Sweet Asylum

by Tracy L. Ward

  Ainsley nodded, though he was wholly unimpressed by Mr. Owen’s attempts to sell them a horse at the dinner table.

  “You will also find us at a number of local race courses,” Garret said. “You can’t go wrong putting money behind our beasts.”

  “How did your family start in the horse racing business then?” Margaret asked, her tone hinting at interrogation.

  “My grandfather learned from the gypsies who used to camp on the farm where he worked as a stable hand. A small inheritance allowed him enough to purchase our property.”

  “Oh my, a grandfather, father, and two brothers—Miss Ivy must be in desperate need of some female companionship,” Aunt Louisa said with a smile. Ivy looked up at this and licked her lips, but a glance to her brother prevented her from saying anything in reply.

  “We are a very close family, aren’t we, Ivy?” Garret said. “I wouldn’t worry on that account, ma’am.”

  “Even still, it would be nice to have you come visit us periodically,” Margaret said, giving Ivy a marked look.

  “Ivy?” Garret prodded his sister to reply.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ivy said on cue without lifting her eyes from her plate.

  Margaret gave Ainsley a calculated look and it took a great effort to ignore it.

  Not long after dinner ended, Ivy was installed in her family’s open-air carriage, given a seat beside her brother. Margaret held her hand as she stood beside the large wheel. “If you need anything,” Margaret began, “even a cup of tea, I should like you to call on me.”

  Her hands shaking, Ivy patted the top of Margaret’s hand and glanced to her brother, who gave no reaction to Margaret’s offer of friendship.

  “Step away, Margaret,” Aunt Louisa ordered, pulling Margaret back so that they could be on their way.

  Ainsley stood on The Briar’s front step and waved as the carriage jerked into motion. With the carriage’s occupants barely out of earshot, Margaret rounded on Ainsley and charged up the steps toward him.

  “Was that not enough to convince you?” she asked.

  “I saw nothing amiss,” he lied. If he were truthful he’d admit to having a lump in the back of his throat and a general unease while in their presence.

  “She is a scared girl,” Margaret said, turning to watch as the carriage rolled its way down the long lane to the road. “And I’d wager she hasn’t a friend in the world.”

  “I want you to stay away from them, Margaret,” Ainsley said without taking his eyes from the carriage. “We can hope they never have need to cross our paths again.”

  “There’s nothing you can do to stop me,” Margaret said.

  Ainsley lowered his gaze to the ground. “I know.”

  Chapter 8

  Its crowds are solitudes to me.

  Not long after Ivy and Garret’s departure, Margaret found herself walking the back garden. In the short time since Margaret last lived there the gardens had almost been laid to ruin. It seemed all the work Margaret’s mother had done to bring the manor house back to splendor had been abandoned since her death, most likely at the behest of their closefisted father. In the dark regarding the particulars of their family’s finances, Margaret was always led to believe the lion’s share of funds was reserved for Marshall House in Belgravia, while The Briar was left as a token to their mother, who brought it, and nothing much more into her marriage. She knew her father had a mind to sell it, most likely to pocket the profits and forget his wayward bride ever existed.

  Despair overtook her as she took in the half-dead rose bushes and withered ivy that lay brown and crisp in the summer sun. She walked the gravel path toward the covered gate that would take her to the yard beyond the wall.

  Once through the garden gate, she headed for the woods, retracing the path she and Ainsley had taken when they found the girl. The heavy rain that had fallen that night washed away any evidence of the struggle but Margaret found the patch of standing water and mud from where Ainsley had retrieved her.

  How far had Ivy walked? Had she made the entire journey on her own from Summer Hill Farm? And where could she possibly have been heading? Land belonging to The Briar included a number of acres of forest, and ended somewhere amongst the trees, where other properties bordered theirs. Margaret glanced down the trail that led deeper into the old growth forest. It was possible the girl was heading to town, perhaps with the intent of catching a train. That scenario seemed highly unlikely, though, since she had no luggage or belongings of any kind with her.

