by Laura Landon
“I know.”
“Then how can you say that? Even Aunt Hester says the brewery never needed Papa as long as Mama was here.”
“Don’t you see, Felicity? That was the problem. Mama was so perfect Papa couldn’t compete with her. Mama was so good at running the brewery she didn’t need him. No one needed him.”
Felicity stared at her with rounded eyes. “We needed him.”
Maggie shook her head. “Little girls need their mothers. Perhaps if he would have had a son…”
Maggie looked up to find her sister studying her. “Did Papa love Mama?”
“Too much,” Maggie answered. “So much their love destroyed them.”
Felicity’s look changed until it contained a depth of understanding Maggie wasn’t sure she wanted her sister to possess.
“Is that why you refused the suitors who offered for you?” Felicity asked. “Because you’re afraid to fall in love?”
Maggie shoved the papers around on her desk. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do. I heard the argument you had with Papa when you refused the Earl of Gaffney’s offer. Papa said he was rich as Croesus but you said he wasn’t a good match for you. That he was weak. You were comparing him to Papa, weren’t you?”
“No. Of course not. I—”
Charlotte burst through the door with Aunt Hester at her heels. Thankfully, Maggie didn’t have to come up with a lie her sister would believe.
“Maggie, you’ve got to help me. Felicity and Aunt Hester have picked out all these materials and expect me to decide which fabric I want made into which gown and which gown I intend to wear for my come-out. How am I to know? You know I’ve never had an eye for fashion.”
Maggie sat back against the chair that had been her mother’s and tried to forget what Felicity had almost said. “You don’t have to worry, Lottie. How often have you said that Felicity has the best eye for fashion in all of England? Let her help you.”
“That’s what I told her.” Aunt Hester sat primly in the chair opposite Felicity. “You’ll help her, won’t you, Felicity?”
“Of course.”
“See, Charlotte,” Aunt Hester said with a decisive nod. “Now, what about you, Margaret?”
Maggie raised her brows. “Me?”
“Yes. Surely you realize you have to have some new gowns too. This may be Felicity’s and Charlotte’s come-out, but you’ll be expected to attend the functions they do. Even though you’re probably too old to catch someone’s eye, it doesn’t mean you won’t have to be dressed properly.”
“Maggie’s not too old to catch someone’s eye,” Lottie said in an indignant tone. “She’s simply…,” she squinted her eyes in thoughtfulness, “…more mature than most of the debutantes who will be in attendance.”
Aunt Hester brushed her hand to the side as if ignoring any argument. “Being seven and twenty is considered by even the most optimistic as being on the shelf. But spinsterhood was Margaret’s choice and it’s too late to change things now.”
“No it’s not,” Felicity rebutted as if the idea of her eldest sister remaining alone for the rest of her life was unthinkable. “I’m sure she’ll meet just the right man in London, the same as Lottie and I are guaranteed to do.”
Aunt Hester opened her mouth but Maggie held up her hand to stop her words. “I am not under discussion here. And there’s no need to worry. I already informed Mrs. Crawford that I will require a few new gowns and picked out several fabrics last week when I arranged for her to come here today. They will be done the same time as the gowns she’s making for the girls.”
Aunt Hester smiled. “I don’t know why I was concerned. You are so much like your mother I should have known you wouldn’t fail to take care of even the smallest detail.”
Maggie felt a heavy weight settle in the pit of her stomach. Yes, she was exactly like her mother. Everyone who’d known Genevieve Bradford had repeatedly told her that very thing, and her father had reminded her often enough when he’d been drinking. But his reminders were more like accusations.
“Do you think Papa will be back before we leave for London?”
Maggie stared first at Lottie who’d asked the question, then at Felicity who waited for an answer. She wasn’t brave enough though to look at Aunt Hester. “I’m not sure. I read you the last letter we received from him. He explained how busy he was and that he’d gone to Italy to tour a new brewery being built there.”
“But he didn’t say anything about coming home,” Lottie added.
“Are you afraid you won’t be able to have a Season if he doesn’t arrive? If you are—”
“No, it’s not that,” Felicity was quick to add. “Lottie and I both know you’ll take care of everything. It’s just that…”
Maggie waited for Felicity to continue and when she didn’t, Maggie looked at Lottie for help.
“What Felicity is too kind to say is that we both hope Papa waits to come home until after our Season. We’re afraid he’ll try to marry us off to someone we don’t even like and it will cause a terrible row. I can stand up to him,” Charlotte said, lifting her stubborn chin. “But Felicity’s never been able to.”
Maggie took one look at Felicity’s pale face and rushed to where she stood. “You’ll never have to marry anyone you don’t love,” Maggie whispered as she held her sister tight. “Neither of you will. I promise.”
Maggie released her sister when there was a knock at the door.
“Mr. Lyman Bradford to see you, Miss.”
Maggie’s heart seemed to lodge in her throat. She didn’t have time for this now. Ever since the fire yesterday she’d done her best to avoid a conversation with him, pleading she was too busy. Now, she saw a meeting was inevitable.
