by Jenna Brandt
Jackie had smirked at Margaret and said in a haughty whisper, “That will teach that old cow not to tangle with me.”
Tonight was probably going to follow a similar pattern, but then it always did when Jackie was present.
Picking up the rouge from her vanity table, Margaret placed an extra dab on each cheek, as was the fashion currently. She looked at herself critically in the mirror and approved of how she looked. The teal satin gown she wore had tucks and folds, creating layers in a crescendo effect. It was complemented by cap sleeves and a bow that tied in the back. The fit accentuated her body in all the right places.
Margaret was about to leave when Sarah came around the corner with Henry in her arms.
“Would you like to say good night to him, my lady.”
“Yes, thank you, Sarah.”
She walked over to them and gently placed a kiss on her son’s forehead. “Good night, my sweet boy. Be good for Sarah and I will see you in the morning.”
Sarah took Henry and headed up the stairs to put him to sleep. Margaret grabbed her clutch and shawl as she headed out the door to the opera.
The performance of The North Star, in honor of the late great opera composer Giacomo Meyerbeer, had been one of the best productions she had ever seen. The main protagonist, Peter the Great, won the heart of the woman he loved with his magical flute playing, which also saved her from going insane. The narrative kept Margaret on the edge of her seat and she found herself transfixed.
But now that the opera was over, Margaret was anxious, as she suspected at any moment that Michel was going to propose to her. Jackie and Monte had left to mingle with the other box occupants across the theater.
She licked her lips subconsciously as she glanced out of the corner of her eye at the man sitting next to her. She watched him conversing with one of the barons who had stopped by their box. As usual, a parade of members of the French upper crust had made their way through the marquis’s box, and every time he would start to talk to her between acts, someone would interrupt them. It had made the night seem particularly wearisome. She just wanted it to finally be over so she could start planning their future together.
Absentmindedly, she was lightly tapping her foot in impatience. The marquis noticed her fidgeting and made his excuses. After the young Baron Olindora left their box, Michel turned to face her and said, “I have something to discuss with you.”
She turned to him anxiously. “Yes?”
He took her hands in his own. “I have thought long and hard about this. You are beautiful and graceful and have been raised to be in my world. I want you to marry me.”
Michel pulled out a small velvet box and opened it. Then he turned it around so she could see what was inside. She took in a deep breath as her eyes focused on the most beautiful emerald ring she had ever seen. It was exquisite, Henry’s ring paling in comparison.
Pulling the ring out of the box, he took her hand between his own. Michel smiled as he removed her glove and was about to put the ring on her hand when he stopped. She glanced down and realized that, in her hasty departure, she had forgotten to take off Henry’s ring.
She stared at it for a moment and froze, unable to remove it. It felt like her last connection to him. But it was time to take it off. After all, she still had her son, and he was the only connection she truly needed to remember Henry.
With a silent, deep breath, Margaret twisted the ring off her finger and put it in her skirt pocket. She then gave her shaking hand back to Michel. He slid the ring onto her finger and said, “Good, it fits.” He looked her in the eyes and explained, “I was not sure it was going to fit your delicate hands since it was my grandmother’s ring. She left it to me so that I could give it to my intended wife.”
Margaret looked at him and waited for him to say more, to tell her he loved and wanted her because he could not live without her. She waited and the words never came. But she knew it did not matter. Marrying him was the best choice. He would give her and Henry protection from both Witherton and Catherine, not to mention financial stability beyond anything she could ever obtain on her own.
When it came down to it, love had brought her nothing but heartache, and she realized that it was highly overrated. She was willing to give up her chances to find love if it meant that Henry would be safe and secure.
She forced a smile and replied, “Michel, I accept your proposal. I will be honored to marry you.”
“Splendid. I cannot wait to make you my wife.” He leaned forward and placed a peck on her lips. His mouth lingered on hers for several seconds before Margaret gently pulled away.
“I cannot wait for us to be wed, Michel. I have waited so long for this moment. I am elated.”
“I am pleased to hear as much. I am looking forward to starting our lives together.” He leaned in, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her again, that time with passion. Margaret let him deepen the kiss as she tried to match his passion, but something was holding her back.
Margaret broke free from the kiss. “I need to take my leave for a moment. I must go powder my nose. I will only be a few moments.”
Michel nodded, and Margaret gracefully stood to her feet and exited the marquis’s box. She hastily went down the stairs and headed towards the ladies’ room. She had done it. It was over now and she was engaged to the Marquis de Badour, one of the richest and most powerful men in France.
She looked down at the ring he had just given her. It was gorgeous, but it almost felt like a slave ring. She had sold herself to the highest bidder for security and status, and now she must reap what she had sown. She had convinced herself that, if she built up enough defenses around her, both externally and internally, she would be content. She had feared Michel did not desire her as more than a companion, but that worry had been put to rest as he had been showing much affection as of late. However, her fears regarding it had been replaced by worry of whether friendship and desire could be enough to sustain a relationship. She wondered if she would ever be happy again without a man who truly loved her.
