by Jenna Brandt
“What is this? Are we moving the ball to my room?”
The two men looked at each other, then realized she was joking and chuckled.
“We were just coming to find if the ladies are ready to go, since we have taken care of our part and hitched up the wagon,” Randall said as he took his wife’s hand and placed it on his arm, ushering her out of the room.
Cort approached his wife, saying, “You look beautiful. If for nothing else, seeing you all fancied up like that makes me glad that we are going tonight.”
Margaret smiled up at him. “As am I. It has been so long since I have gone somewhere or done something that truly reminds me of home.”
He gently took her left hand and kissed the top of it, then placed it on his arm as he escorted her out of the room.
As they got into the wagon, Margaret realized how odd it was to be getting into a wagon in formal wear when the last time she had been dressed up like that, she went by carriage. Things were so different in America. Even after the past few years, she still was not completely used to the ways of the place.
The York castle—there was no other word to describe the house that the French-English couple had built on their land just outside Boulder—was on the opposite end of Margaret and her family’s property. Margaret had not seen an estate like it since she had been back in the old country.
Lady Regina was of French noble decent and always made it a point to make it clear—yet she had no visible French accent and sported a notably English one instead. She had invited Margaret on several occasions to come calling, but Margaret had always declined, claiming that she had far too much to do at the present time and would come calling at a later date.
Jackie, on the other hand, had jumped at the chance to visit Lady Regina and gather gossip, reciting it later to Margaret only hours after each visit.
Lady Regina and Lord Gregory had also called on the Westcotts after Margaret’s return and once after church to see if Margaret was sick since she had not been to church until last week. Margaret had made polite excuses but did not volunteer any more information than necessary.
Wagons littered the drive of the York estate as women in beautiful gowns and men in formal suits paraded into the entry hall where Lady Regina received her guests with her husband at her side.
When Margaret and her party finally arrived at the front, Lady Regina did not disguise a look of surprise that crossed her face as Margaret presented herself with a graceful curtsy.
“My, my, dear, it is so wonderful to see you at our gathering. We had not expected your presence. You do us a great honor.”
Margaret gave a half smile, irritated that everyone assumed they knew her and what to expect of her. None of them had known her before she left Europe and how she used to love to come to balls. They had been practically the only thing she had lived for—that was until Witherton shattered her life twice and destroyed all her illusions with it. She was no longer enthralled with all the social trappings of her class, but it did not mean she did not enjoy a good dance every now and then.
“I thought it would be simply delightful to come see what could be mustered up out here in the rustics. It is so kind of you to have a ball, even though we are so far removed from a place where our social customs are practical. Fascinating is it not, how everyone gets done up—all these farmers and ranchers.”
Lady Regina cocked her head to a slight angle, as if trying to decipher what Margaret meant. Then after thinking for a moment about her guest’s statement, Lady Regina’s pasted-on smile shifted into an insulted scowl.
Jackie quickly sidestepped Randall and interrupted, trying to smooth over the damage Margaret had inflicted to Lady Regina’s pride. “Thank you so much, Lady Regina, for having such an exquisite ball for everyone. We do so appreciate what you have done.”
“No, thank you, my dear Jacquelyn. You grace us so much with your presence.” She glanced at the others, completely skipping over Margaret entirely, and then continued. “You and your family are most welcome here. It simply would not have been the same if the Earl of Renwick and his wife were not here.”
Margaret blanched and quickly turned to face her brother. How had Lady Regina found out that Randall was the Earl of Renwick? They had left their titles behind. Had Randall, against her advisement, been giving out his title?
After one look at Randall, Margaret knew that was not the case. Randall, also jolted by the turn the conversation had taken, quickly tried to cover by saying, “I think you are mistaken, Lady Regina. I have no title.” He gestured to his family, “None of us do.”
Lady Regina smirked. “Oh, come now, Lord Wellesley, do not be so modest. It is quite admirable that you and your beautiful wife—what is her title?—oh yes, the Vicomtesse of Durante, wanted to make it here in the Americas without the help of your titles. But truly, I mean, what are we if we are not our title? After all, they are our heritage.”
Jackie smiled with pleasure. She had confessed to Margaret on more than one occasion that she had missed being granted special treatment due to it. Of course, they all had, with the exception of Cort who had only been on the receiving end of some special treatment, in the negative persuasion, from his titled half brother.
But Margaret did not want it. Not now, not ever. She was just starting to feel secure again and this had to happen. And it naturally followed that, if Lady Regina somehow found out about Jackie’s and Randall’s titles, she would no doubt in time find out about Margaret’s and Henry’s and the scandal that she had tried to leave behind so long ago.
And if that happened, that meant it would be only a matter of time before Catherine—or worse, Witherton—found out where she and Henry were.
Margaret bit her lip, trying to repress the panic that was beginning to rise from the pit of her stomach. What was she going to do? How was she going to keep them safe? Margaret turned back to face Lady Regina, trying to stay civil while maintaining a pretense of being nonchalant. “How did you come to find out about our inconsequential titles anyhow?”