  A sound in the trees snapped Margaret’s attention back toward the house.

  Jonas was making his way down the path toward her. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said from the opposite side of the puddle. “Is this where you and Peter found her?”

  “I wondered if there was something we were missing,” she said, unable to keep eye contact with him. “What was she so afraid of?”

  “You believe she needs your help?” Jonas asked, his demeanor soft.

  “We all saw the same thing during dinner,” she said. “What it was, I don’t know—but something isn’t right.”

  Jonas nodded and began to walk around the puddle toward her but Margaret turned just before he reached her. She continued her walk deeper into the woods, unsure if she should invite him along or if she wanted time to herself. She didn’t protest, however, when he fell in step alongside her.

  “Have you spoken to Peter about it?” Jonas asked.

  “Of course,” Margaret answered. “He says there isn’t a need for us to get involved.”

  “Perhaps he is right.”

  Angered but not surprised by his reply, Margaret just shook her head and heaved a sigh. “Something has changed in him. I can see it in his eyes, though I cannot say for certain.” An opening in the canopy showered them with sun as they walked. Margaret squinted against the light and relished the warmth. “What happened back in London?” she asked pointedly.

  Jonas opened his mouth to speak and then looked back at the house as if it would grant him permission to continue. It was clear their easy friendship was gone, replaced by something far more awkward and methodical.

  “Tell me!” Margaret demanded. “He came home battered to an extent I have never seen before. He kept to his room for a week before we set off for the country. I fear he may do himself harm.”

  Jonas shook his head in weak protest. “That is not Peter’s way.”

  “What are you both hiding from me?”

  He averted his eyes, scanning the grass surrounding them, searching amongst the greenery for the answers he could not generate. “There’s nothing I can tell you.”

  “How very cryptic,” Margaret offered, ill-amused and her patience waning.

  “It’s a delicate subject matter,” Jonas called after her as Margaret began walking away. “He would not wish me to tell you, only to say”—Jonas ran to keep her pace—“to say that what is done is done and he is no longer in any danger.” Jonas stood in front of her and forced her to stop. “You, as well, are safe.”

  His eyes dropped to the sheer cloth that covered parts of her neck. Margaret found her hand rising to cover her stitches, worried the fabric was not opaque enough.

  “May I see it?” Jonas asked.

  Margaret pushed past him. “No.”

  “I am your treating physician.”

  The fact did not make her feel any better about him seeing her so mangled. The state of her wound was in no way due to his work with the needle but rather the infection that set in afterward. Julia did her best to keep the skin from going septic but it did not stop the bubbling and curling of the skin around the stitches before it healed. The medicine Ainsley prescribed worked to keep the infection from spreading but as the days passed it became more apparent that Margaret would never wear a traditional bodice again, nothing with a low neckline or flattering sleeves. Despite this, Margaret was far more concerned for her brother, whose external scars healed while his internal ones seemed to be killing him.

&
nbsp; “Margaret, please, I care about you.” Jonas’s words sounded desperate, an attempt to bridge the gap that had come between them. A gap that was becoming more and more difficult to ignore. “Why won’t you look at me?”

  Since his arrival that morning she had endured a fair amount of mental torment contemplating whether to confront him. The carriage ride from town had been pure torture, filled with pleasantries and small talk that was uncharacteristic to their normally easy conversations. She knew exactly why things had become so strained and she had little doubt that he knew as well. It was time they spoke of it, so they both could go their separate ways. There was no need to pretend anything more existed between them.

  “I’ve decided I have no interest in fighting for your affections,” she said.

  Jonas’s easy stride slowed and he turned.

  Margaret stopped and made a point to look him squarely in the eyes. “She may have you. I am not the sort of girl to chase after men. If that is the sort of reaction you are looking for I am sorry to disappoint you.”

