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CHAPTER NINETEEN

“ I want complete honesty,” Margaret told Lysander as they led their horses from the stable and across the paddock.

“Concerning?”

“This past week. How awful was it?”

He laughed as he led his horse to trot beside her own. The pace was steady and easy-going, as they were in no rush. “We’re speaking of your parents, I am assuming?”

“What else?”

“Margaret, I want you to listen closely.” Lysander let the silence build between them as he fixed her in a serious gaze.

Margaret tried to meet it, her stomach turning with worry.

That’s how it had been this entire week; every time she and Lysander spoke, it seemed.

Her mind was fixed on one thing and one thing only, and whatever Lysander said or did, she interpreted it as related to that.

“I had a wonderful time,” he said finally, dropping the serious facade and smiling.

“Honestly, and I do not say this lightly, it might be the most fun I’ve had in years. ”

She breathed a sigh of relief but looked at him flatly. “Mocking me family? Ye go too far.”

“Who said I was mocking?”

“I just assumed.”

He laughed. “Your family is a treasure, Margaret. Truly, I was glad to have them. With that said…” He winked at her and then kicked his heels into his horse, spurring it ahead. “I wish I could say the same of you! How is it that I got stuck with the dunce?”

“I said nae mocking!” She chased after him, laughing as she went.

It was the day after her family had finally left to return home.

A full week spent with them on the estate, and as much as Margaret loved them, a part of her was glad to see them go.

She hated that she had this thought, and she’d hugged her father for what felt like an hour before finally releasing him, while also promising him that she would visit as soon as possible.

And I will too, as soon as I can. If things go well between the duke and me, I will insist we head north when the Season ends.

And if it goes badly… it will be much the same.

That was why she was glad to see them leave.

As much as she loved her family, the week had been a long and troubling one as she could not escape her own fears concerning the conversation she and Lysander needed to have.

Ironically, this was only made worse because as each day passed and more time was spent with her family and him together, she found herself falling more and more in love with him.

And I do love him too. It took me so long to realize, but now it is a truth I can no longer deny.

It made it harder, the not knowing, the lack of certainty. Where their bond was growing, they were still yet to speak of the future and what it held for them.

She had to ask him. She had to tell him how she felt.

Margaret could sense, too, that she was behaving strangely, acting awkwardly, and Lysander could surely see something was amiss.

So in her own head, so taken by worry and confusion, she could hardly stand to be in the same room as him, lest she give herself away.

As such, when the sun broke this morning, she insisted that she and Lysander go for a ride.

She needed to get out of the house. She needed fresh air.

And she needed Lysander in a good mood, herself too, because once they jumped down from their horses and sat to enjoy their surroundings, she was going to broach the subject.

Today will either be the best day of my life or the worst. I am prepared for both…

“I want complete honesty from you now.” Lysander turned his horse back, his expression turned serious.

Margaret was facing toward him, sitting side saddle, careful again not to look nervous or noticeably worried.

She was a good rider, and the pastures they rode were flat and without cause for concern, but so filled with worry was she that she could tell her horse could sense it in her.

It bucked and refused to listen to her commands, making the trot a rough one.

“Y–yes,” she stammered as she pulled up by where Lysander’s horse was waiting.

“This past week. How awful was it?” He broke into a mischievous grin. “Or a better question, how did I do? Did I pass?”

“Pass?” she swallowed.

“The test, for that is what it felt like,” he laughed and steered his horse so that they were side by side; their legs touching, close enough that he was able to reach over and rest a hand on her thigh.

She eyed that hand, swallowing again. His touch still sends me wild.

But I must focus . “Did I pass the test?”

She laughed. “What do ye think?”

“It does not matter what I think. What matters is…” He squeezed her thigh as he looked into her eyes. A soft smile on his lips. A genuine sense that he was not so curious as he was worried. “I would like for your family to like me, for I liked them very much.”

“Ye did?”

“Of course I did,” he laughed. “They are a little rough around the edges, which should not come as a surprise. But they are your family, and by extension, that makes them my family also. So, it would be nice to know that I did not make a complete mess of everything.”

Margaret looked at Lysander as if she were seeing him for the first time.

Or rather, that she was seeing through all her worries and the concern that had clouded her this past week.

So damn riddled with anxiety had she been that she had not stopped to wonder how Lysander might feel, just as she had not considered how hard he had been trying to impress her.

And he had been doing that. From the moment her family arrived, he had been at pains to impress and not embarrass her. He was trying his hardest, which itself should have been proof enough of how he felt.

Why have I allowed myself to fret like this? Why have I given in to my own paranoia? I ken how Lysander feels about me, he has nae been shy about the fact, and for that reason alone I ken the answer he is sure to give once I ask it. The only answer…

She felt the anxiety fall from her shoulders.

A smile reached her face and then her eyes, one that she was sure that Lysander could see.

And then, not willing to wait any longer, needing an answer finally just as she looked forward to hearing it, she found the courage to ask the question she had shrank away from this whole week.

“Lysander,” she began. “There is something I have been meaning to –”

Suddenly, the horse on which she sat reared back and whinnied.

It caught her by complete surprise, such that she was not able to take hold of the reins in time to balance herself.

Through the grass, she spied Spotty nipping at the horse’s heels playfully.

He must have escaped the house and followed them.

And the horse, clearly not in on the game that the dog was playing, panicked.

“Oh!” she cried out as the horse pushed up on its two back legs. “Lys –” she cried out, losing her voice as the world turned and the ground rose beneath her.

She hit the grass with a loud thud, pain cracking across her backside. The wind left her, she crumpled like a house of cards, and in the space of a second or two, she was on the ground, splayed out, barely able to breathe.

“Margaret!” Lysander dismounted and coming for her. “Don’t move!”

He dodged around her frightened horse and dropped to his knees. Spotty licked at him, but he gently pushed the puppy away as he examined her.

“Can you move?” he asked, voice panicked. “Can you hear me?”

She groaned as her mind returned to her body. A throbbing pain in her backside. A wrist that ached when she tried to move it. And to breathe felt as if small daggers had taken residence in her lungs.

“I… I fell,” she said stupidly.

“The dog!” Lysander snarled angrily. “Do not move.” He looked her over, eyes searching, panic taking him in a way she had never seen before. He was always so calm and composed, in total command of himself. But this was something else entirely.

“I am fine…” She tried to push up.

“I said don’t move!” He did not snap at her, but she could sense anger nonetheless. Is it me he is furious with? Or himself? “You may have broken something…” He tested her arms and legs. “Does that hurt?”

“Nae,” she said, still on her back. “But me wrist…”

“Shit.” It was the first time she had ever heard him curse. “We must return to the manor.”

“I can walk –”

“No,” he commanded. “You will do no such thing.” He clicked his tongue as he considered, and again she could sense his panic. His worry. His fear , as if she lay dying by his feet. “Here…” He slipped his arms under her and lifted her up as he stood. “I will carry you.”

“That is nae –”

“I will carry you,” he spoke over her, his tone brokering no argument.

Lysander carried her back to the manor, a long journey, and one made in total silence. In a way, how much her fall seemed to frighten him should have given Margaret hope, for it was surely proof of how much he cared. And yet, there is something else… another emotion in him that I cannae puzzle out.

His jaw was gritted. His stare, fixed on the house, was determined. But behind it she could see his mind turning. She could feel how undone he had become. She might have been the one who had fallen but Lysander looked to be the one it had broken.

What that would mean for them? Margaret hadn’t a clue. Oh guid, something else to add to the confusion. As if things weren’t confused enough.