"You know I have," she confessed. An enchanting blush flushed up her cheeks. "That does not change anything, Freddy. I am still just a clergyman's daughter. How can I hope your parents would accept me as your wife? I am not of noble birth. They were not keen on the notion many years ago. I sincerely doubt they have changed their mind on the subject."
"Let me worry about my parents, Margaret, and promise you shall agree to be my bride," Frederick said, hope filling his heart. "You have always been the only woman I wished to make my wife."
Her eyes filled with wonder at his declaration. He leaned forward to steal a kiss from those tempting lips, but she pushed away from him with arms outstretched to keep him at bay.
"Please, Freddy, I cannot kiss you let alone agree to marry you while we are in Captain Morledge's home. Such a course would hardly be honorable given I am here to possibly join my fate with his."
"I cannot stand to see you with him," Frederick fumed grimly, "nor do I trust him. There are rumors circulating about London that—"
Before he could finish, the library door flew open. Lady Constance took one frowning look at the two of them and sprang forward to seize Margaret's hand as if protecting her from his advances. "My aunt is in a panic wondering where you are, Margaret. You are lucky I am the one who found you. Those simple-minded women in the ballroom would tarnish a girl's reputation as easily as they change their attire."
"Margaret, wait, I really must warn you about—"
"Another time, Freddy. Aunt Penelope would be so angry if she should learn I was alone with you without an escort," Margaret pleaded.
Lady Constance, who was ushering Margaret quickly across the room, turned to wag a finger at him as if he were naught but a misbehaving youth of fifteen caught peeping at the milkmaids. "Really, Lord Beacham… if you care for Margaret at all, you will refrain from carrying her off into private rooms. She is here as a possible bride to Captain Morledge. Please do not interfere in what could possibly be a good match for her."
Frederick could not voice his protest before Margaret was whisked from the library. He followed the pair back into the filled ballroom, but kept his distance. They rejoined Lady Whittles and watched the dancing until Digby came to sweep Lady Constance to the dance floor.
His host spoke from behind him. "You are wasting your time, Beacham. The lady is already spoken for."
"Pardon me, but I have not heard the announcement of an engagement," Frederick retorted with clenched teeth.
Morledge looked him up and down. "It is only a matter of time," he declared with a knowing laugh.
The foe walked back into the ballroom and laid claim to Margaret yet again, leaving Frederick to watch the couple twirl about the floor in perfect harmony. She put up a good front, he mused.
But Frederick was far from being at ease. He had made progress with Margaret. At least she had listened to him, and he hoped her refusal to give Morledge an answer meant that Frederick had a chance. But he was worried for Margaret's safety where the good captain was concerned. Rumor had it that Morledge had killed his wife. All that was known for sure was that there had been a riding accident. Mrs. Morledge had survived her injuries, which, so rumor said, included an amputation. But then nothing further was heard or seen of her, and soon Morledge and his sons appeared in mourning.
No evidence had ever been brought forth against the man, at least to Frederick's knowledge, and yet something did not feel right about the captain's pursuit of the very lovely Margaret Templeton. He watched the pair move across the dance floor, wondering all the while what Morledge was hiding…
Chapter Nine
Margaret came out of the breakfast room to a commotion in the hallway as servants walked by carrying familiar-looking cases. She went to meet her father and Sophie, who was wrapped up in a blanket. Sophie's eyes were watering, and her nose red, indicating that her sniffles had turned into a full-blown cold. She began to sneeze, buried her nose into the fabric, and pulled it close around her shoulders.
"I am sick, Margaret," Sophie said with a muffled voice.
Margaret pulled the girl into her arms. "I can see that, Sweet Pea. I knew you should not have been out sledding."
"I am taking her home before she gets any of the other guests sick from her illness," her father said. "I was just about to see about the carriage."
A chair scraped against the wooden floorboards. "If you would allow me, sir, I will see to the matter directly," Freddy said, meeting her eyes and giving Sophie a pat upon her head. "No need for this young miss to be standing out in the cold and getting any sicker than she already is."
Sophie looked up at Frederick with worshipful eyes. "I like you comin' to my rescue, Freddy."
Mr. Templeton gasped. "Sophie, he is a titled gentleman. You cannot go around calling him by some nickname that Margaret bestowed upon the gentleman in her youth."
Sophie pouted and stuck out her lip. "But I have missed him. It was like having a big brother. Why do you never come to see us Fred… er… umm… Lord Beacham?"
"S-Sophie!" Margaret stuttered. Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment.
"Maybe I will remedy that in the future." Frederick said, tweaking Sophie's little nose. "Perhaps I will bring you a present to make you feel better. Would you like that?"
"I would like that very much, Freddy," Sophie said cheerfully before being consumed by another bout of sneezes.
Frederick smiled and gave Sophie a short bow. "I am in your service, Lady Sophie," he said gallantly.
Margaret mouthed a silent thank you, and he left them to see to their coach.
"I am most sorry we need to leave, Margaret," her father stated, "but I know you are in good hands with Captain Morledge and Lady Whittles as your chaperone."