  Jonas licked his lips and slipped a hand into his pocket. Two weeks prior Margaret had gone to visit Jonas at St. Thomas and found him in an embrace with another woman. Her initial reaction was to flee and she did, crying the entire journey home. Now she wished she hadn’t reacted so strongly. It revealed her feelings for him, feelings he obviously did not share. She would not make that mistake again.

  “Who is she?” she asked, and almost immediately regretted it. Such interest made her appear weak.

  “Margaret.” He walked the four paces that separated them but she turned and continued walking.

  “Peter told me he saw you with her as well.” Margaret swallowed as she looked over the trees that created a tunnel for them to walk through. “Do not try to tell me it was only once.”

  “It is not what it seems,” he said, his voice faltering. He followed her but remained a pace or so behind.

  “I’m sorry I am not like the other women you are familiar with.” Margaret had to speak over her shoulder. “I do not flirt, or tease, or provide…favours.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to.”

  Margaret turned. “Why not?”

  Jonas smiled and Margaret realized her mistake. A few moments passed without them exchanging words. She hated how calm he looked, how couth and self-assured. Nothing angered or rattled him. Tall and wide shouldered, he was just the sort of man she’d hope to fall in love with, but now hated herself for doing so. There was a deep panic inside her, one that mirrored her mood, when she saw him with that woman. The trollop.

  “I have too much respect for you,” he said, breaking the silence at last. “I would never dream of taking such liberties, especially not when—” His confidence waned.

  “When what?”

  “When I don’t know what you want,” he said.

  Margaret was floored. How could he turn this about on her? “What I want?”

  “What are we doing, Margaret?” He stepped toward her. “Do you care for me? Love me, perhaps?” He grabbed her hands in spite of herself. The warmth of his touch contrasted against the cool breeze and kept her from pulling away. “Command me and I will do whatever you want.”

  Margaret shook her head but could not force the tears away. “I want to know who she is,” she said, pulling her hands away. She wanted to step back as well, not trusting herself to react with composure once he spoke, but even that was too much for her weakening knees. She decided to continue making her way down the path slowly and hoped that Jonas would follow her.

  Jonas nodded slowly and closed his eyes. “When my father abandoned us, my mother and I were destitute. She was forced by circumstance to the workhouse and we were separated. You remember me telling you this.”

  Margaret nodded. She had heard his background before and at each telling she felt a pang of guilt for having been born to such a well-situated, if dysfunctional, family.

  Jonas’s mother had been hired on as a maid to the Locke family, which enjoyed a modest income. She cooked and cleaned for them and was soon able to have her son come live with her. He had earned his keep as well and Mr. Locke, a chemist who had no sons of his own, took a liking to Jonas. He often let Jonas work with him and would give him sums and readings to do while business was slow. By the time Jonas was twelve or so Mr. Locke made an arrangement for him to go to school, even after Jonas’s mother died.

  “Do you remember the family who took me in?” Jonas asked.

  Margaret nodded and felt a lump form in her throat. Jonas was such a decent, well-respected surgeon. It was often hard to imagine him in such dire need.

  “Mr. Locke had a daughter, Eloise. She came to visit me that day,” Jonas said.

  “I understand.” Margaret worked hard to steady her voice.

  “I don’t love her,” Jonas said quickly. “I never have, no matter what she imagined happened. I made no promise to her.”

  “She looked quite taken with you,” Margaret said, not believing Jonas was completely innocent.

  “She tried to force me to marry her, guilt me into it, as it were.” Jonas’s expression grew sour at the mention of it. “Told me it was my way to repay the debt to her family.”

  “Mr. Locke expects you to marry his daughter?” Margaret had lied when she said she wished to end things between them. In fact, a life without him would feel empty and barren. Margaret closed her eyes and turned away so he wouldn’t see her tears.

  “I had dinner with her once last summer when she was visiting London and since then she’s been attaching herself to me. I’ve caught her following me around London, on more than one occasion.”

