Margaret looked like he’d raised a hand to hit her. She blinked quickly and took a half step back. After a stunned silence, she said, “Is that all you have to say? That I am lying?”
“It is in your hand,” he reminded her. “So unless you can name someone who knows your hand and has good reason to send this letter, then I don’t know how you expect me to believe you. Why would someone other than you send this?”
Her face reddened, but it didn’t seem to be with embarrassment. Her lips were pursed like she was trying to push words out, but they were stuck. After a moment, she spluttered out, “I don’t know.”
For several seconds, neither of them said anything more. They just stared, waiting for the other person to give in. But neither of them did.
“Very well,” she said, in a resigned tone. “Then I have said all I needed to say. Do what you will with it. Do nothing at all if it pleases you.
But I would urge you to consider the possibility that I might be telling the truth, and what that means for you.”
With that, she turned away from him and left him standing in her wake. She called for Ezra in a sharp voice. He hurried towards her and took her hand, throwing one last look at Nathaniel back over his shoulder.
Nathaniel watched his little hand lift in a half-hearted wave goodbye.
What she’d said was on repeat in Nathaniel’s head, but there was still room enough in his mind for Ezra. It hurt to see him go.
As he watched them disappear into a carriage, he did as Margaret had said. He considered, in a strictly hypothetical way, what it would mean for him if she was telling the truth.
It meant that he’d misunderstood her. And it meant that he’d jumped to conclusions about her, about them, that might not be true.
It could mean so much for them. But she hadn’t urged him to consider what it meant for them. She’d urged him to consider what it meant for him.
For him, it meant that someone might very well be out to get him. Because if Margaret was telling the truth… then this letter reeked of sabotage.
But to what end? Could someone be trying to break his spirit, to keep him from making further changes in Comptonshire?
Or did they fear that Margaret would offer patronage and had taken steps to prevent that from happening? Or was this merely an enemy with a personal grudge, hoping to make him miserable?
He didn’t know. But as her carriage rolled out of sight, he realized that his conviction was wavering. When she’d first shoved the letter into his hand and made her claim, he’d felt certain that she was lying.
But now, seeing her vanish, he was less certain.
And he needed to know.
Chapter 29
Lady Margaret Abigail Baxter, Duchess of Lowe
“Mother,” Ezra murmured as they stepped out of the carriage.
“Yes, my darling?” Margaret answered, sounding tired. She’d held back tears the entire ride back to the house.
Even after the weeks they’d gone without contact, it was difficult for her to accept that she wasn’t going to see Nathaniel. And to part on such terms, when she’d finally been given a shred of hope, was particularly debilitating.
What had she hoped for? That Nathaniel would believe her and change his mind about her?
Perhaps there had been this small and foolish part of herself that had wondered if the reason he had left Margaret for Miss Wilde was because he’d thought she’d deceived him.
She knew now that it didn’t matter.
“Will we see Nathaniel again?” Ezra asked, quietly. They’d stopped in the courtyard, holding hands, looking up at the house.
“I don’t think so, sweetheart,” she said, after a heartbreaking moment of silence.
Ezra didn’t cry. Didn’t ask why. He only stared up at the house and nodded.
He was too young to face anguish with such a brave face. As she looked down at his tired face, she realized that the events of the past few months had forced her son to grow up, prematurely.
“Shall we leave?” she asked him.
He nodded. The carriages were ready. They just needed to say goodbye.
Margaret took a deep breath. The house didn’t look empty, despite being stripped of all their belongings. It had come to feel like home.
“Goodbye,” Ezra said.
Margaret’s eyes pricked with tears. “Goodbye.”
As they turned back towards the carriage, they heard the clump of hooves on the ground. Margaret looked towards the gates, to see another rider. She wondered if it was Mr. Bennet, come to berate her again.
But as he drew closer, she realized who it was.
Nathaniel.
Her heart thumped hard and her lips parted. He had his horse galloping towards them with haste and he ground to a sudden halt when he reached the courtyard. When he dismounted, he was panting.
“I’d worried you would have left,” he breathed, as he removed his riding gloves.
Margaret swallowed. He always had a way of rendering her speechless, even now. “We were just about to.”
He nodded. “I am glad you have not.”
She frowned, because she wasn’t sure of his intentions and because she’d had such poor luck recently that she felt sure there must be some awful reason he’d come.
Nathaniel looked down at Ezra, who was equally surprised to see him again. “I had hoped you might stay a little longer, so that I can say goodbye properly. What do you think?”
