Page 74 of The Maid of Fairbourne Hall

Margaret went back upstairs to her room to await her mother’s return.

Her relief over Caroline’s escape was tempered by the nagging thought that she had left Fairbourne Hall in vain.

And without proper notice in the bargain.

She rolled her eyes at herself—still thinking like a responsible servant.

Worse yet, in her panic to try and save her sister—an unnecessary intervention as it turned out—she had once again refused an offer of marriage from Nathaniel Upchurch.

A man she loved. Would he ever forgive her?

She feared she had hurt him irreparably, that he would never ask a third time. How impulsive she had been. Again.

What should she do now? She could not return to Fairbourne Hall as a maid, nor could she return as herself—an uninvited guest. How brazen that would be.

She could pay a call on Helen, she supposed.

But Helen would guess her real motivation for the visit.

And how could she face the servants as herself? How strange that would be.

She could write Nathaniel a letter...

though correspondence between unmarried ladies and gentlemen was considered improper by many.

Of course such a minor indiscretion paled in comparison to her other recent acts.

Even if she dared write, what would she say?

“Em... sorry about running off like that. All for nothing it turns out. Would you care to repeat your proposal?”

She consoled herself with the fact that at least she had left word where she was going. He knew where she was if he wished to contact her. She would wait.

Wait for what? To reach her twenty-fifth birthday, gain her inheritance.

.. and then what? Yes, she still looked forward to providing for her brother and sister.

But her mother? She was less certain that relationship could be restored.

Margaret felt betrayed—disappointed that her mother had fallen in with Sterling’s schemes.

On the other hand, her mother might very well be disappointed in her, for endangering herself and the family’s reputation by running away.

A soft knock interrupted her reverie. Her heart lurched until she reminded herself that Marcus Benton was on a ship bound for America.

“Come in.”

The door opened slowly, and her mother appeared, expression cautious, still clad in walking dress and pelisse, from whatever errand had taken her out that afternoon.

“Margaret,” she breathed. “How glad I am to see you, safe and sound.”

Joanna Macy Benton hesitated at the door, making no move to embrace her daughter, perhaps unsure of her reception.

“I want to apologize, Margaret,” she said. “I am so sorry you did not feel safe under our roof. That you felt you had no choice but to flee. I don’t know what I could have done, but I should have done something to make certain Marcus paid you no improper attention.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Her mother winced. “You can’t have lived with me this last year and not know why.

It’s no excuse, but you saw how Sterling was, how disapproving and critical.

I have tried to work out what I did wrong to lose his good opinion.

I’ve done everything I could think of to win back his approval, his admiration, to no avail. ”

“I know.”

“He is my husband, Margaret. But there comes a point when a woman must protect her children even in the face of her husband’s displeasure. I did not stand up to him when that point came, and I am sorry. I hope someday you will forgive me.”

What could Margaret say? “You did nothing wrong, Mamma, beyond marrying him in the first place. Beyond failing to make it clear your modest marriage settlement would remain modest, that any rumored inheritance from Aunt Josephine would not end in his pockets.” But Margaret could not come out and say Sterling had only married her for money, money that would never come. It would be too cruel.

Her mother clasped her hands together. “I am relieved neither you nor Caroline has married someone who would not love you for yourself.”

Margaret nodded. The poor woman knew too well what that felt like. “How is Caroline?” she asked.

“Heartbroken. Disillusioned. Angry with Marcus, with us. But she is young, and she will recover.”

“I was so relieved to hear the news.”

“As was I. My introduction of Miss Jackson turned out to be quite propitious.”

“ Your introduction?”

Mrs. Macy-Benton sighed. “Yes. I introduced her to Marcus, Mr. Jackson being an old acquaintance of your father’s. I was almost sorry to do so. But I saw Marcus’s marriage to her as the lesser of two evils. And if I don’t miss my guess, Miss Jackson will keep him on a short tether from nowon.”

Margaret stared at her, impressed.

Her mother retrieved something from her reticule.

“This is the card of the solicitor handling Aunt Josephine’s estate.

The time has come for you to make your wishes known to someone outside our family.

You are a grown woman now, Margaret, and there is no need for Sterling or me to act as your guardian any longer. ”

She twiddled the card in her fingers. “I went to see Mr. Ford myself this afternoon and made him aware that, regardless of what my husband has told him in the past, Sterling is no disinterested party who will objectively advise you. Mr. Ford and his partner will be happy to fill that role.”

How careful, how nearly timid she was. It smote Margaret’s conscience.

She reached out to take the card from her mother, gently grasping her outstretched hand. Her mother looked up in surprise.

“Thank you, Mamma.”

Tears brightened her mother’s eyes, and Margaret felt her own fill in reply.

“I forgive you,” Margaret whispered. “And I hope you will forgive me for not sending word sooner, for worrying you.”

“Oh, Margaret.” Her mother held out her arms, and Margaret entered the long-missed embrace.

Margaret went to see the solicitor the very next day.

The grey-haired, bespectacled man rose when she entered. “Ah, Miss Macy. What a pleasure to see you. You gave us all a scare, disappearing the way you did.”

“I am alive and well, as you see.”

He regarded her with small, kind eyes. “I have not seen you since the reading of your great-aunt’s will. You have changed, my dear, if you will allow me to say so. You look very well indeed.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ford.”

They spoke for half an hour about the inheritance, investment options, and the necessary steps to set up a trust for Gilbert and a dowry for Caroline.

“If you would be so good as to return on your birthday to sign the paper work,” he said, “I will have all I need to deposit the funds into an account in your name at the bank of your choice.”

“Thank you. I would be happy to return on the twenty-ninth. Would two o’clock suit?”

“Perfectly.”

She rose and pulled on her gloves.

He stood as well. “In the meantime, is there anything else I can do for you?”

She looked up at him, bit her lip, and considered. “There is one thing....”

When she returned to Berkeley Square, Margaret asked Murdoch if there was anything for her in the post.

“Yes, miss. Three letters.”

She shuffled through them, mood sinking. None from Maidstone.

Murdoch cleared his throat. “And several gentlemen have called for you as well. I told them you were out, but one insisted on waiting. I’ve put him in the morning room.”

Margaret’s heart leapt. “Who is it?”

He handed her several calling cards on a silver salver. She flipped through them, her elation fading. She wasn’t interested in any of these men. None were Nathaniel Upchurch.