Lady Regina raised an eyebrow in surprise. “I never said anything about you having a title.”
Margaret glanced away, angry at herself for making such a blunder. She gave herself two beats to regain her composure before saying, “Did someone tell you? Was someone trying to find us from the old country?”
Lady Regina replied, “I see that I have piqued your interest, Lady Margaret—or should I say, Viscountess Rolantry?”
Margaret’s eyes snapped up and focused on the older woman’s. “Pardon?”
“Of course, you were the Countess of Renwick before you found your brother. He had been presumed dead in a shipwreck of some sorts, correct?”
Margaret’s palms were starting to sweat, and she felt her heart pounding in her chest. She had not been this afraid since she had been tracked down in France. Even during all that time she had been with the Indians, she had held on and did not feel fear like this, knowing her son and husband were waiting for her at home. She only had to get back to them and they would all be together again. But if Catherine found her, she would take Henry away. And if Witherton found her first…. He would want vengeance for what she did to him in France. She knew Cort would not let anything happen to them without a fight. He would defend his family, even if it meant his life.
She had already lost two husbands by the hand of Witherton; she was not about to lose another man she loved by his doing. Perhaps it was time for her and Henry to run again. When it was safe—if it were ever safe again—she could come back to Cort….
Cort stepped forward, trying to deflect attention from his wife. “I think you are mistaken. My wife has no title, and I think I would know.”
Lady Regina, recognizing that she should not challenge a man, especially in the West, graciously nodded. “Perhaps I was mistaken.”
Margaret put her shaking hand on Cort’s arm, trying to steady herself so as not to faint and cause a scene.
Still needing to know how she k
new, Margaret asked one last time, forcing her voice not to quiver. “Who happened to mention all this information about us to you, Lady Regina? If it is someone from our past—an old friend or some such—we would like to get reacquainted with them if they are still in town.”
Lady Regina shrugged, replying, “I am sure that if they want to be found, they will be.” Glancing past them to the next guests in line, she added in a dismissive tone, “If you will excuse me, my husband and I need to greet the rest of our guests before dinnertime.”
The two couples moved through the entry hall and into the parlor where most of the other assembled guests were already mingling.
Cort looked down at Margaret and seemed to be measuring what to do. He remained silent. Randall, on the other hand, always began to ramble when the pressure was on. “Maggie, what can I do to help you? Do you need a glass of punch, something to nibble on? Mayhap you want me to guide you over to a seat?”
Margaret looked over to her brother and shook her head, saying in a mere whisper, “Nothing, thank you.”
Randall shot a look to Cort, as if asking, ‘What should we do now?’
Cort gently rubbed his wife’s hand. “Margaret, I promise you, it will be all right.”
She blinked back the tears that were painfully pushing from behind her eyes as she distractedly brushed a loose curl from out of her face. When she looked up at her husband, she could tell from the look in his eyes that he really believed what he said. But Witherton would not stop until he found them—until he had taken back what he believed was rightfully his to possess.
“Do you want to go home? I can make excuses to the Yorks for us.”
Margaret shook her head. “No, that would only cause more suspicion by the Yorks, and I do not want that. As is, all my questions probably did enough damage to do us all in.”
Cort shook his head. “I hardly think that Lady Regina or Lord Gregory can do much harm with knowing that you three are titled.”
“Then you do not know much of anything.” Margaret regretted saying it the moment the snide comment slipped out of her mouth. The look of hurt that Cort tried to conceal was almost her undoing.
Trying to rectify her blunder, she blurted out, “I am so sorry, Cort. I did not mean that. It is just… I am so scared of who told her and who else they told and who the Yorks might tell. If Cath—” Margaret lowered her voice so that no one around them could hear, finishing with, “If Catherine or Witherton find out where we are, I could lose everything I hold dear.”
Cort, not wanting to draw attention to them either, said in a steely voice, “As long as I have breath, I promise you will never have to worry about losing anything you love.”
Margaret licked her lips, trying to compose her racing emotions. “I hope you can keep that promise, for all our sakes.”
“We should make our way toward the dining hall for dinner,” Randall said. “It seems everyone is headed in that direction.”
Chapter 24
The assembled guests were so many, two enormous tables had been set up in separate rooms.
Margaret did not know more than two people around her—other than her family—since she just recently started feeling comfortable enough to go into town. Randall, Jackie, and even Cort, however, seemed to know just about everyone present and were immersed in conversations.
Margaret sat and sipped her glass of punch daintily, paying little attention to what was going on around her. They had gone through the ten-course meal without Margaret tasting any of it. She ate out of duty, decorum, and so as not to cause any undue attention, but utterly detested every moment of it.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, the dinner part of the evening was over and Margaret breathed a sigh of relief. At least during dancing, she did not have to converse in depth or listen to useless banter. All she had to do was dance gracefully and reply on occasion to a comment fed to her.
As Margaret and Cort approached the ballroom, for some reason—perhaps because of the thoughts of Witherton—Margaret was taken back to the time of her first ball. She had been young then, full of the naivety that comes with being merely a child, and she had been in love with the idea of love. She was no longer that little girl, and somewhere along the way, she had lost her ability to find wonder in all the little things. She missed that.
