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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

M argaret spent the night in a most wretched state. Although she felt that she had made the right decision, she still could not convince herself of this truth. If it is right, why does it hurt so much?

Tossing and turning in her bed, she was at pains to come to an answer that satisfied. Her feelings for Lysander had not changed, and she was certain his hadn’t either. Perhaps she had been wrong? Perhaps she had spoken too quickly? Perhaps… perhaps there was still a chance to make things right?

On the following morning, Margaret came to a decision.

It was as the sun rose and broke through her room that she readied herself for the morning ahead.

Yesterday, so much had been said while so little had been discussed.

She had hurt Lysander, and she hated herself for that.

But it still might not be too late. As foolish as she felt, what if she were to apologize and talk this through?

Was there a chance that he would forgive her and, together, they might come to an answer that would protect his daughters and save this marriage?

I cannae avoid him or leave it where it is. I saw in his eyes how much he cares for me, just as I care for him. I need to make this right.

She walked through the halls and toward the breakfast room in a state of nervous anxiety. As she went, she could hear Lysander and the voices of his daughters drifting. They sounded happy, a state of being she prayed would not change…

“Margaret!” Aurelia cried when she saw her. “You’re out of bed!”

“Guid morning to ye to…” She smiled for Aurelia and then Lenora, before letting her eyes drift to Lysander, who sat at the head of the table.

He was not looking at her, focused on the plate before him, his expression stern and dispassionate.

“I am feeling so much better,” she explained as she entered the room.

“I thought I might join ye for breakfast.”

Aurelia and Lenora were thrilled to see her, but that was not Margaret’s focus. As she sat herself down to Lysander’s left, she watched him hopefully, needing him to look up and see her so he would know that she was aware of the mistake she’d made.

“How… how did ye sleep?” she asked Lysander gently. “I…” She hesitated, knowing what she needed to say but not knowing how to say it. “I think we need to speak later, if it pleases ye.”

Lysander stiffened, and she knew right away that a simple fix was not what Lysander had in mind. I suppose it was always too much to hope for…

“Girls, I am afraid I have some news.” Lysander looked at his daughters, still refusing to meet Margaret’s eyes. “Before I give it, I want you both to know that this has nothing to do with either of you. It is simply the way of things, and I hope you understand that it is for the best.”

“Father…” Aurelia pouted. “What is wrong?”

Margaret’s heart began to race as Lysander’s dissociated tone settled on her. He was as cold as she had ever seen him. It was as if she were not there, or rather that he wished she wasn’t. I am too late. How could I have been so foolish?

“In a few days’ time, Margaret will be returning home to Scotland–”

“What!” Aurelia cried.

“No!” Lenora joined in.

“Father! You can’t!” Aurelia continued. “Margaret, tell him that he can’t!”

“Lysander…” Margaret reached for Lysander’s hand, but he flinched and pulled it away. That crushed her as much as anything. “Perhaps this is something that we can discuss later?”

“We will discuss it now,” he said coldly, still not looking at her. “And girls, I understand this is hard to hear, but Margaret is needed back home, and I expect the two of you to –”

“Why are you doing this, Father!” Aurelia pleaded angrily, her eyes welling as she looked between Lysander and Margaret for an answer. “Margaret, tell him he can’t do this.”

“He can’t! He can’t!” Lenora echoed.

“That is enough,” Lysander said stiffly, a warning shot at both his daughters.

“This is not an argument, nor do I expect to be spoken to like this in my own home.” Another warning aimed at his daughters.

“It is a decision that…” He grimaced, and his eyes flicked to Margaret quickly; in them, she saw pain and sadness and misery, and it broke her like nothing else could.

“… that we have agreed upon together, and our minds will not be changed.”

“Father –”

“Enough!” Lysander barked, letting his anger get the better of him. “It seems that I was wrong to treat the two of you like adults. To your rooms, girls.”

“But –”

“It was not a question…” He raised his eyebrows at both his daughters, each of whom looked positively bereft. Tears in their eyes. Disbelief was written across their faces. They wanted to push the matter, but knew better than to argue with their father. “To your rooms,” he repeated.

They did as they were told, but not before throwing their father a most filthy look. The pitter patter of their feet followed them through the house, softening and then dying out, leaving behind a void in the breakfast room that was as tense as it was unbearable.

Margaret felt the tension like a knife cutting her. Lysander had never been the warmest of men, but she had never seen him this angry before either. She had hurt him, she knew, and this was his attempt to protect himself so that she couldn’t hurt him again.

It was a mistake, what I said. The right intentions, but the wrong action taken. And now, Lysander hates me for it.

“Lysander…” Her tone was soft and unsure, for she did not wish to set him off again. “About what I said yesterday –”

“We don’t need to speak of it again,” he cut her off sharply. “In fact…” Still not looking at her, he picked up his knife and fork and proceeded to cut into the pork slice on his plate. “I have been giving it some thought, and I have decided that you are right.”

