by Angie Ray
Margaret knew he only had a minute or two left and she couldn’t bear it. She felt as though her heart was being torn in half. How could he leave her? She wanted to be with him forever and ever and....
“Take me with you.”
For a moment, the light around him blazed, bringing him into sharp focus. Then it dimmed, and he was fainter than before. His voice was gentle. “No, Margaret. You know I cannot.”
“Why?” The lump in her throat was so big, the words hurt to speak. “There’s nothing for me here.”
He didn’t answer for a moment. “What of Bernard?”
“Bernard? He will never forgive me for last night.”
He shook his head, looking at her with sad, dark eyes. “That’s not true. You know it as well as I. Look at him with your heart, Margaret.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Her eyes stung. “I just know I can’t let you go. I don’t want you to go.”
“Dearest heart, I must.” He faded to a soft glow.
Tears began to roll down her cheeks. She couldn’t see him anymore and a great sob rose in her throat. But she could still hear his voice, low and intense, filled with anguish and despair.
“Please don’t cry. Don’t torture me anymore, I can’t bear it. I must go. Please smile for me Margaret, so I will remember you smiling, not crying. Please, Margaret.”
She couldn’t. How could he ask her? It was impossible.
But of course, she did. She smiled, even though tears were running down her face and she could hardly breathe for the pain in her chest. She smiled for him. Because she would do anything for him.
“Thank you, Margaret. I will remember you forever. Now give me the jar. Quickly.”
Her fingers tightened until the glass should have broken. With every last bit of her strength, she lifted the jar towards him. A sliver of light reached out and enveloped the glass.
“I love you,” she whispered.
The light brightened.
“And I love you.” His voice rang in her ears. “Dear God, how I love you. Beyond life and death I love you. Thank you, Margaret,” she heard him whisper. “I can face death now.”
Immediately, a black coldness rushed into the room, washing over the furniture and Margaret, absorbing every bit of light, flowing towards the jar. It kept flowing into the glass container until it concentrated into one small black sphere, which pulsed like a disemboweled heart.
Her own heart beat in time to the black sphere. When it quickened, so did hers. It pulsed faster and faster and she felt the sorrow and the fear and the coldness.
The coldness. How could he bear it? It was like nothing she had ever felt; it went beyond mere coldness of her skin. This coldness was inside of her, part of her, as if the sun and the moon and the stars had been extinguished, as if the whole world was weeping with a grief so deep and so painful, it was like a silent scream that went on and on and on, as if nothing would ever be right again.
Just when she thought she could bear it no longer, the black sphere exploded in a brilliant flash of light. The glow expanded until it filled the room with gold and yellow and amber hues, the colors so beautiful, Margaret’s breath caught in her throat. Warmth and happiness and love washed over her, driving away the consuming fear. The glow brightened once more before contracting into a small, blindingly intense ball of light. Then in another flash, it streaked out through the window, and up into the sky, leaving behind a trail of brilliant, fiery sparks.
Chapter Thirty
Margaret watched the sparks drift down until they vanished and the last trace of Phillip was gone. Numbly, she turned from the window, her chest aching. She wanted to cry, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. Phillip was finally at peace. Remembering the light, she was certain wherever he had gone, it was a good place. She was glad for that, at least.
She realized she was still holding her pantalettes--the ones he had called indecent even while he was patently admiring them. She smiled a little, even though her chest was growing tighter.
Aunt Letty came in and peered around. Noticing the jar, the old woman leaned over to pick it up. It was empty.
“Oh my,” she said. A tear slid down her wrinkled cheek. “How I will miss him.” Cradling the jar, she wandered out again.
The ache in Margaret’s chest expanded up to her throat.
Yvette brought in a tray of food, her eyebrows arching as she glanced around the disheveled room. Heaven only knew what she was thinking, but Margaret was beyond caring. In fact, she didn’t care what anyone thought. She tried to remember why it had been important to her, but she couldn’t. The years she had spent trying to conform suddenly seemed wasted. She had not accomplished anything by her efforts, only an arranged marriage with a man who didn’t love her.