  Margaret’s skin crawled at the idea of someone shadowing her in such a way.

  “When I saw you at the hospital, I didn’t know what to do. If I ran after you she’d know we…that I love you and I couldn’t give her any more control over me.” He reached out to her and grabbed her arm as she walked, turning her around to look at him. “Please tell me you understand.”

  It seemed a convoluted explanation, one that Margaret herself would never have come up with on her own. She knew this woman existed and had even heard Ainsley speak of Jonas’s reluctance to give in to her advances. That was before he made eyes for Margaret, at a time when she thought he was every bit a rogue as her brother. The tidbit that stood out for her the most, beyond the girl and his excuse for their embrace at the hospital, was that Jonas Davies had just said I love you.

  From behind her, Margaret heard the sound of hooves galloping along the path. When she turned she saw the horse coming toward them quickly, as if not realizing they were there. Margaret felt Jonas’s hand on her stomach just as they stepped back from the centre of the path. The horse reared up, straining its neck against the reins, and let out a long whinny of surprise.

  “Whoa, girl.” The rider pulled back on the reins, easing the animal away from the pair.

  Jonas stepped forward, placing himself protectively between Margaret and the stranger. “You’d do well to look before charging down a footpath,” he said sternly. “We were nearly trampled.”

  Easily controlling his horse, the man on horseback looked between Jonas and Margaret. “My apologies,” he said, before sliding from his saddle on the opposite side. He brought the reins over the horse’s head and met Jonas face to face on the road. Margaret stepped out from the bush but kept close to Jonas.

  The stranger was similar in height with equally broad shoulders held back in a rigid quality Margaret had only ever seen amongst nobility. His face was soft, though, with full cheeks and an easy smile, and a slightly longer hairstyle than was the fashion. The darker tone of his skin gave away his partiality for the outdoors, riding mostly, Margaret guessed, considering the way the horse stood at his side so easily.

  “I ride these paths every day and have never happened upon anyone on foot.” He readily offered his hand to Jonas in greeting while trying to steady his breathing after the exertion of his ride. “Brandon Thornton, of Bre
aside.”

  Jonas returned the hand shake but did so cautiously.

  “Brandon?” Margaret eyed the stranger closely and then smiled. “I’d never have recognized you. It’s me, Margaret.”

  When his eyes turned to her there was no mistaking that he was one of the boys she and her brother grew up playing alongside, in those very woods where they stood now. There was a pause amongst them as he took her in. While the seconds passed the recognition grew until he finally stepped toward her for an embrace.

  “Margaret Marshall!”

  When they pulled apart they were both smiling. Brandon took a second glance to Jonas, perhaps wondering if he was recognizable as well. “Has Peter returned home as well? I’d love to see him again.”

  “We’ve just returned.” Margaret turned to Jonas. “Allow me to introduce Dr. Jonas Davies, a family friend who’s come to visit us.”

  Brandon gave a nod. “I’ve just been out giving my girl some exercise,” he explained, nodding to his horse. “I hope I didn’t startle you too badly. Like I said, I scarcely meet anyone on these paths.”

  Jonas slipped his hands in his pockets and looked to Margaret. “You’re fortunate Lady Margaret doesn’t scare so easily.”

  A half smile grew on Brandon’s lips. “It’s good to know you haven’t changed much.”

  “I daresay we’ve all endured a certain degree of change,” Margaret said, hoping her cheeks weren’t as red as she believed they were. “I should congratulate you on your pending nuptials. Priscilla is a lovely girl.”

  Margaret was surprised to see Brandon’s face fall slightly at the mention of his intended. He certainly wasn’t the first person to look upon marriage so bleakly.

  “Thank you,” he said. There was a moment of awkwardness before he raised his face to the sky. “Well, I’d best be heading back. I certainly don’t want to get caught in the rain. Feel free to stop by the house any time. Bring Peter. I know Blair would love to see him. It would be like old times.”