Cort smiled down at her as the music for a waltz began. “Are you ready to go out there and show them your perfect footwork?”
Margaret crinkled her nose. “I have to give you fair warning, I have not danced since I have been in the Americas.”
Cort shrugged. “Then we are about even in that respect, since I have not danced since I was in the military.”
With that, he pulled her out onto the ballroom floor and masterfully drew her into his arms.
It took several moments of slight stumbling before Margaret fell into step with the beat of the music. By that time, Cort already had the steps down pat.
“It seems you misled me, dear husband. You seem to be quite the expert dancer.”
He chuckled. “I did have my fair share of satisfied partners in my day. Perhaps I will do the same with some tonight.”
Margaret grumbled under her breath and narrowed her eyes in jealousy, not liking the idea of her husband with other women in any way, shape, or form.
“What is it, sweetheart? You seem to be a bit perturbed.”
“You know full well I want to be the only partner you care to satisfy.”
He winked at her. “You need not worry about that, Margaret. You are the only woman I will ever worry about pleasing for the rest of my life.”
Margaret smiled up at her husband. “I am glad that we stayed, Cort. I feel better now that we are dancing. It has always made things easier for me.”
“I, on the other hand, am beginning to wish we had left.”
Margaret looked up with rounded eyes, surprised at Cort’s sudden outburst. “Whatever for?”
“Because, my beautiful wife, I think you are far too attractive for your own good. All the men are staring at you, and I am starting to get covetous.”
Margaret laughed softly. “They can look all they want, but just remember, I am going home with you tonight.” She glanced around and confirmed her own suspicions. “Besides, I am not the only one who seems to be drawing attention. Look at all your adoring fans.”
And indeed, Cort had been growing a following. Young women all around the room were staring at him. Margaret was not surprised one bit. Her husband was very easy on the eyes.
“Suddenly it seems we are the most popular people around,” Cort stated with incredulity.
Margaret laughed full force that time, and a few heads turned to see what could make the beauty in blue laugh so loud.
“Hush now or you might make a scene,” Cort teased.
Margaret rolled her eyes. “As if I care one little bit. These people are so fickle. They might like us right now, but tomorrow, we will be old news. They only watch us now because we have never come to anything before.”
Just as Cort was about to retort, the music ended. Margaret curtsied and Cort bowed slightly, both of them feeling awkward since they had never been formal with each other since the day they met. When someone saved your life, it negated the need to keep things formal afterward.
Cort escorted his wife off the dance floor, and as soon as they exited, a swarm of young gentlemen and ladies bombarded them. Swiftly, each of them were being pulled onto the floor to dance with someone else.
Cort gave Margaret one last look of masked annoyance over his shoulder as a voluptuous blonde in red climbed into his arms for the next dance.
Margaret had managed to escape into the arms of her brother, who laughed lightly as he guided his twin onto the floor.
“You look as if you could throttle that highly attractive blonde who has herself wrapped nicely in your husband’s arms.”
Margaret blasted a dirty look up at Randall. “I will thank you kindly not to make this any worse.”
“Cheer up, old mum. It is not all that bad. He might not even notice her….” Randall’s voice trailed off as they both glanced over when Cort laughed lightly as the girl said something with a smile.
“You were saying.”
“I think the only way to win this battle and prove that you are just as desirable is to not avoid the next gentleman who wants to dance with you. Fight fire with fire, Mags. Believe me, you have plenty of it.”
She grinned up at her brother. “All right, Rand, if that is what you think I should do. I cannot argue with elders, now can I?”
Randall snickered. “Elder by three minutes, as you pointed out in our last disagreement.”
The song ended, and Randall escorted his sister off and patted her on the back, saying in a barely audible whisper, “Go fight the fire, Maggie.”
Margaret tried to muster up the strength to make eye contact with one of the gentlemen standing around her while letting down her guard that kept them at bay. Just as she was about to give up hope, Margaret heard a voice from behind her say, “You look as beautiful as ever, Lady Margaret, even after all these years.”
Margaret whirled around and her mouth fell open in a gasp. “Pierre, is that truly you?”
The years had been kind to Pierre, her childhood friend and confidant from France. He looked as handsome as he ever did, with his slicked black hair and dark eyes contrasting against his pale skin. He wore his tailored black suit exceptionally well, and flashes of feelings came flooding back to Margaret.
He smiled sheepishly. “I daresay, I was not sure you would greet me with much enthusiasm.”
She pursed her lips in hurt. “Pierre, you were my dearest friend for the first year right after Henry’s death. You stood by me, gave both my infant son and me a place to live. By all the stars, of course I am happy to see you.”
Forgetting for a moment where she was, Margaret rushed up and threw her arms around him. At first, Pierre stood still, shocked by Margaret’s sudden outburst of affection—so uncharacteristic of her nature. Then he embraced her back for several seconds before kissing her lightly on the forehead.
