“Margaret, it’s so good to see you.” Sebastian rose from his chair as she entered the study, a smile lighting up his face.
Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him as always. He hesitated before sitting back down again, deciding against taking her hands in greeting, and as usual she tried not to be disappointed. They settled down into their letter-writing routine, but today neither of them seemed able to concentrate. Looking up from the sentence she was composing for about the fourth time, she found Sebastian’s gaze fixed on her, a frown furrowing his normally untroubled countenance.
Margaret set down her pen. “Is something wrong?”
“No. Yes.” Sebastian jumped to his feet and seized her hand. “I have tried, Margaret, but I cannot stop thinking about our kiss. It changed everything for me, but if you don’t feel the same, say the word and I swear I will never mention it again.”
Taken aback, it didn’t occur to her to prevaricate. “I can’t forget it either, though heaven knows I have tried.”
His fingers tightened around hers. “As have I, but to no avail. Surely it cannot be wrong to give voice to what is in my heart. I love you so much, Margaret.”
The words which she had secretly, guiltily longed to hear made her forget everything else. A wild, soaring joy ripped through her. “I love you, too, Sebastian, so very much.”
“Margaret!” He pulled her to her feet and into his arms. “Oh, my darling.”
Their lips met in the sweetest kiss that was just as she had remembered, and yet utterly different. As he pulled her closer, she twined her arms around his neck, and he fastened his lips to hers again, coaxing her mouth open into a very different kiss. The intimacy shocked her; her reaction shocked her even more. His tongue touched hers and she broke away, breathless and utterly confused. Was this what passion felt like? It was overwhelming and slightly terrifying, and yet at the same time, she wanted more.
Sebastian looked unfamiliar, his eyes dark, heavy-lidded, colour slashing his cheeks. “I apologise,” he said, his voice gruff. “I did not mean to— I allowed my feelings to get the better of me. Forgive me.” He raked a hand through his hair, smiling raggedly. “It will be difficult, but I will try to exercise more restraint until we are in a position to marry.”
“Marry!” Margaret plummeted abruptly back down to earth. “We can’t get married.”
“Of course we will marry.” Sebastian clasped her hand to his chest. “My dear Margaret, you cannot have imagined I would have kissed you in such a manner unless my intentions were honourable.”
She had never properly considered the situation from his perspective at all, being so preoccupied with her own. “I am so very sorry, Sebastian, but I can’t marry you.”
“Why on earth not, if you love me, as you say? Is it because our stations in life are so radically different?”
“It’s not that. I don’t give a fig about that.”
“Then what is it?” His smile faded. “Don’t you want to marry me?”
If only she had explained her situation earlier. “It’s what I want more than anything, but it’s simply not possible. My parents would never give their consent.”
“When they grasp the depth of our feelings—”
“Feelings have no relevance in my parents’ world.” The difference between that world and Sebastian’s was a chasm he had no concept of. “Marriage is about wealth, connections, status.”
“And I possess none of those attributes,” Sebastian said wryly. “Very well, if they will not give their consent, then we will simply have to wait until you are of age.”
“That is almost a year and a half away.”
“I would wait twice as long if I had to,” he said, kissing her hand. “I do not lack occupation. If it must be so, the time will pass in the blink of an eye.”
For him, but what about her? Didn’t he understand that she would be consigned to solitary confinement for the duration? No, how could he, when she had never explained the reality of her situation! Gathering her courage in both hands, Margaret prepared to enlighten him. “We never discuss my family.”
“That’s because I am only interested in you, not them.”
“I know.” She lifted his hand to her cheek. “That is one of the wonderful things about you, but I can’t discard them like an old pair of shoes.”
“Indeed, and I’m not asking you to do any such thing.”
“No, but the shoe would be on the other foot, so to speak. What I mean is, they would discard me. You see, as far as my father is concerned, my only purpose in life is to make a good match.”
“And a lowly Anglican priest won’t pass muster, is that what you are saying?”
Imagining what her father would make of Sebastian made Margaret shudder. “My father has already selected the Earl of Killin as a suitable husband for me.”
“You are already engaged!” Sebastian dropped her hand.
“The betrothal has not been formalised. It was almost announced last year, but—”
“Last year!”
“But I ran off before it could be. It caused a terrible scandal that I am only now recovering from.”
