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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“ T here is no need to be so nervous,” Lysander chuckled.

“Who said I am nervous?” Margaret shot back.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Are you suggesting that I do not know my own wife? That I cannot feel as she feels? That I cannot read her as if our minds are one?” She looked at him flatly, and he grinned. “You are shaking, is how. It is obvious.”

“Oh…” She looked away, feeling foolish. “Perhaps I am just cold?”

“I hope not, for that would mean you are sick.” The duke looked to the sky, noting the bright sun which shone fully as there was not a cloud in the sky to cover it. “Plus, I can feel you sweating.”

“You cannae!”

“The point is still the same.” He had an arm around her waist, and she could feel his grip tighten with support. “There is no need to be nervous. Today will be fine, I know it.”

“I ken,” she said with a deep sigh and a slumping of her shoulders. “It is just that I have nae seen them before I left home – that was over a month ago now. So much has changed.”

“Nothing to feel a fright over.”

“It will be if they learn the truth of how we met…” She raised her eyebrow back at him in warning.

“Which is why they won’t,” he assured her. “Trust me, Margaret. There is nothing to worry about today, and certainly no reason to fret. Unless you are worried about what they will think of me?”

“Of course nae.”

“That settles it then.” He squeezed her gently. “Now, stop being so nervous. They will be here any moment and the last thing I need is for them to think that I am holding you hostage.”

She laughed. “Maybe ye are and all this is just my way of making ye lower your guard so that I might flee when ye least suspect it.”

“If that is the case, you are doing a wonderful job.” He winked. “Consider my guard lowered.”

She took his other hand and kissed the back of it, needing him to see how grateful she was.

Of course she was nervous, worried, damn terrified of what today might bring.

But she also felt a sense of resolve with Lysander beside her, here to support as he had promised that he would.

It gave her much-needed strength. And that was needed for two reasons.

The first was her relationship with her husband, which on the surface was going perfectly and wonderfully in nearly every respect.

They got along well. They clearly relished each other’s company.

It was a marriage in every sense of the word, progressing even better than she had hoped.

The only problem, as she saw it, was that as well as everything seemed to be going, Margaret could not help but feel a distance between them that refused to be bridged.

It was not obvious. It was not that noticeable.

But there were times when it felt as if Lysander was purposefully keeping her at arm's length. Although why he was doing such a thing…

And the fact that we have not been together physically yet is also a concern. Dammit, we have not even kissed properly since that night at the ball!

She was certain it was all in her own head. What was more, she was certain that if today went well, it would act as that much-needed bridge, confirming once and for all that this marriage was for keeps. But that was the other reason she needed strength today.

Margaret and her husband were standing in the front drive of the manor, arm in arm, waiting patiently as any moment Margaret’s family was sure to arrive, here to meet her husband for the first time.

With Lysander beside her, his arm still around her waist, she was feeling better than she had all day. But then she saw their carriage appear by the gateway.

“They’re here!” The nerves flooded her again. “They’re here. Is everything ready? Are we –”

“Easy,” he chuckled. “I told you already, it’s going to be fine.”

“You do not have to meet them if you do not wish to,” she offered, giving Lysander a way out.

He frowned. “And why would I not wish for that?”

“I dinnae ken…”

“Margaret…” He shook his head. “I am your husband. Your family wishes to meet me. It really is as simple as that. There is no need to panic.”

And she believed him. She needed to believe him. Lysander was here, as he had been these last two weeks. All Margaret had to do was stop second-guessing everything and looking for reasons why it might fall apart. And most of all, da nae da anything to give him a reason to run.

The carriage came to a stop a dozen feet away from them. Margaret tensed. The duke held her. She felt her pulse quicken, but she stayed calm and ready, smiling as the door swung open and her younger brother’s face appeared.

“Margaret!” he cried joyously, jumping down from the carriage. “It is so guid to see ye!” Graham was fifteen years old, even if he looked older. But his personality was boyish still, bright-eyed and filled with eager energy, such that he laughed gaily as he hurried to greet her.

“Graham.” She pulled away from her brother and threw her arms around him. “Oh, how I have missed ye.”

“Liar,” he teased. “I bet ye have nae though’ of me once!”

She was about to rebuke him when she spied her mother stepping out of the carriage. And then her father. Margaret’s eyes lit up, and she hurried around her brother, reaching them both as they stepped down.

