by Joyce Alec
It was indeed Lord Barkley, and he was standing there, staring dumbfounded at her.
“What on earth are you doing?” she called out to him, hopping down onto the ground.
“My lady,” the footman said, hurrying over to where she stood.
She held up her hand to the man, and he immediately ducked his head.
Lord Barkley had apparently rediscovered his feet and was hurrying over to her.
His face shone with sweat, and he used what must have been a damp handkerchief to wipe his brow.
His eyes were wide and bright. She knew that she might have been moved by them had she not been furious.
“You are a fool, Lord Barkley,” she snapped, her hands on her hips. “I waited a long time for you at the orphanage. And you did not even have the decency to stay for the entire class!”
The man hung his head, and she felt a profound sense of satisfaction.
“You will join me in the carriage and ride the rest of the way back to Greenshire like a civilized human being.”
Without giving him the chance to speak, she turned and allowed the footman to help her back into the carriage.
He joined her a moment later, though rather slowly.
She glared at him as he sat down and looked up at her.
He could only blink at her in return.
The footman got the horses moving once more, and Margaret crossed her arms over her chest.
“Well, I hope that you are happy,” she said.
She knew that her father would be upset knowing that Margaret was speaking so forcefully to a man of such high stature, but she felt as if she was in the right for now, and meant to let him hear everything she felt.
He simply stared at her, his face blank.
“Well?” she asked, a little more forcefully.
“Are you asking if I am happy?”
She groaned in frustration. “Where did you go? Why did you not let anyone know that you were leaving?”
His expression did not change, but he did turn his head to look out of the small window.
“I needed some fresh air.”
Margaret hoped that her face was showing very clearly that she was displeased. She stared at him until he realized that she was not going to allow him to get away with such a basic reply.
He sighed. “I…”
Lord Barkley looked at her, and she saw a very open vulnerability that she had not expected.
“I remembered something that was…rather important. I needed a few moments alone to gather my thoughts.”
She was not sure what she had expected, but the vague reply was not it. She found that she was not entirely dissatisfied. It was as if he were a wounded animal, and she felt that by berating him any more, she would just snuff out whatever composure he had found for himself.
She crossed her arms and settled back against the seat of the carriage.
“Fine,” she replied, and looked out of the window.
They rode the rest of the way in silence.
As they pulled up the drive, she looked over at him and was both relieved and aggravated that he did not say another word to her for the entire trip. She had felt his eyes on her face once or twice, but he never spoke.
Am I that easy to ignore?
She scowled.
Or are you too full of yourself, Margaret?
“Thank you,” she said, and her voice startled them both, as it was the first sound in almost an hour.
He blinked at her.
“For what, exactly?”
“For accompanying me today.”
She was not sure exactly why she was thankful, she realized, but somehow, it was nice to have a familiar face there in the room with her.
And he had come along because he wanted to see her teach her class.
Somehow, she found that she was flattered, even if it was just a small amount.
She saw the corner of his mouth twitch, but he did not smile. “Thank you for allowing me to accompany you.”
When they walked back into the manor, Margaret heard voices from just down the hall. She recognized them immediately.
Jane apparently had arrived home, and she could hear her attempting to calm someone down.
Margaret rolled her eyes and made her way to the room.
It was a small room for tea and to receive guests, mostly the surprise visitors. She found her mother and father in the room, her father with his hands on his hips, and her mother clutching a handkerchief closely to her chest.
“Good afternoon, Mother, Father,” she said, stepping into the room.
“There you are, you foolish child,” her father said, his voice already colored with anger.
Margaret flinched, but she retaliated just as quickly. She could feel the presence of Lord Barkley standing directly behind her.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“We arrived here five hours ago to bring you back home. In your letter, today was the day that you wished to come home.”
“Yes,” Margaret nodded, “After I returned from the orphanage, which you know takes me nearly all day.”
Jane’s lips were pursed as she looked back and forth from Margaret and their father.
Their mother would not say a word.
Her father shook his head, his hand held to his forehead.
“There are so many other things that you should be spending your time on right now, Margaret!” he said, and she was immediately angry to hear the very same tone that he would use when she was a child, especially when she was acting out.
“Oh?” she replied, her hands on her hips. She glared past her father at her mother, who looked immediately down.
Good, I hope that you will be as ashamed of him as I am right now.
“Why are you so adverse to my volunteer work? Do you find it wrong that I spend time with children who have no parents?”
His face was flooding with color and his mustache bristled. “Absolutely not,” he said, waving his hands dismissively. “But as the daughter of a duke, you have other duties.”
Margaret’s jaw tightened and she chewed on the inside of her lips. She tasted a metallic heat on her tongue.
“Such as?”
Jane glared at her as she always did when they were younger.
