Where was she? Should he go up to the estate? Perhaps she was in some trouble. The thought sent his heart to racing.
The third day with no Meg was almost unbearable. It was the not knowing that tore at him. A thousand different worries filled him. The tension, the concern continued to build until he felt as if he would explode.
Enough was enough. He needed to get out and he knew the perfect spot. That was how he found himself standing on the bridge looking down into the dark water as it glided by. As he let his mind drift, he thought of Meg. The way she laughed. The lavender smell of her hair. How her body called to him, demanding to be caressed, worshiped.
“You that artist fellow?” a voice called from behind him. Ian turned to find an older man in workman’s clothes.
Ian nodded, “Yes, Ian Temple.”
“Billy White.”
“Glad to meet you,” Ian said as his insides turned over with worry.
The workman grunted. “Seen you last week. Painting silly pictures. Never understood it myself. A waste if you ask me.”
Ian laughed, a not unusual reaction from working men. They spent their lives in physical toil, quite often, their evening meal being earned every day.
“Miss Susan sent me,” the workman continued. “Supposed to come the other day but forgot. She said I might find you on the bridge here. She were right.” The last was said with a hint of surprise.
Ian frowned as he waited. Why had it been Susan that sent him? Had something happened to Meg? Had she been discovered and dismissed? If so, why hadn’t she come to him?
“His Lordship and the rest are off to London.”
Ian’s guts tightened. “The family. The … the staff?”
Billy nodded then shrugged. “Yes, a bit of a whirl. But, you can never tell with that lot.”
London, that was why. Meg had been forced to accompany her mistress. Of course, that explained everything.
“Will they be returning soon?” Ian held his breath. Perhaps it was only for a few days. Should he wait here for her to return? If he followed, how would he ever find her in London?
Billy shrugged, “Like I said, who can tell. Them lot don’t share their plans with the likes of me.”
Ian’s mind whirled with a thousand scenarios. How to find Meg. And once he did, should he expose his true identity.
“His Lordship,” Ian asked. “His title?”
The workman frowned. “The Earl of Cornwall,” he answered. “Everyone knows that. The manor is a secondary Estate. He isn’t here often. Makes it nice for me and mine.”
Ian swallowed hard as he recalled what he knew. He knew the man. Rarely in London, but they had met a few times. A rather dower man, not one of Prinny’s favorites. Liverpool didn’t mind his absence. Once less vote to fight in the House of Lords. Not well off, not destitute, but not far from it. Land rich, but cash poor. A man with more debts than income if he remembered correctly. His brother was his heir. Only one daughter. She must be Meg’s mistress.
A feeling of hope crept into his heart. Now he had a target. Of course, no plan. But at least he knew where to start.
Of course, that was assuming that Meg wished for his pursuit. Why had Susan sent word and not Meg? Why no note? Surely Meg could write. Most Lady’s maids could, didn’t they? Everything seemed off. His gut told him that something wasn’t right. In fact, if it had been a business deal, he would probably walk away.
But this was Meg.
“Thank you,” he told the workman.
Billy shrugged and started to turn then glanced back at him, “Miss Susan is a good girl. She don’t got anyone looking out for her. So, you don’t be hurting her or me and the boys will be paying you a visit and dragging you to the vicar’s.”
Ian swallowed as he studied the man. He was deadly serious. Would the man be as concerned for Meg? Of course he would, Ian realized. What would he do if he knew the man across from him was a Duke? Nothing, Ian realized with a touch of shame. The Earl of Cornwall would take no action. Not over a mere maid. This workman before him and his friends could do nothing. It wasn’t right. But the truth was that a Duke could get away with a great deal and never be held accountable. There was nothing stopping him from using Meg and then tossing her aside. No one could stop him. In fact, many of his fellow lords would expect nothing less.
The man gave him one last serious stare then turned for home.
The unfairness of the situation ate at Ian’s stomach as he watched him walk away. Meg had no standing. Not when compared to that of a Duke. No, it wasn’t fair. But wasn’t that what he was doing? Using her? His stomach tightened as the reality of the situation washed over him.
Granted, he had made no promises. He had purposely told her that his future was not his own and yet she had still come to his bed.
Still, a sick feeling of guilt-filled him. He had deceived her. She would never have come to him like that if she had known the truth about who he really was. It would have been too risky for her. Too awkward. She never would have ever entertained the thought.
Perhaps the right thing to do was to leave her alone. Let her go. Forget about capturing her specialness on canvass. Abandon this feeling of rightness that filled his soul. Heaven knew, her world would be better if she had never met him.
Instead, she would meet some handsome footman. They would slowly get to know each other, both building trust and mutual love. A sweet wedding in a small chapel. Perhaps children.
He ground his teeth as a jealousy began to build inside of him. No. Another man could not possess her.
But, all he could offer her was to be his mistress. Shamed in public. Hating herself the entire time. His heart cracked at the thought. Meg deserved better.
What of marriage? The thought didn’t surprise him as much as it should have. His friend Brock, the Duke of Bedford, had married his downstairs’ maid. So yes, it could be done. Although it had taken the ton months to accept her. But only because of the careful assistance of his family, that and an artfully laid ruse that she was a rich merchant’s daughter and not his employee. No one ever knew that in reality she was a girl from the streets. About as far from the aristocracy as a woman could be.
