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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“ Y ou must be feeling rather pleased with yourself,” Catherine said as soon as she and Margaret were alone.

“How do you mean?”

Catherine looked at her. “Oh, come now. Do not pretend that you were not worried about this little visit.” She laughed. “The lord knows that I was the first time our parents met, Sampson. Father, especially, we both know he can be a little…” She clicked her tongue. “Intense.”

“I think you mean loud.”

“In one’s face.”

“Nae kenning when to keep his big mouth shut.”

Both girls laughed together in that way that sisters often do. Memories they both shared, and thus had no reason to speak of, but knew well because they had grown up in the same house and under the roof of the very man whom they mocked.

“It is going better than I hoped,” Margaret agreed. “And Lysander seems to be enjoying himself.”

“I was going to say the same.” Catherine fixed her sister with a knowing look. “Far better than either I or Sampson were expecting.”

“What is that look!”

“What look?”

“Ye know to what I refer,” Margaret insisted. “Come now, out with it.” She put her hands on her hips. “Or do I need to force it out?”

It was early in the afternoon, the same day that Margaret’s family had arrived.

Shortly after they had started playing a game – the game of Whit, it was called, a favorite of her brother’s – Catherine and Sampson had arrived.

This had seen the game end as the great big family adjourned inside and sat themselves down at the dining room table, ready to eat a small lunch together.

The lunch had only just finished. Or rather, the drinks shared afterward had been.

Lysander had retired after that to his study to catch up on work, Sampson had joined him, Graham had set himself to exploring the estate with his younger sister, while Margaret’s parents had retired for a short nap before supper.

This left Catherine and Margaret alone for the first time.

They removed themselves to Margaret’s bedroom, there to pick outfits and get ready for supper. And, of course, to gossip, as Margaret had sensed that this is what Catherine really wished to do.

“I understand why you told our parents what you did about how you and Lysander came to be,” Catherine began carefully.

She was standing by the wardrobe, pretending to look through dresses, but her attention was turned completely to Margaret.

“A smart move, I think, for if they learned the truth…” She grimaced.

“Which they will nae, if ye and Sampson can keep yer tongues in order.”

“Do not worry about us,” Catherine assured her. “Sampson knows how vital it is that the lie be believed. He is no dolt.”

“What then?” Margaret insisted. “Clearly, there is something ye wish to discuss.”

Catherine sighed and stepped away from the wardrobe. Her expression was one of worry and love, a sister who cared for her kin, wanting only what was best. “I cannot help but wonder how far the lie has been stretched.”

“Meaning?”

“The way the two of you have been acting toward each other. To my eyes, it looks real. I dare say that the two of you are in the throes of romance, happy and in love. No doubt, mother and father believe it. I just wish to know…” She sighed with guilt.

“Is it a lie? Or are the two of you finally starting to find your way?”

It was a good question. In fact, it was a question that Margaret was grateful her sister had asked.

Only she knew of the arrangement agreed upon between Margaret and Lysander, and thus she was the only person in the world whom Margaret could talk about such things to.

A conversation I am desperate to have for I am going insane as I think and rethink everything.

Today was the proof of concept that Margaret needed.

Could she and Lysander work together? Was there a future there?

Did all of this feel real? Yes to it all, she had now decided, and where it was still some time before the Season ended and a decision needed to be made, she did not see why there was a need to wait.

I am falling for Lysander. I want this marriage to work. What is more, I know deep down in my soul that he feels that same way. Although if that was true, why was she still swamped with such feelings of worry and confusion?

Because this was the first time she had ever felt this way about anybody. The first time she had looked into her future, she had liked what she had seen. And she was terrified to lose it.

“It is nae a lie,” she said carefully, not wishing to overstate how she and the duke were feeling for one another. “As ye ken, we have agreed to try and make this marriage work. And so far…” She could not hide her smile. “So far, it is going well. Better than that.”

“Oh?”

“Ye saw us today…” Margaret worked through her feelings, voicing what she hoped to be true as she watched her sister for her reaction. “None of that was forced. Nor has it been this past week. Truly, we are as happy as we have ever been.”

“Well, that is good, isn’t it?” Catherine brightened as she spoke. “That is what you wished for.”

“It is.”

Catherine frowned. “Then why do you look so uncertain?”

“It is nae that I am uncertain,” Margaret assured her. “It is just that, as guid as everything has been so far, we have still nae discussed what it means. If, when this Season finishes, I will stay or go home.”

“But you want to stay?”

“I dae,” she said without hesitation, for it was the truth. “So much.”

“You just do not know what the duke wants?”