“Show him to the morning room, Holbrook.”
“Very good, Miss.”
“Do you want me to go with you?” Aunt Hester asked after Holbrook left the room.
“No. The fewer people he has to talk to the sooner he’ll leave.”
“Be careful,” Lottie warned, the tone of her voice indicating she understood more than Maggie considered either of her sisters did.
“Lyman is nothing more than a distant cousin who has taken up residence nearby and wants to renew an acquaintance with the only relatives he has left.”
The unladylike snort Aunt Hester made at Maggie’s falsehood wasn’t lost on either of her sisters.
“Anyone with two eyes in their head can see there’s more to his persistence than that,” Lottie said, mimicking Aunt Hester’s unladylike snort. “His idea of renewing an acquaintance and yours may have two totally different objectives.”
“Don’t worry. I can handle Cousin Lyman. Now go back to Mrs. Crawford and finish getting fitted.”
Aunt Hester ushered Felicity and Charlotte out and Maggie took in a deep breath, then walked to the morning room.
“Cousin Lyman, what a pleasant surprise,” she said stepping into the chamber. Maggie made sure the double doors of the morning room stayed open behind her before she took her first step toward her guest. “I trust you’re well.”
“My welfare is not at issue,” Lyman Bradford said, rushing across the room to take her hands in his. “Your welfare is my concern. Are you all right?”
Maggie looked at her cousin. He was handsome enough, she supposed, if you overlooked his lifeless brown hair that lay flat against his head. And the sharp angle of his overly large nose. And there was something about a man with a weak chin that gave her a feeling of superiority. She grew suddenly repulsed by him and wanted to pull her fingers out of his grasp but she didn’t. Instead, she looked up at Lyman and smiled. “Of course. I’m perfectly fine.”
“When my man came back to report there was a fire at the brewery, you can’t imagine my concern. I imagined you in all sorts of danger.”
“Nonsense,” she said, finally managing to free her hands from his grasp. “It was a small fire. Quite insignificant.”
“That’s not the
impression I got. Several horses could have met their demise, not counting the loss in human terms. Even your own life, perish the thought.”
“Oh, I was hardly in danger. Only the man who risked going into the stable to free the horses was in peril.”
“Yes, my man related the bravery of one of your workers, although I’m not sure any animal is worth a man’s life. But then, it’s a known fact the working class thinks differently than we do.”
Maggie forced a smile. “Yes, they do.”
She turned away from him to stand by a chair angled opposite a floral sofa. The closest he could sit was on the end with the arm of the sofa separating them. Maggie motioned for the servant who entered with a tea tray to set it on a large table and roll it in front of her. This would separate them further. When there was an adequate barrier between them she motioned for her cousin to sit.
“How have you adjusted to life at Grange House? I was there once with my father and I remember it was exquisite.”
“Yes, it’s a beautiful home. I’ve grown quite fond of it. But I didn’t come to discuss Grange House. I came to discuss you.”
Maggie gave him as sweet a smile as she could muster and handed him a cup of tea before he made any move to slide closer. “I am hardly an interesting subject, Cousin Lyman.”
“Please, call me Lyman, Margaret.”
“Of course. We are quite closely related.”
“Not that close,” he answered, setting his cup down on the table without drinking from it. “Our fathers were second cousins and that makes us—”
“Still cousins…Lyman.”
“But not so closely related that there cannot be a relationship between us.”
“I will be glad to consider you a friend.” She took a sip of her tea then balanced the saucer in her lap. “Even a good friend,” she added, keeping her posture as rigid and straight as she’d been taught. “But I’m afraid I’m not interested in allowing our friendship to develop into anything more.”
“But you must.”
Maggie lifted her eyebrows. “And why must I?”
“Your father will not be around forever. It is foolhardy to lock yourself away here in the country and attempt to run a brewery by yourself.”
“I have helped my father run the brewery for years.”
“I know you have helped him. But you cannot expect to run it after your father is not here. You are a woman.”
Maggie took another sip of her tea to give her time to get control of her temper. “Ah, yes. There is that.”
“Of course there is. Even now everyone talks about how you assume more responsibility every day. They compare you to your mother.”
Maggie clasped her hands tighter in her lap. “Do you consider that such a travesty?”
“Oh, no. Not at all. Although I never met your mother, I know she was an admirable woman. Everyone says she was the epitome of kindness.”
“But her fault was…”
Maggie deliberately left her sentence unfinished, knowing that Cousin Lyman would complete it with the same complaint as her father had, the same accusation that Maggie had once overheard some of the local women make after church one Sunday when her mother was out of hearing.
“Why,” Lyman stuttered before sucking in his breath as if to work up his nerve. “It was common knowledge your mother was more adept at running the brewery than your father.”
“And that was a sin?”
“Surely you’re jesting? Not a sin, exactly, but something a true lady would never consider.”
Maggie wanted to throw something at her cousin. She wanted to stand up to him and order him from her house. She wanted to rail at him for his ignorance and demand an apology on her mother’s behalf, but she didn’t. It would do no good. No one understood. Her mother was like a round peg trying to fit into a square hole. And Maggie felt the same.