It would not be so easy for Meg. Too many people would know the truth about her humble origin. Besides. That was not the real issue. It was the duties and expectations that would be thrust on Meg. How could he ask that of her?
And then there was his mother and brothers. He knew his mother. She would never accept him marrying a maid. And while he might very well ignore her wishes. It would be one more burden upon Meg.
His gut refused to let go. What could he do? Should he pursue her to London? And if so, what then? How could he approach her without revealing his true identity? And if he did. What then?
Problems without answers, he realized. Perhaps the greatest problem he might ever face. If it were simply duty versus his happiness. He would know what to do. But there was so much more to consider. Meg’s happiness. His family’s expectation. The lies he had already told. His duty to the crown and his class.
Sighing, he thought of what he knew about Meg. She was sweet. Yes, common, but all the best of common. Open. Earthy. True.
The memory of her coming to him the other night flashed into the front of his mind. No virginal Lady of the aristocracy would have acted that way. Not without a marriage license in hand, and most not even then.
No, that was the actions of a woman with no concern for society's expectations.
No, she hadn’t been raised to meet social expectations. No, it wouldn’t be fair to her. The ton would eat a woman like Meg for breakfast. She was completely unfamiliar with the political maneuvering of his world. Unaware of the hurt and embarrassment his world could foist on a newcomer. The slights and slurs could devastate a person. Especially someone as innocent as Meg.
His sense of right and wrong told him to not pursue her. Not if he truly cared for her. He must deny his own desires and let her go. The realization was like a he
avy weight being dropped onto his shoulders. A burden that could not be ignored.
The truth could not be denied.
It was as if a spark had been extinguished deep inside of him. Smothered like a candle’s flame. Where before there was light and potential. Now there was but darkness.
Chapter Twelve
Margaret sighed heavily as she looked down at the returned letter in her hand. She confirmed it had been addressed correctly. Ian Temple, Laurel Lane, Worcester. To have it returned unopened ate at her stomach.
How many devastatingly handsome painters by the name of Ian could there be on Laurel Lane, Worcester? Surely, the Royal Post could have found him.
She had used every bit of charm to convince her aunt’s butler, Stevenson, that she should be given an opportunity to peruse the mail before it was distributed to either her aunt or her father. Of course, she had prayed that it would be a letter from him. Instead, her letter to him had been returned unopened. It made her heart ache. Had he been there? Or had he purposely ignored her? She turned it over. The seal was unbroken.
What did it mean? Either he had left the village and never received her letter. The Royal post had been unable to find him. Or he had refused delivery.
Had he decided to move on with his life? After all, he had already enjoyed her body. And the world was filled with other women. A man like Ian Temple would never be alone for long.
Did he even know why she had left? She wondered if Billy even tried to get word to him. Again, a fear gnawed at her insides. What if Ian hated her so much that he had decided that there was no reason to wait for her. In all likely hood he despised her because he couldn’t finish his paintings.
Oh, why hadn’t she told him her true feelings? Would it have made any difference?, she wondered. Perhaps not, but it would have made her soul rest easier.
Where was he? she wondered. Was he painting? Did he think of her, even a little? A tear slowly flowed from the corner of her eye. She would never see him again. The letter had been her only hope. How could this have happened? Her life ruined.
Biting back another tear she continued to stare down at the envelope in her hand. A soft knock at the door forced her to look up.
“Yes,” she called out with a voice that cracked.
“M’lady,” Susan said with a concerned look in her eyes. Margaret was very aware that her maid had been watching her mistress for the entire week like a sad puppy, worried about her.
No one would ever be able to understand. And there was no one to even try and tell. But it was impossible to explain. Instead, she would have to carry this burden of loss alone for the rest of her life.
Setting her shoulders, she lifted an eyebrow, silently asking the maid what she wanted.
“Lady Duval requested that you attend her in the parlor.”
Margaret frowned, what did her aunt want? Her father had given up the London residence years ago. His sister was hosting them during their stay. A rather small allowance from her father and a small inheritance from her mother’s family provided for a small house a few streets off Mayfair. With only two servants, Margaret felt as if she and her father had added significant bother to the household
Well, there was but one way to find out what her aunt wanted. Rising, she turned her back to Susan and quickly wiped at her eyes. If her aunt ever discovered she had been crying she wouldn’t have rested until she knew every sordid detail.
Grimacing, she tried to give Susan a reassuring smile as she passed her at the door. Susan smiled weakly, obviously wanting to show support, but not knowing how. Then, reaching out she stopped Margaret for a moment.
“M’lady, your courses, they have come?”
Margaret frowned as she nodded. Then the truth hit her like a bolt of lightning, Susan new of her night with Ian. It was written on her maid’s face as clear as day. And now she was reminding Margaret that things could be worse. Oh, so much worse.
Smiling weakly, Margaret swallowed and started down to her aunt. Just before entering the parlor, Margaret pulled back and ran a hand down her dress. Aunt Vera was a stickler about appearance. She wouldn’t hesitate to remark on any failing.