“Mother! Father!” She wrapped them both in a hug. “Ye made it.”

“Of course, dear,” her mother said with a warm smile. “I will nae say it was an easy journey, however. Ye know how yer father loves ta complain.”

“She says complain. I say that all I was doin’ was makin’ note of obvious discomforts. The seats in that carriage, far example…” He held his back and grimaced. “I cannae feel anythin’ from the waist down, and everythin’ north of that hurts.”

Margaret’s mother was a dainty creature who only seemed to be growing smaller with age.

Her father, on the other hand, was taken by the opposite effect.

Once a tall and strapping specimen, his stomach was now easily his most noticeable feature.

And if not that, his jowls, which wobbled as he laughed, which he did often.

His hair was auburn like Margaret’s and Graham’s, while her mother had green eyes, which she had given each of her children.

“Where is Isobel?” she looked about eagerly, her smile widened to see Isobel climbing down from the carriage. She was but four, a tiny thing, and it made the climb down seem far more perilous than it was.

“She insisted that she be allowed ta da sa herself,” her mother sighed at the sight of Isobel scampering. “Honestly, the independence she has…” A sigh. “She reminds me of ye.”

“Isobel!” Margaret swept to her youngest sister, picking her up in her arms and holding her close. “Look how big ye have gotten!”

“I am!” Isobel agreed. “Did ye see me climb down? All on me own.”

“You are particularly a woman fully grown.”

They laughed together as she carried her sister toward her brother, mother, and father. Then she handed her off to her brother as she looked past them and indicated for Lysander to come and greet them, finally.

“Your Grace!” her father’s voice boomed. He stepped from his family and extended an arm. “It is a pleasure ta finally meet the man who stole me daughter away.”

“She came willingly, I swear it,” Lysander chuckled as he took her father’s arm. “And anything else she says is a lie.”

“Where is Catherine?” her mother asked. “Is she here yet?”

“She will be along shortly,” Margaret assured her.

“Until then, I have had a table set for us in the back garden…” Lysander stepped beside Margaret, put his arm around her again, and indicated for her family to follow. “If it pleases you.”

“It does, Your Grace,” her father agreed.

“After ye,” her mother said.

“Look at this house!” Graham opined and let forth a low whistle of appreciation. “I would ge’ lost in it, if it were me.”

“Let us hope you do,” their mother said under her breath. “Save us having to take you back with us.”

They all laughed, even Lysander. And as they walked, she made sure to meet his eyes to read his first impression. He smiled for her, and she sighed with relief. It was early still, but things were off to a good start. Let us hope they continue this way. Fingers crossed…

“Come then!” Margaret’s father boomed and clapped his hands together. “Let us hear it!”

“Hear what?”

“The story,” he said. “The tale! We might have missed the weddin’ but I would like ta know how a man of such esteem saw fit ta marry me daughter without me permission.

” He raised a bushy eyebrow at Lysander, whose eyes widened in embarrassment.

“Joking, Your Grace!” her father chuckled. “Just jokes.”

“Fergus…” Her mother shook her head. “Behave yerself.”

“Doin’ me best, dear. Doin’ me best.”

“He is right, however,” her mother continued. “Ye were gone for but two weeks when we were told of the marriage. And so rushed – we would have liked to have made it, had we been given enough notice.”

“I was goin’ ta ride down meself,” Graham interjected. “But mother would not let me.”

“Of course I would not,” she said rightly. “All that way on horseback. Alone! I would have been mad to have allowed it.”

“I am nae a boy, mother.”

Their father blew through his lips. “From where I am sitting, ye still are.”

“Your Grace…” Graham turned to Lysander. “Tell them. At fifteen, I am practically a man. Do ya nae agree?”

Lysander looked between Graham and Margaret’s parents as he decided what to say and how to say it. Margaret watched him closely, wondering too how he might tackle this little test.

“I am afraid I have to side with your parents,” Lysander said finally. Graham’s face dropped. “Do not take it personally,” Lysander chuckled. “But I am trying to win them over, and somehow I sense that going against them on this might not be the best way.”

“He’s smart,” Margaret’s father nodded.

“And rather easy on the eyes,” her mother said with a wink.

“Mother…” Margaret groaned.

“Is he nae!” she cried. “Tell him, Fergus.”