Page 31 of A Seaside Scandal (Change of Heart #2)

Chapter Nineteen

JONATHAN

My paint dried faster when I worked beside the window.

Late morning light spilled through the glass, sapping away the moisture from the red-orange strokes I had just completed.

My time in Brighton had been brief, but it had certainly been eventful, and I was still determined to finish my book for Margaret.

I had taken the time to press a few wildflowers between the pages while I had been in Brighton, as well as attach a few shells to the cover.

I had no doubt that Margaret would peel them off for her own collection, but hopefully she would still appreciate the gift.

I lifted my brush from the page, staring down at my latest painting. It was the secluded beach, complete with seaweed and rocks, and even Alice in a white dress, hair hanging loose around her shoulders as she looked out at the sea.

My stomach flipped as I thought of the night before. Our kiss.

I had never experienced anything like it, and if it was truly to be the first and only kiss we shared, I was certain that I would never be content again.

All night, I had struggled to sleep. That moment had been living in my mind, merciless and persistent.

I had been avoiding Alice, as well as my attraction to her, perfectly well until the night before.

Now I feared I could never go back. It was barely morning, and I already longed to see her face.

I had been behaving like a boor, but I hadn’t known how deeply my distance had been hurting her.

How would I have known? Did she assume I could read her mind?

I was not opposed to seeing her more often.

Though I still didn’t trust her completely, I was fairly certain her intentions weren’t all bad.

Dwelling on the past was only hurting us both, and our marriage was inescapable.

What good would it do to not at least try to find some sort of reconciliation?

I wasn’t certain if my actions the night before had helped or hindered our relationship, though.

From the look in her eyes after I had stopped kissing her, she had seemed terrified.

I rubbed my knuckles over my mouth as I stared out the window.

A smile pulled on my lips. It was difficult not to be amused by her request. She had acted as if it were a great burden for a man to be asked to kiss his wife.

If she would allow me to, I would kiss her every day—even if she did still vex me on occasion.

Her insistence on exploring the south wing had also been on my mind throughout the night.

I couldn’t blame her for being suspicious.

I had never expected to keep Margaret a secret forever, but I had been afraid of how Alice might react.

Protecting my sister from the harshness and cruelty of the world had been my entire purpose for the past three years.

It had caused me to assume the worst of everyone.

I stood from behind the desk in my study.

I had been dividing my time between managing the estate finances and tenants, repairing the mistakes that had been made by my steward while I had been in Brighton, and tending to Margaret.

There were times when I wasn’t certain she even cared for my company, distracted as she was with her own imagination, but my presence did seem to calm her.

My heart pounded a little faster than usual as I peeked my head into the corridor.

Alice had been returning from her morning ride each day around this time.

She had settled into her own routine quickly, which was why I had assumed she was content.

Hearing that she wanted me to be in her life at all had eased something within me.

It had awoken a desire to impress her. She had been displeased with my offer of dining with her every other night.

So that meant it would have to be every night.

Which meant Margaret would have to join us.

I could not leave my sister to dine alone. I no longer had any choice but to make the introduction I had been so afraid of.

Nerves swirled in my stomach as I made my way toward the breakfast room. I usually took a plate back to my study, but today I waited at the table until Alice walked through the door.

She paused a few paces into the room, a look of surprise crossing her features.

She still wore her dark blue riding habit.

I couldn’t help but wonder if it was me or the exhilaration of her ride that had caused the flush on her cheeks.

I stood, my chair scraping loudly against the floor.

It caught on the rug, barely managing to slide out far enough to allow me to stand.

I lowered my head in a bow, feeling a deep sense of awkwardness. I was not usually so ungainly. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” Her gaze bolted away from my face, and the flush on her cheeks deepened.

Was she thinking about the kiss?

I waited for her to fill her plate at the sideboard, and then she took a tentative seat across the table. She eyed the empty space in front of me. “Did you already eat?”

“No.” I took a deep breath. “I usually take my meals in the south wing.”