“Aunt Vera, you asked to see me,?” Margaret asked as she stepped into the parlor.
Her aunt looked up from her needlework and scowled at her. Margaret wondered if the woman even remembered why she had summoned her niece.
A rather rotund woman with a long nose and very bushy eyebrows. Her gray hair pulled back in a tight bun. Margaret had always thought that she reminded her of an overstuffed hawk. Nothing missed her attention and her gaze could pin a person in place.
“Yes,” the older woman said rather sternly as she indicated the chair next to her.
Margaret swallowed. This was not good. Even for Aunt Vera, it appeared to be serious. Smoothing her dress as she sat, she looked up and waited
“I have received very concerning news about you,” her aunt said with a deep frown.
Margaret’s insides clenched up into a tight ball. How? Susan? No, her friend would never have told. Even then, Susan didn’t know the full truth. How had her aunt discovered the tryst between herself and Ian?
“Your father, …” her aunt began. Margaret’s heart jumped to full speed as it pounded inside her chest. Her father knew? Was that why Ian had not responded. Her father had him sent away. Or worse, had him hurt? Was he even now alone, injured?
“… has informed me that you are being rather silly about Lord Evens.”
Margaret’s slumped in relief before she could stop herself. Aunt Vera’s eyebrow rose, obviously surprised to find out that her niece had been worried about something else.
The burst of happiness inside Margaret could not be denied. Ian was not in trouble. She was not exposed.
“Interesting,” her aunt said obviously referring to Margaret’s reaction. “We will discuss your true worry at a later date. Really this is your mother’s responsibility. But it will be days before she arrives. For now, we will focus on Lord Evens and why you are being such a fool.”
A quick anger began to build in Margaret’s stomach. How dare everyone dismiss her wishes? Her desires. This was her life. Even Susan secretly thought she was wrong.
“Really, Aunt Vera,” she began. “I don’t think you understand. I don’t love the man and cannot foresee myself ever loving him.”
Her aunt let out a very unladylike snort as she shook her head. “Whatever does love have to do with it? Who put such ridiculous ideas in your head? Your Mother?”
Why couldn’t her aunt be on her side? Why must everyone think she was nothing more than a silly girl. “Aunt Vera, I refuse to marry Lord Evens, and no one can force me.”
Her aunt studied her for a long moment then slowly shook her head. “Margaret. You will willingly go to the altar and marry Lord Evens and you will send up a prayer of thanks for being given the opportunity.”
A cold fear settled between Margaret’s shoulder blades. The way her aunt looked at her created a feeling of doubt.
“Why would I do such a thing?” she managed to ask.
Her aunt frowned and shook her head. “It appears you must be introduced to reality.”
Margaret bit the inside of her cheek while she waited, the fear building, her aunt looked so sure of herself.
“As you know, our family is not well off. Rather embarrassingly so for an Earl in fact.”
Margaret nodded, “I am very aware. After all, Father has fought me on every expense.”
Her aunt shook her head. “As well he should. Your grandfather was a fool. Your father has fought for years to try to pull the family’s fortune up and out of the mire. In fact, I am surprised he has kept us afloat this long.”
Margaret’s insides dissolved into mush. Had it really been that bad? “Regardless, the lands are entailed and cannot be taken. And a peer cannot be sent to debtor’s prison. So, we are not in great danger.”
Again, her aunt shook her head as if she were talking to a little girl w
ho refused to see that unicorns were not real. “True. But, the men have been called off to this blasted war. Farms have been abandoned. Therefore, no rents. The mines are having problems. The tin has played out in two of them. And those that are still operating, can’t find workers.”
A sick feeling began to settle in the bottom of her stomach. Could it really be that bad?
As if reading her mind, Aunt Vera said, “Your father will have to dismiss the staff at the Cornwall and Worcester estates. Even your maid will have to find employment elsewhere.”
That sick feeling grew to full fear as Margaret fought to understand.
“I will have to return to Cornwall,” her aunt said with a shudder. “This house and servants can not be retained. My inheritance is not near enough. It was only your father’s assistance that allowed me to remain in London. What little money the family receives from the rents will not be enough to cover the interest on the debts. Not anymore.”
Her jaw dropped as the reality of the situation began to sink in.
“What is more,” her aunt continued, “we will be unable to invest in improvements for the tenants. Which will mean ever reduced production? Eventually, the remaining farmers will leave us. And we will be nothing more than a penniless family, hiding in a broken down manor house on the edge of civilization. Or worse, the crown will revoke your father’s title or reassign the entailed property. I know, unheard of, but the times are different. This world is no longer as it used to be.”
This was impossible. Margaret fought to understand as a wave of doubt and disbelief flashed through her. Could it really be that bad? Could her family end up destitute? Her father shamed? Her mother embarrassed. No servants. How would her mother survive?
“Think of it dear, our family’s name dragged through the mud. The sacrifices our ancestors made, all useless?”
“But, it isn’t fair,” Margaret said before she could stop herself. She knew very well that she sounded like a petulant little girl.
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