How often had this sort of fight happened when she was a girl? Her father would accuse her of something, and he was almost always wrong, and as soon as Margaret would attempt to defend herself, he would find a dozen reasons why she was wrong. And because of it, the years of feeling helpless when he believed he was right had helped give her a backbone that allowed her stand up to him, even when she knew she should be more respectable and act like a lady.
She scowled back and Jane rolled her eyes.
“Preparing herself for a husband.”
Both Jane and Margaret sighed, but Margaret was much more upset about it than Jane was.
“Father, do you truly think that I should be spending every waking minute of my life looking for a husband?”
Her father stood taller, and Margaret saw her mother reach out and place her hand on his arm.
“My dear, this is really not something that we should be discussing right now,” but he pulled his arm away and stepped across the room to Margaret.
“I expected that this gathering with your sister’s friends would allow you to mingle with some of the eligible men you knew without your mother and I breathing down your neck.” He nearly spat the last few words, but gathered his composure before he continued. “And, we were both hoping that when we arrived here today, you would have met a man who wished to call on you, and eventually marry you.”
Margaret balled her hands into fists. “Father, I am not even nineteen years old. I have many years before I am on the shelf.”
“My dear,” her father continued, though perhaps a little more cautiously than before. “There will be plenty of time to attend to the orphanage once you are married. But, at that point, surely you will have your own children, and the
n you will be far too busy to spend your time with children who are not your own. If you wish, I can donate money to help the cause you are so passionate about.”
Margaret felt her head might implode from the anger.
“Dear,” her mother said again, a more forceful, warning edge to her voice.
But he did not listen. “All of this time that you are spending there is very nice for the children, but ultimately you are wasting your time.”
The silence that filled the room was almost maddening.
“Wasting my time?” she whispered in reply. Her fists were shaking.
“Father, you have gone too far,” Jane said, her voice quiet and calm.
“I…” Margaret began, but the anger was so blaring in her mind that she could not think straight. Her mind raced faster than she could even keep up with. She had known her father had not always approved of her actions. And she even would admit that sometimes she was stubborn enough to ignore him when he was right. But why could he not understand that she wanted to help children? Finding a husband was not nearly as important as her work at the orphanage.
She was incredibly surprised then, when she felt a strong, steady hand on her shoulder. It pulled her out of her fury, just enough, to make her remember where she was and what was happening.
She was gently moved aside, just a little, and she noticed out of the corner of her eye the tall, dark shape of Lord Barkley.
She realized that the hand belonged to him.
It did not linger there for more than a moment, for as soon as he was inside the room, standing just in front of her, it was gone.
She blinked at the back of his head.
“Your Grace,” Lord Barkley began, his voice even and deep. “I feel as if I need to say something.”
It was apparent that Margaret’s father did not welcome Lord Barkley’s interruption, for his face hardened and his mouth opened.
But before he could speak, Lord Barkley continued.
“Lady Margaret is a crucial asset to the orphanage and to the way that it functions. Without her guidance and encouragement, many young women who are unfortunate to find themselves at such a place would not have some very important skills to help prepare them for marriage one day.”
Margaret could only stare at Lord Barkley. He would not look at her, but his face was set, though not unkind. It was as if he was stating a fact that was plain to see, and she wondered wildly if she had just never seen the depth of him because she did not know him.
“And when she is to marry, whoever the man may be, he will understand her love for those children, and her gift of teaching that only she can provide for them. Even if she were to have her own children, she would still have a love for those without a family, and it would not stop her. I attended her class, and watching her with the children today, I could clearly see her devotion.”
She felt her heart catch in her throat.
Did he really feel that way? Had all of her anger been misplaced? She suddenly looked at him and saw an entirely different man. He was no longer a man who cared little for those around him. He was a man of character, who paid clear attention to the life moving around him, and made judgments based off of sound reasoning.
And she deeply appreciated it.
Her father was apparently so surprised that he was at a loss for words. Margaret spared a glance, and she could see that he did not wish to push the issue further. Perhaps Lord Barkley standing in for her had caused him to realize that his anger was burning too hot, and that it was an inappropriate discussion to have in front of someone who was not family.
Margaret’s father looked over at the duchess, who nodded her head. “Perhaps I was wrong,” the duke said, and he looked very closely up at Lord Barkley, who stood almost an entire head over him.
Lord Barkley appeared unaffected by her father’s gaze. Margaret became very aware of how close he was standing to her.
Lord Barkley continued. “I believe that you want what is best for your daughter. All fathers do. But your daughter has a wonderful gift with the children. And the children love her.”
The duke shifted uncomfortably. “Are you coming home with us, Margaret?”
“Yes,” she replied rather shortly, but she was looking at Lord Barkley once more.