“I see,” Maggie said, thoughtfully setting her cup and saucer on the table. She rose from her chair and walked to the window that looked out into the garden behind Bradford Manor. The flowers weren’t in bloom any longer but Maggie remembered how they’d looked at the height of summer, thanks to Felicity’s tender care. Her sister had a way with plants that Maggie envied. Even Charlotte had more patience with flowers and shrubs than she did. But neither of them had the slightest interest in running the brewery. The business was Maggie’s first love. It would be her only love.
“What are you suggesting I do, Cousin Lyman?”
She spun around to face her cousin. He’d walked around the tea table and closed the distance between them. He wasn’t dangerously close, but closer than she felt comfortable having him.
“I think that’s obvious, Margaret.”
He took another step toward her. Then another.
“You need someone to take you under their wing.”
“You don’t think I’m capable of managing myself?”
The shocked look on his face was almost comical. “Of course not. No woman is.”
“But you just admitted that everyone knew my mother was perfectly qualified to run Bradford Brewery.”
“That’s because your father didn’t take a firm hand with her from the start. He would have been wise to forbid her to usurp him.”
“Which you would do.”
“Oh, yes. I mean no disrespect, but it was common knowledge that your father did not have control over his wife.”
“Did it ever occur to you that my mother may have enjoyed helping my father run the brewery?”
Cousin Lyman laughed. “Surely you jest! No woman enjoys laboring over the tedious aspects of running a business. No woman can be expected to understand the day to day dealings of any operation, let alone one as complicated as a brewery. Or deal with the fiscal details as well as a man.”
Maggie smiled. “How astute you are. I must compliment you on your understanding of the fairer sex.”
“Thank you.” His chest puffed out like a preening peacock. “I pride myself on being more protective of a woman’s proper place in the world than most men. Some of my gender are terribly lenient.”
“Like my father.” She struggled to keep the tone of her voice temperate.
“Yes. I’m glad we can agree on that point.” He took one more step closer to her. “Which brings me to the reason I’m here.”
“It does?” Maggie stepped away from the window. Having the wall to her back made her feel trapped.
“Yes.” Cousin Lyman clasped his hands behind his back and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. “For more than six months now, you and your sisters have been living alone.”
“We’re hardly alone. Aunt Hester has been here the entire time.”
“That may be well and good as far as your sisters are concerned. They travel no farther than the village and church on a Sunday morning and your aunt always accompanies them. You, however, are another matter.”
“Me?”
“Yes. You spend countless days at the brewery in the company of strange and disreputable men.”
“Of all the—”
“I am well aware, of course, that with your father absent you are forced to endure such questionable company, but I have come with a solution that will free you from continuing as you have been.” Cousin Lyman faced her with the determination of an opposing army general. “Do you have any idea when your father intends to return?”
Maggie swallowed past the knot in her throat. “No, I’m afraid I don’t. In his last letter he mentioned he wanted to inspect a new brewery that was being constructed in Italy before he started for home. And even that doesn’t mean he will sail for England when he’s finished. He may hear of some other destination that takes his fancy.”
“Then I see no point in waiting. Your situation is desperate and as much as propriety demands I speak with your father first, that isn’t possible. So, I will simply have to forego proper procedures and speak to you first.” Cousin Lyman cleared his throat. “Margaret, I’m sure you realize how vital it is for
you to turn your back on the kind of life you are leading. I hesitate to mention your age because it is obvious that time is not on your side. Therefore, I’d like to offer you my heart and my name. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
She tried not to look shocked but knew she failed. She didn’t know this man. He didn’t know her. How could he ask her to marry him? How could he expect her to accept?
She stared at him with what she knew must seem a very dim-witted expression, but no matter how hard she tried to search for the gentlest way to refuse, she realized that kindness would not serve her purpose. She needed to state her intentions clearly and concisely so when she finished, there wouldn’t be one glimmer of hope for Cousin Lyman to cling to that she would marry him.
“Why do you want to marry me?” she asked, her gaze focusing on his handsome features. Other than his eyes, which were the same pale gray as was passed down from one Bradford to the next, there was little resemblance to any of the portraits hanging in the gallery at Bradford Manor. Lyman Bradford was uncommonly pale when compared to the dark-haired, dark-complexioned Bradfords.
“Because I’m quite fond of you, Margaret.”
“You don’t know me well enough to measure your fondness for me, Mr. Bradford.”
“Perhaps not as well as I will in time, but I know I want you for my wife.”
“Me?” She lifted her eyebrows in the haughtiest arc she could manage. “Or my brewery?”
“How can you suggest such a thing? Do you really think I’d offer for your hand in marriage simply to acquire your father’s brewery?”
“History is riddled with betrothals inspired by far less than what the annual profits from Bradford Brewery will be one day.”
“Let me assure you.” He stepped so close to her, the intricate weave in his blended wool jacket blurred before her eyes. “Your father’s brewery is not the reason I’ve asked for your hand in marriage.”