Margaret was about to turn the corner to enter the powder room when an arm reached out from the shadows and pulled her out of vision of anyone else.
Startled, she let out a little yelp, but a quick hand closed itself over her mouth. She fought against the stranger who had a hold of her.
And then a familiar voice said, “Countess, it is I, Josef Mulchere. I am sorry about the intrusion, but I needed to speak to you immediately.”
She went still and he released her from his grip. He stepped back and whispered, “I have located your brother.”
Margaret spun around quickly while covering her mouth with her hand to keep from crying out in excitement. It was the dream she thought would never come true. She had hoped to hear those words for so long but never fully allowed herself to believe it would happen. Secretly, she had worried that he may have survived the initial wreck but had died from exposure or possibly from disease shortly after. But he was alive. Her brother was alive, and Henry was going to have an uncle.
“However, there is some alarming news regarding his condition. He does not remember anything from his childhood. He has complete memory loss from before the shipwreck. I checked out his story without him knowing.
“He was found by two fishermen several miles from the wreckage site. He was floating on a makeshift raft, unconscious along with another man, George Bishop, who you mentioned to me as being the only survivor. They saw your brother’s fine linen pants and boots and his aristocratic features and realized he might be worth something to someone.
“They took both men, assuming they might be able to get a reward for finding them. When your brother and George regained consciousness, they became aware both men had lost their memories. They had no idea who the men were or where they came from, so they dumped them off at the docks.
“I found all of this out when I tracked down George Bishop, who still works as a fisherman but further down the coast of France. He still could not r
ecall the details from the day of the shipwreck, but all his other memories and the ones from how they were rescued had come back to him over time.
“When they had asked him about your brother originally, he had still been injured from the wreck and everything from that time was muddled. He could not recall the conversation they had, and he was unaware that anyone was still looking for your brother. He assumed he had been found and returned home. He said he would have come forward with the details if he had known any different.”
“You found out he survived the shipwreck, but how did you track him down without his memories?” Margaret inquired.
“There were rumors of a boy who had been found on the docks that matched the description of your brother. He had managed to find odd jobs, as well as, shall I say, less desirable ways of obtaining money.” He looked at her pointedly.
She did not understand his meaning, asking, “What do you mean, ‘less desirable’?”
“I am sorry to say, my lady, that he has been arrested several times for pickpocketing as well as… selling women services.”
Margaret gasped. “Oh goodness! It never occurred to me that he might have had to do detestable things in order to survive.”
“There is more.”
She shook her head and replied, “I do not think I want to hear any more about what he has done.” Margaret reached out her hand and placed it on the wall to steady herself.
Mulchere waited for her to give him the signal to continue. Realizing she needed to know exactly what she was dealing with, she nodded for him to go on. “He has also gained an unprofitable gambling habit, and coupled with his deep taste for the drink, it seems he has picked up a whole list of enemies as well as owed money.”
Margaret tightened her lips together. It seemed that her brother, her hero, had become nothing more than a common thief and hooligan. She wondered if it was even worth trying to bring back his memories. Who was to say he could even find his way back to the brother she loved? Perhaps he went down with the ship all those years back after all. She hated thinking about the possibility that her brother was really lost to her.
Hearing all the detestable things he had done, Margaret asked, “How are you certain that it is him?”
Mulchere pulled something from his pocket that was wrapped in a handkerchief and handed it to her. Margaret gingerly opened the small package and trembled as she stared at the contents. She instantly recognized her brother’s monogrammed pocketknife. He had carried it with him everywhere since the day their father gave it to him on their tenth birthday. It was also the last gift he had been given before he was lost at sea.
“How did you get this?”
“It was actually the key to finding your brother. I came across it at a shop while I was working for another client. I immediately knew it was his from the description you had given me when you went over the possible items he would have had on him when the ship went down. I asked the owner of the shop the details regarding how he came to be in possession of it. He informed me that the young man who had brought it in to sell was known around that area of town as having a dire reputation and associating with a bad element. Apparently, he had gotten into such bad debt, he was selling off the last of his possessions in order to scrape together enough money to keep the collectors at bay.”
Margaret shook her head in bewilderment. There was no denying the fact that it was definitely her brother. Part of her was relieved to know he was alive, but another part was saddened by what had happened to him since his presumed death.
“What do you want to do, my lady?”
He was her brother. If nothing else, she owed it to her father to at least try to reach him. Besides, he was heir to the Renwick title, and there had to be some part of their family left in him. She lifted her chin with pride and stated, “I plan to go to him, right now, and do whatever it takes to make him remember who he really is: Randall Thomas Wellesley, the Earl of Renwick.”
