily. “You loved me?”
“Don’t be daft, my silly man. It probably flared when I was about twelve. That was when I noticed you in a whole new way.”
“Well . . .” He couldn’t deduce a reply, so he added nothing further.
“My mother demanded I wed Mr. Howell, and I thought I would die of a broken heart for the loss of you.”
In his opinion, she’d gotten over him quickly enough, but he didn’t mention it. “It was a difficult period, and you were always destined to be a bride for an oaf like him. Your mother wouldn’t have made any other choice for you.”
“Even then, even when I devastated you with my disregard, you were steadfast. Yet I took you for granted.”
“I didn’t mind.” He halted and frowned. “Let me retract that statement. I minded, but I understood your reasoning. You had to obey your mother.”
“Yes, I behaved like the dutiful daughter I’d been raised to be. I didn’t wish to ever be compared to my sister, Pamela. She eloped rather than heed my mother, and she’s been cut off from us ever since. I couldn’t have lived like that.”
“Pamela was more reckless than you, and after she’d caused such a furor, you couldn’t have done it too. It might have killed your mother to have both of you elope on her.”
“I agree, so I married Mr. Howell. It was my only genuine option, but I want you to comprehend that I paid for my sins against you. Every day I was wed, I paid.”
“Don’t share that kind of information with me. It’s too depressing.”
She squared her shoulders and shook off her moment of melancholy, then she said, “I’m a snob and an ingrate, and I constantly fret over how others view me. I have shrugged off your affection, and I have received much more devotion from you than I deserve.”
He smirked. “That’s all true.”
“I don’t have any money. My dowry was squandered by Mr. Howell, and I’ve come home to my brother with my hat in my hand like the worst beggar.”
“You’re lucky he opened the door to you,” he facetiously said.
“Ha! I slithered in before he arrived, and he was too polite to kick me out.”
“Where is this going, Margaret?” he inquired. “What are you trying to tell me?”
“I’m trying to tell you that I have loved you all my life. I’ve never stopped, and I’m an adult woman who can make her own choices. This is what I choose: Geoffrey Sanders, will you do me the honor of becoming my husband?”
He scowled ferociously, positive he’d misheard. “What did you just ask me?”
“Will you marry me?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Can’t you contemplate it for a minute? Why must that be your immediate answer?”
“Because it’s impossible.”
“Says who?”
“Says . . . everyone?” He was startled and completely flummoxed.
“When we separated years ago, we were little more than children. I obliged my mother by wedding the candidate she selected for me, but I’ve grown up, and my parents are deceased. No one will be allowed to pressure me ever again. I will decide, and I have decided that you should be my husband.”
“But . . . but . . . what would people think?”
“I don’t give two figs for any opinion but yours.”
“What about your brother? You may have determined that you’d like to shackle yourself to the hired help, but he would never let you.”
“He’d like me to be happy, and you will make me happy.”
“What about his fiancée? She’s more of a snob than you’ve ever dreamed of being. She most especially wouldn’t like it.”
“Of all the individuals in the world who get to order me about, she is so far down the list that she’s not even on the list.”
He chuckled, but miserably. It sounded so simple, as if they could flaunt society’s rules and finally be together, and it was amusing to realize how their stances had changed from when they were adolescents.
Back then, Sandy had begged her to run away with him, and initially, she’d promised she would, but reality had crashed down on them. He’d have been fired, and she’d have been disowned, so she’d submitted to her mother. Now here she was espousing his prior arguments.
It would have been humorous if it wasn’t so sad.
Yes, her parents were dead, but he couldn’t see that much else had been altered. Eons earlier, it had been declared that dissimilar people shouldn’t wed. There were too many obstacles to prevent a cohesive existence, but he hated for that to be true.
He yearned to marry her more than he
’d ever wanted anything. Why couldn’t he have her? He’d loved her forever, and he supposed he would until he took his last breath. But so what? The fact that he loved her had no bearing on any aspect of it.
To his great consternation, she dropped to one knee and clasped hold of his hand, which stunned him. It was the man’s required role, but he was sitting like a bump on a log as she grew more absurd than she’d ever been.
“My dearest Sandy,” she said, “will you marry me?”
“Oh, Margaret . . .” He winced. “Don’t do this. It will kill me to refuse you.”
He attempted to pull away, but she simply tightened her grip. “Then don’t refuse. Why would you? A decade ago, we were boxed in by issues beyond our control, but we’re not now. We’re both widowed, and you have two boys who need a mother. I heartily toss myself at your feet and request that you let it be me.”
He hadn’t thought about his boys. Yes, they needed a mother, but how could it be her? He struggled to picture her at their table, checking their schoolwork or listening to stories about their day.
He couldn’t imagine it.
“The wheels are spinning in your head,” she said, “as you conjure up a thousand reasons why we shouldn’t, but I will not permit you to obsess in your typical negative way. Stop it.”
He snorted. “I’m trying to envision you eating supper with us, but I can’t fathom it.”
“Well, I am trying to envision myself up in your bed. That’s a much more interesting scenario.”
“You’ve turned into a vixen without my noticing.”
“Maybe I was always a vixen, and with me being a widow, I don’t have to hide it. Just think how you will be the beneficiary of my newly-discovered dissolute tendencies.”
He didn’t respond to the comment. He couldn’t.
There were so many emotions swirling that he felt dizzy. After she’d crushed him with her disavowal, he’d spent the intervening period, reminding himself to stay where he belonged, to never reach for more than he’d been given.
He was a modest, ordinary man, and the agony of dreaming—when those dreams were dashed—could be so devastating. Yet she was offering him exactly what he wanted. In his view, she had very much to lose by wedding him, but she’d decided she didn’t care. She was eager to forge ahead and damn the consequences.