“You… what?” She leaned back as if struck.

“Although this fresh bout of rumors is by no means a death blow, it does prove exactly what my fears have always been.” He took a bite off his fork, chewed, and then swallowed.

“Concerning your influence on my daughters. We have been married for a few weeks, and already I am forced to protect them in ways I never had to do before you came into their lives. In many ways, we might consider this a blessing.”

It was like a knife stabbing through her chest. “A blessing…”

“That it occurred when it did,” he explained simply.

He was speaking with a distance to his voice, as if talking to himself rather than to her.

“This marriage was always going to cause trouble, Margaret. We both knew that. Better that we accept it now and do what we can to move on.” He reached for the glass of juice and took a sip.

“For the sake of Aurelia and Lenora, as you said.”

“I…” She gave her head a shake. “I was wrong when I said that, Lysander. Please –” She reached for his hand again, and again he pulled it away. She winced at the action.

“I know that yesterday I suggested that you remain here for the rest of the Season also, but I have been giving it some thought, and I have decided that the risk is too great.”

“Lysander –”

“Best that you remove yourself from this home quickly, again, so that Aurelia and Lenora do not get the wrong impression. This is all very sudden, I know, but it is by far the best outcome. I know, as do you.”

There was a bitterness to his tone as he spoke now. She could feel it like poison dripping from his tongue. Her words yesterday had hurt him even more than she had expected they would, and he was doing all in his power to protect himself.

“Nae,” she said. “Yesterday, I misspoke, Lysander. I dinnae mean it. I… I want to stay. Please…” She was looking at him with a pleading stare, praying that he would see it. “And I ken that ye want the same.”

He shook his head. “Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I ken,” she pressed on him. “Yesterday, before I… before I said as I did, that is what ye were going to tell me. I ken that ye – look at me!” she cried suddenly, unable to bear the way he refused to acknowledge her. “Look at me and tell me to my face that this is what ye want!”

Lysander sighed and placed down his knife and fork.

Then he took a calming breath before forcing himself to look at her.

She gasped when he did, for the expression he held her in was devoid of emotion.

No sense that he cared for her. No signs of the love she knew he bore.

It was not him, he whose eyes she met. His body, yes, but his soul was empty.

“It does not matter what I was going to say,” he said simply. “What matters is what you said…” His lip curled slightly, but he straightened it. “Words that, to be honest, I needed to hear. For that, I thank you.”

She winced and leaned back. “I dae nae believe ye.”

“Believe it,” he said coldly. “For it is the truth.” He nodded once and then turned back to his breakfast. “With that in mind, I think it best if you leave today, not for Scotland, as that is a trip that will take some time to arrange. But to your sister’s, a few nights there as I make the preparations, and then you will be free to return home. ”

“Lysander…” her voice was soft and defeated. “Please…”

“This was always the plan, Margaret,” he continued as if it were a most casual conversation. “Truly, I would have thought that you would be happy to hear it.”

Margaret didn’t know what to say. Or what she even could say!

If the man sitting before her was the Lysander she had grown to love, she might have tried to reason with him, to explain, to force him to admit how he felt.

But this was not the same man. He was a shadow of her husband, determined to hide himself behind a wall of emotionless dispassion because she had forced him into this state.

Her brow furrowed as she looked at him. As she tried to see through this vessel and find the man who she had known was going to tell her that he loved her. She searched desperately… but found nothing.

“Is this… is this what ye want? Truly?”

“It is,” he said. “It is how it must be.”

It was stupid, she knew, for the fault was her own, but that did not stop the anger from rising in her. It was like a fire, burning hot and furious, and it took all the strength she had not to turn it on him. I would say that might only make things worse, but how could they possibly be any worse?

“Fine.” She pushed back her chair and rose.

“If that is the way it must be…” She stormed across the room, reaching the doorway, where she turned back and fixed Lysander with a fiery glare.

“You are right, in some ways better that this happened now, rather than later. This way…” Her chin wobbled, but she kept it straight.

“This way, I am able to see truly who ye are. And that ye are nae who I thought ye were. This man…” She sneered. “This man is nae worth fighting for.”

With that, she turned and left the breakfast room, striding across the foyer, up the stairs, down the hallway, and into her room. She slammed the door closed and threw herself on her bed, only then allowing the tears to come.

It was all her fault. So close she had come to having everything. So close she had come to admitting how she felt, and having those feelings returned. So close she had come to happiness… only for it to be snatched away, but not before dangling just out of reach as if to tease her.

Lysander had been right; this was always the plan, one that she had once wanted.

Things had changed since then, and try as she might, Margaret could not see a way through this that would lessen the pain she felt in her heart.

That was hers forever now, to carry always…

and to remind me of the follies of giving my heart to another.