"Father about Captain Morledge. I need to tell—"
"Yes, I know, he is a very respectable man and I have heard high compliments about his command of the 11th Light Dragoons. He will make you a fine husband." He beamed so enthusiastically that Margaret hesitated to tell him her doubts.
"But, Father—" Margaret began yet again but stopped her words from tumbling from her mouth. She would save this discussion for another time. It was more important that Sophie get home and comfortable in her own bed.
The object of her father's high praises made his way down the staircase to join them almost as if he had heard the cue and was making a grand entrance. Sander pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and covered his nose when Sophie began having a sneezing fit, but not before Margaret saw his curled lip displaying his disgust.
"Eh gads! Should not the child be in bed?" Sander complained bitterly.
Margaret interjected, "Father and Sophie were just taking their leave, Captain. With her cold worsening, they thought it best to make their excuses and head home so she can mend in her own surroundings."
"Yes, rightly so. Please do not let me keep you from taking your leave." Sander waved them off and made his way into breakfast.
With his departure, the door once more opened, and Frederick stood there, indicating the carriage was ready. At his nod, Margaret looked over her shoulder towards the dining room. Those eating their fill had moved their plates closer to their host and hung on his every word.
A servant rushed forward with her cloak. Her father assisted her to don the garment, and they stepped outside into the briskness of the winter winds. Frederick, gallant as always, lifted Sophie up into her seat and began tucking blankets around the girl while her father went to sit next to her. All too quickly, the door shut, and Margaret watched as the horse-drawn carriage whisked away her family. She was left alone with Frederick as they gazed upon the fresh falling snow.
They did not stand there long before Frederick offered his arm to escort her back into the house and breakfast, where Sander excused himself almost as soon as she sat down. A number of gentlemen followed Sander to the billiards room.
A servant brought Margaret a plate of food, and she observed, through lowered lashes, the very hands
ome Lord Beacham taking a seat at the other end of the table. He may have been sitting far enough away from her, but his eyes pulled her to him with just one glance. A plate being placed before him broke their connection, and Frederick at last turned his attention from her to his meal.
Good Lord Almighty, who was she trying to fool? The weekend was only half over, and already she knew the cause was hopeless. How could she ever come to an understanding with Sander when her heart took flight every time she met Frederick's eyes across the room? She would have to let Sander know as soon as was convenient that she could not wed with him, and hope their parting would be amicable. It was not as if they had months of courtship behind them. They were little more than acquaintances despite the fact she was in the role of his hostess for his party. How upset could he be when she refused his offer of marriage?
"Margaret, your eggs are getting cold and will hardly be edible if you continue to push them around your plate," Aunt Penelope scolded softly. "Have you been listening to a word I have said?"
Margaret looked up from her own thoughts. Aunt Penelope was frowning. "My apologies. I was preoccupied with the details for the day's entertainment," Margaret replied calmly, though her heart was anything but calm. With Frederick in the room, coherent thoughts flew out the window. All she wanted to do was spend her time with him.
"Bah!" Aunt Penelope whispered, leaning forward to whisper in Margaret's ear. "We both know where your thoughts are, my dear, and they are, for a certain, not with Captain Morledge."
Margaret blushed. She would have denied the woman's words, but a warning look squashed any such false protests. Peeking around to ensure their conversation would not be overheard, she leaned forward to confide in the lady. "I cannot help where I feel like I belong, Aunt Penelope."
Margaret expected the lady to chastise her for her foolishness but was surprised when, instead, she reached out to pat Margaret's hand in understanding. "Your secret is safe with me, Margaret. But tell me… if we are not here to pursue a wedding with the good captain, what, then, are we doing in his house with you acting a potential wife and me an overprotective mother hen?"
"That is, indeed, a good question and the reason why I am not paying attention to your conversation," Margaret said with a sigh. "I will need to make arrangements to leave here. I should have departed with Father and Sophie but felt I owed Captain Morledge an explanation of why I must refuse his kind offer of marriage. There was no opportunity to do so this morning prior to their leaving. Aunt Penelope, would you be so kind as to take me in for a short time until I can make further plans to journey home?"
"You know you are always welcome in my home, dear. Besides, you have been a good companion for Constance these past days. She enjoys having you with us."
"You are very kind, Aunt Penelope."
"Nonsense," Aunt Penelope said with a muffled laugh. "It has been my pleasure to watch over you as I promised your mother I would all those years ago. She was, after all, like a sister to me. Now… I believe there is a young man who wishes a word with you. If you decide on perhaps taking a stroll outside to enjoy the new fallen snow, I shall turn a blind eye, just this once, so you may settle matters between you."
"But, my lady, surely—" Margaret's concern went no further as the woman before her held up her hand.
"Not another word, my dear. I am sure Lord Beacham will be more than willing to escort such a lovely lady to catch a breath of fresh air. Off you go now," Aunt Penelope declared with a wave of her hand and a benevolent smile.
Heading into the foyer, Margaret asked for her cloak, and Frederick assisted her with donning the garment. He went to the door and opened it wide, with his hand extended towards her.
"Walk with me," Frederick urged.