Bernard.
Remembering his shock and embarrassment this morning, her eyes began to sting again. How he must despise her. And in spite of her new-found disregard for Society’s opinion, she discovered she did care what he thought. She always had. It hadn’t been the loss of Society’s regard that hurt so much--it had been the loss of Bernard’s.
Last night, in his arms, she thought she had found everything she ever wanted, everything she ever dreamed. Only it hadn’t been Bernard, it had been Phillip. Now Phillip was gone, and Bernard would probably never speak to her again....
She straightened, remembering the note Aunt Letty had given her. Frantically she looked around until she espied the small slip of paper on the floor. She didn’t remember dropping it, but she must have done so when Aunt Letty gave her the jar. She opened the note.
Dear Margaret--
After what occurred last night, I realize this situation can no longer continue as it is. You must make a decision.
Bernard.
Margaret sank onto the bed, the note fluttering to the floor.
She hadn’t thought it was possible for her to be any more miserable, but it was. Bernard was such a gentleman. Of course he would never break the engagement.
Margaret began to cry. She cried with deep aching sobs that tore at her chest. Burying her face in the pantalettes, she cried until they were soaked.
How had everything gone so wrong? She didn’t understand. She didn’t understand at all.
She cried until her eyes and nose were red. She cried until her head and chest ached from her sobs. She cried until her tears were all spent and then she cried some more. She cried until only numb acceptance was left.
She knew what she must do.
She must release Bernard. Even if last night had never happened, she knew she had been wrong to accept in the first place. He had offered from a sense of duty; she had agreed, hoping for social acceptance. If she had learned anything, she had learned those were not good reasons for marriage.
Exhausted, she forced herself to rise from the bed. Slowly, she straightened her hair and clothes and washed her hands and face, taking her time until she was sure she had herself well under control.
Bernard’s watch was on her dressing table. She picked it up and stared at it for a moment, then traced the P on the case. She would release him, and then she would...do what? Return home? The idea was not appealing, but she knew she must. Once there, she could start rebuilding her life.
But first she must break her engagement.
With a heavy heart, she gripped the watch and started down the stairs. She would tell Bernard she couldn’t marry him, and give him his watch. Or perhaps she would give him the watch first, then tell him she couldn’t marry him. Yes, that was what she would do.
In the entry hall, Cecilia was speaking to Gibbons.
“...on Saturday, so we will need the carriage then, and train tickets for London, and--oh, good morning Margaret.” Dismissing Gibbons with a nod, Cecilia smiled at her, but it was a wobbly effort.
Alarmed, Margaret placed a hand on her arm. “Cecilia, what is it? Has something happened?”
Cecilia nodded. “Geoffrey has accepted the post in London.”
“Why,
that’s wonderful!” Margaret said. Then seeing Cecilia’s strained face, she added uncertainly, “Isn’t it?”
“I hope so.” Cecilia’s smile faltered. “I had a long talk with Bernard. He made me realize I’ve been a bit over-protective of Geoffrey. But you can’t imagine what it’s like to have someone you love almost die.” With a visible effort, she pinned the smile to her lips again. “Geoffrey is over the moon. I don’t remember seeing him so happy, not since the accident.” Looking past Margaret, she said, “See what I mean?”
Margaret turned and saw Geoffrey entering the house, Jeremy at his side. To her shock, both of them were smiling.
“Mama! Mama! Papa said he will take me to Wynch Bridge, if you say I may go.”
“Yes you may, dear, but you’d better get a warmer coat. It will be cool at the falls.”
“Hurrah!” With a shout, Jeremy ran away, jumping and leaping up the stairs. Margaret stared after him.
“My goodness,” she said faintly. “He’s...changed.”
Geoffrey grinned. Actually grinned. “He does seem more like his old self.” His face grew more serious. “Bernard told me what Jeremy said to you.”
“Oh.” Margaret felt a little embarrassed to be discussing such a personal subject.
“Please don’t be embarrassed,” said Cecilia. “Geoffrey and I were at our wits’ ends, trying to figure out what was wrong.”