“It is nae even that I da nae ken what he wants.” She bit into her lip, thoughts tumbling like an avalanche down a mountainside. “I am certain that if he was asked right now, he would say he wants the same. I can see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice when we speak.”

“And yet…”

“What if he changes his mind? Or worse, what if he is so damn stubborn that he refuses to admit how he feels? I know how much he cares for his daughters, and I would nae be surprised if he denies himself because of some misplaced idea that he needs to protect them.”

“Would he do that?”

“Honestly…” Margaret’s stomach sank at the thought. Above all else, she knew his daughters were what Lysander cared for the most. And if he suspected for even a second that he could not continue in this marriage and raise them as he wished, he would not hesitate to end things. “… I am nae sure.”

Was this conversation not supposed to make me feel better? Why does it feel as if it has had the opposite effect? Margaret could feel herself sinking, which her sister must have noticed because she swept across the room and took her by the hands.

“It seems to me that there is one thing you can do. The only thing.”

Margaret winced, for she knew what her sister was going to say. “Tell me.”

“Speak to him. Tell him how you feel. Whatever the answer he gives, hiding from it will solve nothing. He deserves to know how you feel. And you deserve to tell him.”

“I ken,” she sighed. It was the only thing left to do, and yet it terrified her. For now, things were perfect, and she would have loved for them to stay as such. But it could not be that way as much as she wished it.

“Are we decent?” A knock at the door, and their mother stuck her head in.

“Decent enough,” Margaret sighed, only to force a smile and brighten up as she did not wish for her mother to suspect that anything was wrong. “I thought ye were taking a nap.”

“I was…” Their mother stepped inside the room and closed the door softly. “But yer father is out cold and I wished to talk with both of ye.” There was a look of abject worry on her face, and Margaret felt it reach her like a slap across the face.

Oh no. Does she suspect something? Is that what this is…

“Wh-what’s wrong?” she stammered, doing what she could to appear at ease.

Their mother walked across the room, head bowed and fiddling with her hands. When she did finally look up, the worry that she had been showing seemed to have increased tenfold.

“Mother,” Catherine began. “What is wrong?”

She sighed. “Yer father would kill me if he learned that I had told ye this, but ye both have a right to ken the truth of it.”

“Ken what?” Catherine pressed.

“It is yer father…” Their mother’s chin wobbled, but she forced it to stay. “He is sick –”

“What!” the two girls cried together.

“Quiet…” Their mother hissed and looked back as if expecting the door to burst open. “As I said, he daes nae wish for ye ta ken. But if the two of ye carry on as if –”

“Mother, what is wrong with Father?” Catherine asked. She found Margaret’s hand, holding it tight to her. Margaret’s heart was beating with worry, all thoughts of the duke fading because right now they hardly seemed important.

“It is his health,” she sighed and shook her head.

“His heart, to be more specific. I will nae go into too many details. Truly, I dae nae have them all. But the doctors have been visiting him weekly this past month and they cannae say how long…” Her chin wobbled again and she sniffed loudly.

“It could be weeks, months. Years if we are… if we are… if –” And that was when she burst into tears.

Together, Catherine and Margaret went to her, pulling her in and holding her in a tight hug.

Margaret’s mind raced with panic. Worry. Sadness. Every emotion there was, flooding her in seconds. She loved her father dearly, and her mother too. Her entire family! And the thought that soon it might not be whole, that her mother would be alone… I cannae imagine anything worse.

“Ye have no idea how happy I am to see the two of ye wed,” their mother sniffed.

“Yer father, also. When we learned of his…” She sniffed, unable to say it.

“That was what he said, and it brought him hope. He would have hated to have passed on, knowing that the two of ye were nae taken care of. At the very least, he will have that.”

It was like a knife through Margaret’s heart.

When things could not seem to get any worse, somehow they managed to still.

Until this moment, what she wished to speak to Lysander about had felt as if it would affect her only, and that she had a home to return to had provided a soft light at the end of a dark tunnel that she did not want to walk but would have been willing had it come to that.

Her family was always going to be there…

Now, that was no longer the case. The survival of this marriage was no longer just about her and her future. It was about her father, too, his health, her mother’s happiness. So much resting on her shoulders that she could feel the weight pushing her down so that it might bury her.

As if things were not complicated enough…

All that was to say that Margaret needed to speak to Lysander.

And she needed to do it soon. No more waiting.

No more hoping. As soon as her family returned north and she and Lysander were alone once more, she would sit him down and ask him what their future held.

And as for his answer… I ken deep down what it should be.

I ken how he feels. But does he ken it? And will he admit it? Only time will tell…