Ezra tugged on Margaret’s hand and looked up at her. “Can we?” his voice croaked with desperation.
She touched his hair softly and smiled. “Of course.”
“But first,” Nathaniel went on. “Might I have a word with you in private?”
Why did hearing him ask that make her feel afraid?
She hesitated, then nodded. “Go to Miss White my darling, and ask her to prepare you something extra special to eat on the journey. Perhaps she has a stash of truffles hidden somewhere.”
Ezra didn’t want to leave. She could see that. He lingered for a moment and said, “Please don’t leave without saying goodbye.”
Margaret watched Nathaniel’s face soften like butter. Oh God. That face of his still did strange things to her. “I promise.”
Seeming assured, Ezra left them alone.
“This letter,” Nathaniel said, the moment Ezra was out of earshot. He pulled the letter from his pocket and held it up. “The Baron. I have seen him here before.”
Margaret nodded. “You have.”
“The gentleman who did not like me.”
She felt herself blushing, but she held to her honesty without reservation. “He is in love with me.”
This affected him, more than he cared to show her. But she knew him well. She could see him hiding the sting and the bitterness behind a face of marble. “Then the letter holds true.”
“No,” Margaret interjected, before he spiraled into anger again. She took the letter from his hand and shook it. “William came to tell me he loved me the night you returned from London.”
“And you did not think to tell me?” His voice was getting tighter, louder. Prone to explosiveness.
“Do not interrupt me,” she responded, calmly, reminding herself of Nathaniel when she’d seen him speaking to his father. Nathaniel had always seemed a reasonable man to her, but he was more like his father than he realized. When he became extremely emotional, he sounded rather like his father. At least where she was concerned.
He fell silent, with pursed lips. She could see it was difficult for him, so she pushed on quickly. “I should have told you,” she admitted. “I was afraid, but it was wrong of me to keep it from you. Perhaps I would have summoned the courage if I’d been given the time to do so.”
“Why were you afraid?”
Because she hadn’t wanted to lose Nathaniel. “Will you allow me to speak uninterrupted?” she said instead.
She was grateful that Nathaniel remained silent this time, but his expression was still extremely
steely. “That night,” she continued. “I told William that I couldn’t love him as he loved me.” Because I was in love with you.
“He said that he needed time and he left for France. He has been there ever since.” She let that information hang between them for a moment.
“Now I will say it once more, and only once more. I did not write this letter, Nathaniel.”
After a weighted moment, his hard countenance was at last undone. He turned his face away as his expression twisted up. It looked like a grimace of pain, or indecision. “How can I believe you? You have no proof.”
“Why would I lie about this?”
“To vindicate yourself. To cover your shame. I have no reason to believe you.”
“But you have reason to doubt me?”
He did not say anything, which was answer enough.
Margaret expelled a slow breath. “Why have you come here then? If you are determined to think me a liar.” Her voice had softened. She was feeling despondent and so very tired.
“I am not sure,” Nathaniel admitted. “But why do I care? What does it matter if this letter is untrue?”
Margaret started to walk and Nathaniel fell into step beside her. “It is as I said, Nathaniel. If I did not write this letter, which I did not, then we must consider who would go to such lengths to deceive you. And what their intentions might be. I can tell you that they will not stop here.”
His brows furrowed. He suddenly seemed terribly uncomfortable. “I want to believe you,” he admitted. “I am only…” He took a breath and closed his eyes for a moment. “I am afraid to believe you. Afraid to be deceived again. I only wish you had proof.”
It hit her then. Margaret stopped walking and put her hand on his chest to make him stop too. Her eyes were wide with revelation. “I may not be able to prove outright that I did not write this letter,” she began. “But I can prove part of my story.”
Margaret turned on her heel and walked back to the carriages. She took a deep breath and pointed to a chest. “That one there. Can you get it down?”
He did so.
When it was on the ground, Margaret pulled it open. It was full of papers. She started rummaging.
It took her almost a full minute to find it. She pulled it free, but did not offer it to him straight away. Her eyes scanned it. There were things written in this letter that she did not want Nathaniel to see. Her cheeks went a little red and her fingers tightened on the paper.
But at last, she handed it to him.
“This is a letter I received from William, in reply to one I’d sent him.”
Nathaniel took it, with clear hesitation, and started reading with the expression of a man about to do something he was dreading.