“Then your mother and I will wait in the sitting room for you. I believe your maid is already collecting your things.”
He looked at her once more, and then strode from the room.
Her mother stood for a moment, looked between Jane and Margaret, and sighed.
“He did not mean to upset you, dear,” she said softly. “He just wants the very best for you.”
Margaret sighed. “He would do well to go about it a little differently next time he attempts to tell me how he feels.”
Her mother agreed with a small nod of her head, and she also stepped out of the room.
Jane turned slowly to Margaret, and looked between her and Lord Barkley.
“My deepest apologies, Lord Barkley,” Jane said, sighing heavily. “My father can be insensitive sometimes.”
Lord Barkley shook his head. “He cares deeply for you,” he said, and he looked down at Margaret. “It is obvious, but I did not want him to think that Lady Margaret was not good at what she does. Because she is.”
“I do not even know what to say,” Margaret began, truly feeling at a loss for words.
Lord Barkley shook his head.
“Yes, thank you, Lord Barkley,” Jane said, giving Margaret a look that she did not quite understand. Was it anticipation of some sort? Or was she teasing her?
Margaret noticed a smirk appear on Jane’s face, and she took a step toward the door.
“Wait, Jane,” Margaret said, reaching out to her.
Jane put her hand on the handle to the door.
“I think the two of you have some things to discuss,” she said plainly, and with a small wink at Margaret, Jane pulled the door closed behind her, leaving the two of them alone in the room together.
8
Margaret blinked at the back of the now closed door, and felt a shiver run down her back.
Lord Barkley stood with his hands grasping a tall-backed arm chair, the fabric folded and creased beneath the grasp of his large hands. He was looking at something in the distance, and appeared to not notice her glare.
“Lord Barkley, could you please explain to me what just happened in here?”
It was not as if she needed a clear retelling of what was said to her father; the words still burned in her like a hot iron being shaped into a blade. They rang like a church bell, and she found she was both afraid and relieved by them.
Still the man would not look at her. It was as if he were a statue now, and he had not heard a word that she had said.
She walked across the room toward the windows and peered out, the skin on her arms beginning to prickle with anticipation.
“I appreciate your kind words.” She did very much, but she did not know if she wanted him to know exactly how much she appreciated his gesture. “But I do wonder if it was necessary for you to speak on my behalf.”
Something that she said must have jarred him enough to look over at her and pay attention finally.
“My apologies,” he said, rather plainly. “But I believed that your father should know how gifted you truly are.”
She sighed, and she turned around to look at him. “Why?”
His gaze shifted to her. “What do you mean?”
“Why do you think he needed to know that I was gifted? If I even truly am…” she said, and she flushed when she realized that the last few words had been said out loud.
“You are,” he replied easily. “And your father needs to know how special his daughter is.”
She was at a loss for words. How had she never known that he thought these things about her? And when did it happen? How did it happen?
“There is something else,” he said, and she noticed that there was a note of hesitation in his voice. “An
d I do not know how to say it.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Well, I do know that my father will be quite upset if he learns that we are alone together, so I believe our time is limited. What do you wish to say?” she asked, and her voice was gentler than she would have expected.
He looked up at her and ran a hand over his beard nervously. He sighed and took a few steps toward her.
She did not move, and she found she was not unhappy when he joined her at the window.
It was a peaceful afternoon, and she could hear birds singing in the trees nearby. There was a faint wind which made the tops of the trees just out of the windows appear to dance.
“I feel as if I must apologize,” he began quietly.
She realized she was holding her breath.
“I have done a very poor job at allowing you to know who I truly am. That first night at the ball, that first night that we were formally introduced, I think I gave you the wrong impression of myself. But I am grateful for that, and grateful to you for how you reacted to me.”
That was not at all what she expected him to say.
He is grateful for my reaction to him? I insulted and ridiculed him! How could anyone be grateful for that?
She noticed that his face had split into a smile, and she realized how handsome the expression made him. The afternoon sun highlighted his beautiful eyes, and the shadows accentuated his high cheekbones and strong jawline.
“I had a very difficult father,” he began simply, the smile still on his face, but his gaze was down on hands that rested on the windowsill. “He was harsh and unkind, and spent far too much time with a bottle of scotch. He did not love me.”
The frankness of his statement startled her, and she swallowed hard, a lump appearing at the back of her throat.
“How awful. I am truly sorry,” she replied softly.
Lord Barkley shook his head. “Do not be. I have forgiven him, and have moved on because of it.”
He looked up at her for a moment. “He died ten years ago.”
Margaret gasped, but not loud enough for him to hear.
“My mother loved my father for some reason. Perhaps because she had to. And she was fiercely protective of him, even to the point of punishing me in order to please him. Even though he is gone, she still is loyal to him and carries out what he would have wanted.”