Geoffrey adjusted his crutch. “I had a long talk with him, and explained the situation.” He frowned with an echo of his old glower. “And you can be sure those gossiping maids will be discharged.”
He continued to look angry for a moment or two, and Margaret was glad not to be in the maids’ shoes. Then with a sigh, he added, “We should have told him long ago--not about the girl and Barnett, but about the adoption.”
Shock reverberated through Margaret. What did he mean? Surely Bernard wasn’t the father of...? “Bernard?” she asked, trying not to let her voice tremble.
“What? Oh no, of course not.”
Margaret began to breathe again.
Now Geoffrey looked embarrassed. “Forgive me, I thought you knew. The old Lord Barnett got a servant girl with child. Jeremy is the product of that union.”
This second shock, coming so soon after the first, made Margaret feel faint. “Good heavens. But how...?”
She could not finish the sentence, but Cecilia guessed what she was asking. “Bernard arranged it. He was very concerned about the girl. He brought her here to Aunt Letty, where she stayed for four months. By the time she had the baby, she had a sweetheart and Bernard used his entire allowance to give her a dowry. But then there was a little bit of trouble when the man balked over taking the baby.”
Margaret remembered Bernard had left Barnett Manor not too long after the church scene. She had always thought he had gone to London. She’d no idea....
“Cecilia and I, we were never blessed with children of our own,” Geoffrey continued. “After my discharge, I was in a deep melancholy. And it was a very difficult adjustment for Cecilia too. When Bernard suggested we adopt Jeremy, we agreed.”
“Bernard suggested it?”
Geoffrey nodded. “Jeremy was a lifesaver for us both. He gave us purpose, someone we have come to love as much as if he were our own child--“
Jeremy came running back down the stairs, wrapped in a thick serviceable coat, preventing Geoffrey from saying any more. “Come on, Papa, let’s go!” he cried excitedly. With an apologetic smile, Geoffrey allowed himself to be pulled away.
Margaret was stunned. Given Bernard’s high regard for appearances and propriety, she would have expected him to have nothing to do with the girl or her child. Obviously, the old Lord Barnett had cared nothing about their fate.
Bernard was an unusual person, she thought. She had known him for a long time, and yet sometimes she felt as if she did not know him at all.
“I must go too, Margaret,” Cecilia said. “I have a hundred things to do.”
“Have you seen Bernard?”
Cecilia nodded. “I believe he is in the East Parlor.” With one last smile, she hurried up the stairs.
Still feeling a bit off balance, Margaret peeked into the front parlor.
Aunt Letty and a little old man looked up. Aunt Letty was holding the empty jar with one arm while her free hand rested in the man’s gnarled fingers. He looked even older than Aunt Letty. He was completely bald, with brown spots on his pate, and he hunched over the cane he still held even though he was sitting on the sofa next to Aunt Letty.
“Oh!” Margaret said, startled. Bernard was nowhere in sight. “I do beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Not at all, dear. I’m so glad you came down. Please come in. I want you to meet someone.”
The old man leaned forward and he was standing. Or maybe bowing. “You must be Miss Westbourne, Barnett’s fiance. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he wheezed.
Aunt Letty beamed. “Margaret, this is Mr. Gillingham.”
“How do you do, Mr. Gillingham.” Gillingham. The name was vaguely familiar. Suddenly it clicked. “Aunt Letty, surely this isn’t...?”
“My old beau? Yes! The one I argued with when I was nineteen.”
“Isn’t it amazing?” Mr. Gillingham said. “Barnett invited me to come, and I knew I had to see Miss Chetwynd once more before I died.” He looked fondly at his former sweetheart, who smiled back blissfully.
Margaret watched them with growing amazement. “Bernard invited you?”
“Wasn’t that sly of him?” Aunt Letty said. “But I’m glad he did. As soon as I saw dear Mr. Gillingham, I popped the question!”
“Aunt Letty!” gasped Margaret. “Surely you don’t mean...?”
“That I asked him to marry me? I do indeed. I knew the curse was broken, so why not? I’m a little old to be missish about it, don’t you think?”