Mulchere made a disapproving sound in his throat, but after a few moments said, “As you wish, my lady.”
“Where can I find him?”
“He is down at one of the pubs by the docks. He frequents them quite often, but you may want to wait until morning. Not only is it unsafe for a lady to go down there at night, but I also think you should let the drink wear off before you confront him.”
She shrugged off his warning. “For eight years I have waited to find my brother. I do not intend to wait another minute to talk to him. I am going to take care of this tonight. If you will excuse me, I need to go and give my leave to the marquis.”
Hesitantly, he reached out and grabbed her, stopping her. She cringed slightly, the intrusive touch of men still bothering her sometimes, but he did not seem to notice.
“Then I am coming with you. I would not be able to live with myself if you met with any harm down there.”
“If you insist, wait for me up the street, and I will pick you up in my carriage.” She turned around and started to make her way back to the marquis’s box.
Margaret hated lying to Michel. He had always been honest with her, even when it came to why he wanted to marry her. She had beauty, grace, and a title to match his own. He never lied by saying he loved her, and she respected him for it. But she knew that, if she told him the truth, he would try to stop her or at least insist that he come with her. She needed to do this on her own, and she needed to do it this evening. She feared she might lack the courage to do so if she waited. No, tonight was the night. She was finally going to find her brother and bring him back.
“Michel, I need to take my leave, as a family situation needs to be resolved immediately.”
He stood up, saying, “Then I will accompany you.”
Just as Margaret feared, he wanted to come with her, and she knew she could not have him see her brother in the condition in which she would most likely find him. She felt she knew Michel and believed he would not react negatively, but part of her worried he would end their engagement if he disapproved of her brother. If she could resolve things with Randall and bring him back from the substandard way in which he was living, then she would be able to introduce them at that point.
“That will not be necessary, as it is a delicate matter.” She could tell by his demeanor that his mind had not been changed by her statement, so she added, “It has to do with my son, and I think your presence at this time may only make the circumstances worse.”
A hurt look came over Michel’s face, and Margaret instantly felt guilty for keeping the truth from him. She hated using her son as an excuse. She tried to justify it by convincing herself what was going on affected her son since she was doing all of this to save his uncle.
“I see. I would prefer to accompany you, but if you feel this is how you need to proceed, I will yield to your wishes.”
“Thank you. I will see you tomorrow, then, for brunch?”
Michel nodded in agreement, and Margaret quietly left the opera house.
Chapter 15
The stench of sweat and alcohol was thick in the room. Profuse enough, it made Margaret gag. She pulled out her handkerchief and daintily put it over her nose and mouth. Looking around the sparsely furnished little room, she spotted Randall. She recognized him instantly, as their physical features were almost identical. Growing up, people would call them matching bookends.
Although he was no longer the boy she remembered, she hoped a part of him was still present. Perhaps her brother was deep down inside, and with some help, he could be rescued from the mess of a man that she saw sitting across the tavern from her now.
Randall had his head thrown back, laughing with his arm swung around the waist of one of the tavern’s servers. The wench leaned forward and said something to her brother that Margaret thankfully could not understand. He winked at the woman and then slapped her on the bottom. The girl rewarded him with a big kiss on the mouth and then went to go refill his drink.
Margaret, followed closely by Mulchere, made her way to Randal
l’s side. She stopped only a few feet away, and at first, he did not notice her standing there. Then as if he sensed her, he glanced up, his eyes growing wide with surprise, then disdain.
“If you are here for a night on the wild side with a local seaman, I am not for sale.”
She gasped and raised her hand to slap him but thought better of it. She did not want things to start out like that. Instead, she replied, “That is not why I am here, sir.”
He laughed, then asked, “Why, then, my dear, would a fine lady like you be careless enough to come down here, especially at this time of night?” Then he licked his lips in a lecherous manner. “Perhaps I will take it upon myself to sample the goods.” He reached out to grab her, but Mulchere stepped in as her protector and pushed him back into his chair.
“Who is that?”
Margaret ignored his question and said, “I came here because I have information about your past.”
He raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. “Lady, my past is of no concern to me… and whatever your interest is, I do not care.”
She glared at him for a moment before deciding to change tactics. With finesse, she said, “But I only thought that, if you were who I thought you were, you would like to know that you are exceedingly wealthy.”
It was not quite a lie. Soon, he would be brother to the Marchioness du Badour, and with her new title they would be set for life. There was also the fact that he would regain the title of Earl of Renwick, and he could use it, along with all of its privileges, to create his own wealth.
That time, he looked at her with an eyebrow raised. “You do not say? So, if I am to believe any of this nonsense, tell me, how did you come to find this out?”
Margaret sighed, already exasperated by his obnoxious behavior. Randall always had a skeptical nature, constantly questioning everything and everyone. He may have lost his memories, but it seemed some of his personality was still intact.