Chapter 30
Lord Nathaniel Sterling, Earl of Comptonshire
As Nathaniel read, his heart flipped and flopped within his chest. The Baron had written that he missed her and that he was glad to have heard from her again.
There was love in every single word. A love that he recognized, because he felt it for Margaret too.
He wondered, at first, why she’d given this to him. To rub salt in his wounds? But as he read on, he realised the importance of it.
The Marquees had written;
I feel that I must ask what has become of you and the Earl of Comptonshire? When last we saw one another, it had seemed that you and the Earl were equally fond of one another, as much as it hurts me to acknowledge it.
You know that above all, I want your happiness. Even if that happiness cannot be found with me. If you have found love with this gentleman, I am man enough to wish you all the best with him.
Nathaniel realized that he’d stopped breathing. He took a shallow breath, and continued reading. At the end of the letter, the Baron had invited Margaret to stay at his London townhouse. He signed off, your own dearest friend. William.
It felt like forever before he could muster words. He stared at the page and Margaret remained silent by his side. When he eventually spoke, it was in an unsteady voice. “So that is where you are going…”
She nodded. “To his London townhouse.” Her voice was wobbly too.
“He is a kind man,” Nathaniel breathed, in no more than a whisper. He still wouldn’t look up from the page.
“He is.”
“A kinder man than I am.” He saw a little droplet fall onto the letter and thought it was starting to rain. It was then that he realized he’d started crying.
He knew he should look at her, but he couldn’t.
Because he believed her. And because he was ashamed.
“Oh my darling,” she murmured. Her darling. But he wasn’t. He’d stopped being her darling, because he’d been a damned fool. But she touched his cheek anyway. She comforted him anyway. “You are a kind man. You have been kinder to my son than anyone.”
“And to you?” He looked up at her at last. “Have I not been terribly unkind to you?”
He saw that her eyelashes were shining with unshed tears. She offered him a trembling smile. “We cannot help who we love.”
His brows pulled together and the tears flowed faster. “What do you mean?”
She looked as if she were about to speak, but she held her tongue for whatever reason and only shook her head. “It’s nothing,” she said, and let her hand fall away from his cheek. “Do you believe me?”
He nodded. “I do. I am sorry I did not at first.”
She did not press for any more than that at that time. Instead, she silently led him inside, into the drawing room where she coaxed him to take a seat.
Nathaniel felt like he needed time alone with this information, because it changed so much. He looked at her face and saw something that he had not seen in weeks.
The woman he loved. He’d never stopped loving her, but the feeling of fondness had been cloaked in bitterness and betrayal. Now it was clear as day. She hadn’t scorned him for another.
There was so much he needed to ask. Why had she stopped contacting him? Why had she not demanded to know why he was keeping his distance? So many things he needed to know… but that was for another time.
There was a more pressing matter at hand. “Then who sent me that letter?”
“As I said. I haven’t the faintest idea. Truly. I had hoped you might be better able to discern the truth of it.”
“Do you know of anyone who might mean to hurt you?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Could the Marquees…?”
“No,” she said, suddenly and sharply. “He would not do this.”
“Are you certain?”
“Entirely.”
He paused. The Marquees was the most likely suspect. After all, no one else seemed to have a better reason to keep Margaret and Nathaniel apart than he did.
“Trust me,” Margaret said. “He would not do this.”
It was all she needed to say. After a moment, he nodded. “I trust you.” He’d made the mistake of mistrusting her before and had been proven awfully wrong. “Then who else?”
“An official in Comptonshire who is unhappy with the changes?”
“I’d wondered that too. But how would any of them know how to forge your hand and signature? Have you sent any of them letters?”
“No. I have kept to myself.”
“As I thought.”
“Your parents? Could they have come by a letter I sent to you?”
Nathaniel shook his head. “They had motive, certainly, but it is not my father’s style of intervention and my mother would never do something so underhanded as this. In truth, it is not the sort of thing I can imagine any of the men I know doing. If they meant to sabotage me, they would do it through politics, not through love letters.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” she mused. The moment she said it, she looked up at him suddenly, with wide eyes. “Then perhaps it is not a man.”
“Pardon?”
“You said you could not imagine a man doing this. What about a woman?”
“But to what end?”
Margaret thought for a moment, before saying, “A woman scorned, perhaps?”
Nathaniel grunted an amused sound. “I have had very little to do with women for the past several years.”
“Then who was the last?”
Nathaniel waved his hand dismissively. “Not a woman scorned. A woman who scorned me.”
An Earl for the Broken-Hearted Duchess Page 24