“You are forever young in my eyes,” Mr. Gillingham interjected gallantly.
“Oh Mr. Gillingham!” Aunt Letty giggled.
“We both knew immediately we were still in love,” Mr. Gillingham said to Margaret.
“Fortunately his wife is dead, so there is no obstacle,” added Aunt Letty.
“That’s wonderful. I mean, congratulations, Mr. Gillingham. Aunt Letty I wish you every happiness.” She hugged Aunt Letty and bent over to kiss Mr. Gillingham on the cheek. He tottered.
“Please forgive me,” he said, regaining his balance. “It’s past time for my nap. Miss Chetwynd, would you be so kind as to summon a servant to show me to my room?”
Gibbons appeared forthwith. Mr. Gillingham took three steps forward, then paused to rest.
When he finally reached the door, Aunt Letty called after him, “I will see you at dinner, dear sir. My cook has a wonderful way with potatoes.”
Mr. Gillingham paused. “Potatoes are my favorite dish,” he said, before continuing his snail-like pace out into the hall.
“Did you want to ask me something, Margaret?”
Margaret tore her gaze away from Mr. Gillingham’s retreating figure. “Er, yes. Have you seen Bernard?”
“He is in the study I believe. I see you still have his watch. Be sure to give it back to him. It is the only thing he has of his great-grandfather’s.”
Margaret paused. “Lord Robeson? I thought this watch was Phillip’s.”
“Yes, that is who I mean. Didn’t Bernard tell you? Well, maybe he wouldn’t. He’s a dear boy, but he can be a trifle stuffy at times. He doesn’t like to tell anyone that his great-grandmother was unfaithful.”
“His great-grandmother was....” Margaret’s eyes widened. “Are you saying Lord Robeson’s wife had an affair?”
“Yes, dear. With Phillip. He behaved very reprehensibly. Of course, Caroline was equally at fault. Very foolish of her to get with child by a man other than her husband.”
“Phillip and Caroline had a child?”
Aunt Letty nodded. “Phillip didn’t know, though. No one knew. Lord Robeso
n swore Caroline to secrecy. He was furious, but he kept his mouth shut because he had five daughters and no sons and the estate was entailed. He ought to have been thankful, if you ask me, and perhaps he would have been, if the child wasn’t the spitting image of Phillip. Robeson was very glad to see Phillip hang.”
“So that’s why the sentence was so harsh.”
“Yes. Robeson would not be able to keep the secret much longer as the child grew and people began to see the resemblance.” Aunt Letty frowned. “I told Caroline her husband deserved to be boiled in oil. But she said it was a worse punishment for him knowing that Phillip’s son would carry the Robeson name.”
Margaret could not quite take it all in. “But how do you know all this?”
“Caroline was my cousin. After Phillip died, she visited me often with little Charles. She told me the whole story.”
The ramifications finally hit Margaret. “So Bernard is actually--“
“Phillip’s great-grandson. Yes,” Aunt Letty beamed. “I’m surprised you didn’t guess. Didn’t you ever notice the resemblance--especially around the eyes and nose?”
“I....”
“Never mind, dear. I really must go see if Mr. Gillingham has everything he needs.” With a last burst of joy, Aunt Letty exclaimed, “Oh, Margaret, I’m so happy! Everything has changed now the curse is broken.” She fluttered away.
Margaret barely noticed. A voice was echoing in her head.
Look at him with your heart.
Pictures flashed through her brain. Pictures of Bernard holding her arm in the middle of a swaying bridge; Bernard kneeling beside her, a butterfly in his cupped hands; Bernard challenging Mortimer to a duel to prove he wasn’t a coward; Bernard saying, “I’ve loved you since you were sixteen and told my father he could use the services of a good gelder.”
Margaret sank onto the rosewood sofa. Dear heaven, how had she been such a fool?
She loved Bernard.
She loved him because he was good and brave and kind. He was the companion of her childhood, the friend that could never be replaced. After the ‘incident’, his absence had left a void in her life that had never been filled, that she had never even realized existed, until....