“Your Grace!” Margaret felt sick. Her hands were shaking. She laced them tightly together, digging her nails into her palms. “I have come to inform you that I am not going to marry Killin,” she said firmly. “I have tried. You cannot fault me for lack of effort, but I simply cannot persuade myself that we are suited. I cannot sacrifice myself to a marriage that would make me and, I am convinced, my husband, too, quite miserable. I know this is the last thing you want to hear, but it’s far better that you hear it now than later.”
Forcing herself to look into her father’s eyes, however, she quailed. A long, fraught silence followed. While her calves itched with the urge to flee, a tic in her father’s cheek made his whiskers twitch. Hopefully, his silence meant he was digesting what she had said. It meant he had listened, she told herself, which was a start.
“How dare you.”
She flinched but refused to drop her gaze. “I am entitled to have a say in this matter, you must see that.”
“What I see is that you have done a damned fine job of deceiving me and your mother into believing you had reformed.”
“I have tried to do what is expected of me, but I do not want—”
“How many times, miss, do I have to remind you that your wishes are completely and utterly irrelevant? All this little speech of yours has proved to me is that you are what you have always been. Utterly selfish, completely insubordinate, and determined to do your best to ruin the reputation of our family.”
“Father! That is not fair. I want—”
“Hold your tongue,” he snapped, his face pinched with anger. “How dare you interrupt me! You have said far too much already, and none of it is news to me. You cannot like Killin. You would not make him happy. How many times must I endure this self-serving refrain!”
“I assure you this time it is different. Before . . .” Her voice wobbled. Calm, M. “I freely admit that I did not give the match due consideration when it was first mooted. I put my feelings first without taking anything else into account. However, I have been desperately trying for the last six months to allay my reservations, to persuade myself to do what is expected of me. I have concluded I simply cannot.”
“You simply won’t, you mean. I thought I made it clear after the last time that there was but one lesson I required you to learn: know your place.”
“I am your daughter, not your chattel.” Frustration made her reckless. “My opinion is every bit as valuable as yours in this regard, if not more. Marrying Killin would be a huge mistake. I won’t do it.”
For a long moment their gazes met. Momentarily, she thought she saw a tiny hint of admiration in his eyes, but it was quickly quelled. “Who has put the notion into your head that your opinion carries any weight with me?”
“I am perfectly capable of thinking for myself.”
“No, someone has been doing your thinking for you.” The duke drummed his fingers on the blotter. “These charity visits you have been making. To Lambeth, isn’t it?”
“My mother authorised those trips.”
“I am aware of that.” Her father smiled coldly. “I didn’t object because I believed them to be innocuous. Now, I wonder if I was mistaken.”
“The time I have spent in Lambeth has been extremely educational. Father Sebastian and his sister Mrs. Elmhirst are very pleased with the assistance I have been giving them. I would even go so far as to say that I have been useful.”
Her father was eyeing her as if she were a wriggling grub he had uncovered by lifting a stone. Digging her nails into her palms, Margaret forced herself to continue. “I have been helping people in a very practical way. It is Father Sebastian’s belief that one cannot nurture the spirit if the body is starving.”
“If I wanted a sermon on charity, I would have attended church this morning.”
“Seb— Father Sebastian and his sister don’t believe in dispensing charity but in finding the root cause of suffering and doing something to alleviate it. I have learned a great deal about real life from working with them. Enough to understand that I have a good deal more to learn. In that sense, you are right in saying that Lambeth has influenced my thinking.”
“In which case, your visits to Lambeth must cease forthwith.”
“Cease?” Her jaw almost dropped at this unexpected turn in the conversation. “But why?”
“Because I say so. Because I will not have my daughter roaming about Lambeth under the influence of a renegade priest. Because I shudder to think what Killin would make of it if he knew.”
“He doesn’t know. There is no reason for him to know. What Killin thinks is neither here nor there. I go to Lambeth because I would like to make a difference to the world around me. I thought you’d appreciate that, at least. Isn’t it what you yourself strive to do?”
“You dare to equate your feeble attempts with my charitable endeavours?”
“No! But I dare to suggest that there are more worthwhile endeavours than being the wife of a man who doesn’t actually care about me at all.”
“And there we have it.” Her father smiled thinly. “This wasn’t ever about philanthropy, was it, Margaret? It was all about you, as usual.”
Frustrated and furious, and most of all deeply hurt, Margaret struggled not to cry. He had no interest in her feelings or her wishes. She was his daughter, but he didn’t love her. He never had and he never would. Getting to her feet, her legs shaking, she was set only on making as dignified an exit as she could muster. “Excuse me, Your Grace.”
“Sit down. I’m not done with you yet.”
Trembling, she remained standing. “Perhaps not, but I am done with you. There is nothing more to be said. I am not pointless, but this discussion is.”
The duke eyed her with cold fury. “Father Sebastian Beckwith, do I have the name right?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Lambeth. He will come under the jurisdiction of the Archbishop of Canterbury, Charles Longley. It so happens I am reasonably well acquainted with him.”