She took his gloved hand without hesitation. In truth, she would follow him to the ends of the earth, if she must, just to be with him. The snow crunched beneath their feet as he escorted her towards the back of the house and into the nearby trees that would surely offer them a few moments of privacy.
Once they were far enough away from prying eyes, Frederick pulled her into his arms. She had never been this close to him, or any other man for that matter, not since those happy years long ago when they were but children tumbling down a grassy hill as they played. Her shiver had nothing to do with the weather.
"I believe you owe me a kiss, sweet Margaret," Frederick whispered in a husky, seductive tone that set her soul to flight.
Her hands made their way to rest upon his chest, and she fingered the lapels of his coat. "I promised you no such thing." She laughed lightly.
"It is tradition, after all, when you stand under the mistletoe, my dearest," he said with a roguish grin.
Her eyes gazed upwards, and her own smile formed. Sure enough, the scoundrel had maneuvered her so a patch of Christmas mistletoe hung high above their heads. "Frederick… whatever am I to do with you?"
"Just love me, Margaret, for all of our days and nights together."
Any answer she could have given him was cut off as his mouth lowered to hers. Soft lips touched her own, and her breath hitched at their contact. She took a small step forward, and he deepened their kiss even while his arms tightened around her. With her heart beating a rapid staccato with his nearness, Margaret's mind swirled in a dizzying haze while she lost herself in this moment. Her first kiss.
Everything in her world seemed to right itself in this one instant in time, and, for once, her life became balanced. If Margaret had known his kisses would render her senseless, she would have never refused his original offer. They had lost years where they could have been together, perhaps even already having a family of their very own, and it was all her fault. He must have sensed where her thoughts had led her for he ended their kiss abruptly but continued to hold her close to his heart.
"Promise me you shall become my wife," he murmured against her hair.
"Freddy, I—"
She was pushed from his arms so quickly, she thought they had been caught. "Even after what we have just shared, you would deny us a life together? Perhaps you were not as affected by our kiss as I was," he said.
Margaret ignored his anger, responding to the hurt and disappointment flashing for the briefest of instances within his eyes, and placed a calming hand upon his chest. He covered it with his own before raising her quaking hand to kiss her gloved fingertips. "You did not let me finish, Frederick," she said softly. Leaning up on the tip of her toes, she placed a chaste kiss upon his.
"Then finish your words now, Margaret."
She gave him a timid smile, but her eyes must surely be sparkling in delight like diamonds upon the snow. "You have been the only man who has ever held my affection, dearest Frederick," she began, and her heart leapt, knowing she was at last declaring her love for this man.
"And you have been the only woman to hold mine. You will agree to become my bride as soon as I can get a license to wed?" he asked.
"Yes, Freddy, I accept your proposal."
"At last, after all these years." He happily pulled her close yet again.
"But while we are here in Captain Morledge's home, we can hardly announce to the world that we plan to wed," Margaret continued in earnest.
She rested her head upon his chest to hear his heart beating madly for her. "I was a fool to reject you so very long ago, but I will trust you to resolve matters with your parents so you remain in their favor even though you will marry beneath you."
"I have never proclaimed you beneath me… although I will look forward to having you there in our bed once you are at long last mine." His roguish grin left no doubt of his meaning.
"Freddy!" she gasped.
He chuckled. "We have many years to make up for, my love."
Margaret reached up to caress his handsome face. "We will have nothing but time on our side."
As Frederick leaned down to once more capture her lips, Margaret sighed in bliss.
Chapter Ten
Margaret patted her hair into plac
e and was turning to inspect her dress in the mirror when she startled at the sound of something hitting the floor above. The bang caused even the paintings upon the wall to rock to and fro. Was that a shriek? She cocked her head to listen intently. Who could be occupying the room above her? Was he or she injured after such a fall?
She quietly opened her bedroom door to peer down the hallway, but all was silent, Sander's guests still asleep at this early hour after last evening's festivities. They would be departing this morning, the house party over. Margaret was looking forward to taking her leave as well. What she was not looking forward to was telling Sander she would not wed him. He would need to find another bride to help with the raising of his sons.
Margaret's heart raced as she quickly made her way down the hallway. She was defying Sander's direct order not to venture up to the third floor of the manor, but the crash from the room gave her the excuse she craved to satisfy her curiosity about what everyone in this house, from Sander down, was determined to hide from her. The wooden floors creaked as she made her way up the servant's stairs at the back of the manor.
Like her own room, the one above would look out over the gardens and not the front of the house. As she rounded a corner of the corridor, she heard footsteps. She came to a sudden halt and hid within a window alcove, pulling the drapes closed to hide her. Peeking through the gap, she saw Sander's younger son Michael coming into the hallway from the room she sought. The boy was crying, and her heart went out to him. He halted at a muffled voice from within the room, set something on a table by the entrance to the room, went back inside, and then came back out without closing the door completely. She watched the boy flee, tears streaming down his face.
The open door was like a welcoming invitation. Margaret made quick work of crossing the hallway, but paused with her hand upon the door knob to check the table for what the boy had left behind. A brass key.
Mistletoe, Marriage, and Mayhem: A Bluestocking Belles Collection Page 19