Her eyes rounded.

A weak laugh escaped my throat. She hadn’t touched her fork, her hand hovering a few inches above it.

I studied each of her features—her expressive brows, pale pink lips, and the trail of freckles on her nose and forehead.

All I could do was hope that she was as kind as she looked.

I recalled the moment she had thrown that glass of punch on Miss Lyons at the ball.

If she was capable of that, then what else was she capable of? My heart raced as I grew more anxious.

Alice seemed to be waiting for further explanation. I had clearly shocked her.

“Would you—” I paused, taking another breath. “Would you like to take your breakfast there with me today?”

She stared at me for several seconds, then at her plate of scrambled eggs and bread. I could see the questions racing through her mind when she met my gaze again, but all she said was, “I suppose.”

I felt her watching me as I filled my plate, then Margaret’s.

All my sister liked was toast and jam, so I spread a thin layer of strawberry on four triangular slices of bread.

Alice scrutinized both plates, one eyebrow lifting slightly as I returned to the table.

I didn’t know how to explain the situation without simply showing her.

She seemed to understand. With her plate, she followed me silently in the direction of the south wing.

I took a deep breath at the door, turning to face her. “When you asked if my mother lived here, ‘along with my sister…’” I sighed. “I should have told you then, but the matter is delicate, and I didn’t know if you would understand. My mother does not live here, that is true—but Margaret does.”

Alice’s shock faded into a curious look. “The dear sister you bought your gift for at the souvenir shop?” she asked in a quiet voice.

I nodded. “The very one.”

Her brow creased with confusion, but she said nothing more as I opened the door. The vast corridor was illuminated by the light of several windows. A long rug lined the center of the clean, polished wooden floor, leading to an arched window at the end of the corridor with a bench beneath it.

“It’s true that this wing was damaged by a fire ten years ago,” I said as I led Alice forward, stopping outside the last door on the right side. “But it has since been repaired.”

“You lied.” Alice’s voice was low and accusatory. “You said it was dangerous.”

I turned around, a pang of guilt striking my heart. “I believe it was Mrs. Linton who said that.” I meant it as a joke, but Alice’s expression was unamused.

“Under your instruction,” she said.

My hand paused on the doorknob. “I didn’t want you wandering here without my guidance.

I wasn’t ready for you to meet her.” I didn’t feel that I would ever truly be ready.

My heart pounded fast as I studied the nervous look on Alice’s face.

Would she be cruel or judgmental? The question had been burning in the back of my mind all week.

Most people didn’t know how to act around Margaret—how to speak to her or treat her.

She had been deemed unfit for company over and over again throughout her life.

At sixteen, she should have been coming out in society, but that wasn’t possible.

Everyone she had ever known had been driven away from her. Everyone except me.

Before Alice could reply, I eased the door open.

Margaret knelt in the center of the room, her long honey-blonde hair hanging close to the floor as she arranged her tiny shells in a line.

Each morning, I found her undertaking the same task.

It was a routine of sorts. Her line of shells stretched from one wall to the other, dividing the room in half in front of her bed.

She had never been able to explain why she did it, but I imagined it was how she divided night and day in her mind—sleeping and being awake.

Each night, she gathered the shells up again before crossing the imaginary line to her bed.

She didn’t glance up at my entrance, familiar as she was with my visits and those of the various servants who tended to her. She had grown comfortable with all of them. I hoped she could feel the same toward Alice.

“Margaret?” I didn’t usually greet her from the door, so she glanced up in curiosity. Her wide brown eyes skimmed across my face, never lingering long.

Then her attention shifted to Alice.

I had told Margaret about my new wife, but she hadn’t expressed any interest in meeting her. Perhaps she had even doubted that Alice existed. I never truly knew whether Margaret was listening to me or not.

I smiled as I moved a few steps farther into the room. “This is my wife, Alice,” I said, motioning in her direction.

Margaret’s eyes flickered to Alice, then back to me.