“What has that to do with anything?”
“From what you’ve told me, the archbishop will not need much persuading to clip the man’s wings a little.”
“Clip his wings?”
“An Anglican priest, filling your head with nonsense, encouraging you to defy your elders and betters, to wilfully flout rules. Clearly he believes the teachings of the Bible don’t apply to him. Longley will bring him down a peg or two, get him to toe the line.”
“No! No, that is not fair! Father Sebastian’s methods may be unorthodox but they bear fruit. The people of Lambeth need him just as he is.”
But the duke tapped his pen on the blotter, regarding her with infuriating calm. “That is as may be. What they certainly don’t need is you. The best and only way you can demonstrate your usefulness is by marrying Killin.”
In the folds of her gown, her fists were clenched. She willed her tears to remain unshed. “For the last time, I am not marrying Killin.”
“You will cease your visits to Lambeth, and you will marry Killin before this year is out. Do. You. Understand?”
Clearly. Horribly. Painfully. “I understand that nothing I say will make a difference,” she threw at him, “but I’m not marrying Killin. Not now, not ever.”
Sick to her stomach, Margaret fled.
Chapter Eighteen
The Sunday streets were eerily quiet on the familiar route to Lambeth. Molly’s protests about this sudden trip had melted in the face of Margaret’s stony-faced determination. Her father would doubtless put her unexplained absence down to a childish tantrum if he actually inquired about her whereabouts, which was highly unlikely. What her mother would make of her behaviour she had no idea, nor could she care right now. Given the outcome of the conversation she had just had with her father, she needed to speak to Sebastian without delay.
The best and only way you can demonstrate your usefulness is by marrying Killin. The duke’s words rang in her ears as the hackney carriage rattled over the
cobble-stones. She had spent her life trying to please her father. She had twisted and turned herself inside out trying to be the daughter he wanted. When he appeared cruel, she’d convinced herself he knew better than she. When he was cold, she’d told herself she hadn’t earned his affection. When he told her she was pointless and selfish, she had tried to change. She had changed, but it hadn’t made any difference. He didn’t love her. He wasn’t even fond of her. If he hated her, at least she would have provoked an emotion, but he had swatted her away like an annoyingly persistent insect. He was completely indifferent to the turmoil his cruel words had created, and the hurt. He was heartless. But she was not. There was no time now for her to gently persuade Sebastian that the idea of their marrying was an impossible dream; she had to act immediately before her father threatened that which was most precious to his heart: his Lambeth vocation.
This morning she had been worried about becoming betrothed to two men at once. By the end of today, she would cut herself loose from both. Amongst the seething swell of emotions, a tiny flicker of relief glowed. Though the duke had forced her hand in terms of the timing, she had already made the decision to tell Sebastian she could not marry him. It was the right thing to do, and would spare them both in the process. Dear heavens, if her father could use his connections to force Sebastian to toe the line simply for encouraging her to speak up for herself, he’d likely have him banished to a mission in Africa if he dared to marry her.
Trembling, Margaret descended from the cab as it came to a halt outside the rectory, gathering together the tattered remnants of her courage. Whatever became of her now, she was determined not to be the cause of Sebastian’s downfall. It was time to shatter his romantic illusions.
“Lady Margaret! And Molly, of course.” Esther held open the door, ushering them in. “What a lovely surprise. We were not expecting you today. Mrs. Elmhirst is out at the children’s hospital, but Father Sebastian is in his study preparing for evensong. Shall I bring you some tea?”
“No, thank you.”
Aware of Esther and Molly exchanging a significant look, Margaret was too intent on the coming interview to wonder what it might mean. She had failed to win her father over, but she was determined not to fail here. She would persuade Sebastian that his future plans could not include her.
He was seated behind his desk, his shirt-sleeves rolled up, his coat thrown over the back of the chair. The sunlight streaming in through the window created gold highlights in his chestnut-coloured hair which was, as ever, tousled from his habit of raking his hands through it.
“Margaret!” Throwing down his pen, he bounded across the room to meet her. “How lovely. I wasn’t expecting you.” But as she turned her face, so that his kiss landed not on her lips but her cheek, his smile faded. “What’s the matter? You’re as white as a sheet. Are you ill?”
Margaret pulled off her bonnet and gloves, taking her customary seat opposite him. “I know it’s your busiest day, and I’m very sorry to have arrived like this without any notice, but I have something pressing to tell you.”
“That sounds rather ominous.”
“Yes.” There was no way to soften the blow. “I can’t marry you.”
“I know you can’t marry me now, but as we agreed, I’m willing to wait. . . .”
“Sebastian, I can’t marry you. Not now. Not ever. I’m so sorry.”
“I don’t understand. What has happened to change your mind?”
He made to get up, but she shook her head, waving him back to his seat. To mention her discussion with her father would only muddy the waters. It had brought matters to a head, but her decision had already been made. “The only reason my parents brought me to London is to make a good match.”
“And our union would be considered a very poor substitute,” he agreed ruefully. “I understand that, which is why we agreed to wait until you are of age and can do as you please.”
She had never actually agreed to marry him. She had hoped, and she had dreamed, but she had never said yes. But nor had she said no, nor even once confessed her growing doubts, and she felt guilty about that. Margaret clasped her hands more tightly together. Now was the time to make the situation crystal clear. “If I married you, my father would never forgive me.”
“Surely you exaggerate. He will bluster, it is a trait of men such as he, and he may shun you for a while, for the sake of his pride, but you are his daughter. He’ll come round; he won’t disown you completely.”
“He will, and will also insist my mother, sisters, and brothers follow suit. I have been hiding my head in the sand too long. No amount of waiting will change the fact that our marriage would not be tolerated.”
“But if we presented it as a fait accompli . . .”
“I would be dead to them,” Margaret said. “Forever.”
Sebastian looked appalled. “I knew there would be an outcry, but—” He broke off, shaking his head. “No, I cannot believe they would be so cruel.”
“I am afraid you must. I am so sorry to break it to you so suddenly and without warning, but I cannot in all conscience allow you to believe that we have any hope of a future together.”
“So you are being cruel to be kind, is that what you are saying?” he said, with a short, harsh laugh.
“I am trying to spare us both inevitable disappointment and the pain that would accompany it,” Margaret said in a small voice.
“Oh no, that was unfair of me. You did not deserve. . . .” Sebastian swore softly under his breath, then coloured. “I beg your pardon. If what you say is true, then my head has been in the clouds.”
“And mine, too. But not anymore.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“There is nothing more to be said.”
As she bit back a sob, he pushed his chair back, pulling her into his arms. Resting her cheek on his shoulder, she closed her eyes, drinking in the familiar scent of him, surrendering to the comfort of his soothing hand on her hair.
“Is there really no hope?” he asked.
She lifted her head to meet his sorrowful gaze. It would be cruel to tell him about her father’s threats, and unnecessary now, for even in his question there was a kernel of acceptance. Deep down, had he, too, had doubts? she wondered. That, too, was now irrelevant. “I’m sorry.”
His arms tightened around her. “What will I do without you?”
He sounded so unlike himself, so utterly shaken to the core. Margaret tightened her arms around him. “I’m so sorry. I’m so very sorry.”
She felt him take a ragged breath before setting her at arm’s length. “Was it wrong of me to dare to fall in love with you?”
“It was wrong of me, to allow us both to dream. I love you, but in my heart I have always known that we had no future, no matter how much I wanted to believe it. I am truly sorry to have to tell you like this. I know I should have told you sooner.”
“You tried to tell me from the first, but I didn’t want to listen.”
His hair had fallen over his brow. She ached to smooth it back. “I shall miss you terribly.”
“And I will miss you, more than I can say.”
“And Susannah, too. Will you say goodbye to her for me?”
Sebastian nodded, biting his lip hard. Her heart felt as if it was being squeezed, seeing the effort he was making to control himself. Two steps, and she would be in his arms once again. One last embrace, one last kiss to remember him by, was all she wanted.
He leaned in, his mouth hovering over hers, but then changed his mind, pressing a feather-light kiss on her forehead instead before turning away. “Go now, I beg you. Goodbye, Margaret, and God bless you and keep you safe.”
Chapter Nineteen
“My decision has been taken neither lightly or rashly. I have considered the matter very carefully. Your daughter has a simple choice. You will explain that choice to her, and when you have been informed of her decision, I will act accordingly.”
Charlotte recognised, from the set of her
husband’s mouth, the clipped tone which he so rarely used with her, that to protest was futile. “I had no idea that Margaret intended to speak to you yesterday.”
“I have never in my life been addressed in such a manner.” Walter snapped the pen he had been holding in two. “Frankly, I doubt you will be able to persuade her to see sense. She was defiant to the bitter end. However, I am not a tyrant, regardless of what she thinks. I will grant her this one last opportunity to do the right thing. If she rejects it, she must face the consequences.”
“But, Walter . . .”
“No. I don’t ever want to see her again. I won’t even tolerate her presence in the same country as me.” The duke got to his feet. “Let us not allow our daughter to come between us, Charlotte. We will maintain a united front as we always do. If you will excuse me, I have a meeting in the Lords to prepare for. I will expect a decision one way or the other when I return.”
There was nothing for it but to bid her husband good morning and to quit his study. What on earth had possessed Margaret to rush into such an interview? It didn’t help that she herself had been absent, having decided to spend the day with Lady Cecil Kerr after attending mass. When she returned, she’d thought little of finding Walter’s message, saying that he was dining at his club, since it wasn’t exactly unheard of, and Margaret’s excuse of a sick headache was so common these days that she’d felt no need to check on her.
What difference would it have made? Recalling Walter’s stern face and implacable tone, she was forced to accept that the damage was done. Her husband had all but admitted defeat in the matter of Killin, and Walter had been firmly, from the first, set on the match. Margaret must have been very determined indeed to defy him. Wearily, with a horrible sense of foreboding, Charlotte decided that there was no point in postponing the inevitable.
Her Heart for a Compass Page 16