“I don’t understand. Are you telling me that your parents are trying to force you into a marriage against your will? That would indeed be a scandal.”
“No, it’s not like that. They are not forcing me. I want to marry him. At least I want to want to marry him.” She broke off, realising how ridiculous she sounded.
“Are you or are you not betrothed to another man?”
“No,” she whispered, scarlet with mortification, “but it is generally understood that I will be, before the end of the summer.”
“Look at me, Margaret,” Sebastian said gently. “If you don’t want to marry this man, you have only to stand firm in your resolve until you are of age, and then we can be married, with or without their blessing.”
“If only it were that simple.”
“If you love me . . .”
“I do, how can you doubt it?” A sob caught in her throat. “I am absolutely miserable every single moment I’m not with you. I wish we could be together always.”
Sebastian wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her tightly up against him. “And we can be, if we want it enough.”
Torn, she pressed herself closer, closing her eyes, wanting to lose herself in their perfect little idyll, to forget all about the real world and everyone in it. The familiar scent of him and the heat of his body was making her senses whirl. “I love you,” she said, willing it to be enough. “I love you,” she said again, an incantation against reality.
“Then that is all that matters, isn’t it? There are hurdles to be overcome, I realise that,” he said. “Obstacles to be removed. We may have to wait, but I am willing to wait forever for you. Do I take too much for granted, expect too much? It would be a very different life that you would lead here in Lambeth, not without its challenges and short on comfort.”
“How could I be anything other than happy, if I was with you?”
“Then it’s settled. You will be my wife.”
He truly believed it was possible. He had no idea what he was asking of her, but if Sebastian believed in her, and in the power of love, then why couldn’t she? “I can’t,” Margaret said, though even to her own ears, she sounded ambivalent. “I want to, more than anything, but wanting is not enough. My parents—”
“Must come to understand that your first duty is not to them but to yourself. What will make you happy, Margaret? Marriage to some man you have admitted you cannot love, playing the lady of the manor and dispensing jam at Christmas? Or a new life in Lambeth by my side, genuinely doing good, making a real difference?”
“You know the answer to that question,” Margaret said, knowing full well that it was the wrong question. Sebastian made it sound so simple and so wildly attractive. He loved her. He had chosen her as the woman he wanted by his side for the rest of his life. She loved him, too, but there were more pitfalls than he coul
d possibly imagine. And yet, when he looked at her like that, she believed it just might be possible.
He pulled her back into his arms and kissed her tenderly. “We will find a way.”
She wanted to prove that she could do whatever it took to be with him. She wanted to believe that love could conquer all. Even her father.
“I know, it’s overwhelming,” Sebastian said, misreading her hesitation. “I never dared dream until today.”
Nor had she, but now there was an irresistible flicker of hope. Instead of telling herself it was impossible, could she turn her mind to how to make it possible? “If my parents discovered my feelings for you, they would have me sent away.”
“Then keep your feelings hidden from them. Though it goes against the grain and all that I teach to encourage deceit, in this instance I think it is justified.”
“There is still the matter of Killin.”
Sebastian frowned. “A simple refusal will suffice, surely. No man will wish to marry an unwilling bride unless he is a scoundrel.”
Was it possible to discourage Killin? She sincerely doubted it. But if she wanted to marry Sebastian, which she did, desperately, surely she could find a way of ridding herself of him? If only she had not worked so hard to make herself amenable. Good grief, was she really considering Sebastian’s proposal? Her head was spinning.
“You look unconvinced, Margaret,” he said. “If you would rather we took the bull by the horns and declared our love publicly, I will speak to your father forthwith.”
“No! Good God, no. That would be the worst thing you could do. We must not do anything rash.”
“You’re right: there is no point in acting with unseemly haste. After all, we have the rest of our lives to look forward to.”
Did they? She couldn’t believe it could happen, but when he smiled at her, with such love and tenderness, she wanted to. Then he pulled her into his arms again, kissing her with no trace of the flaring passion that had so excited and terrified her. And when he let her go, Margaret couldn’t decide whether she was relieved or disappointed.
Princess Louise to Lady Margaret
Windsor Castle, 6 June 1866
My very dearest M.,
My profound apologies for the delay in answering your letter, which was waiting for me when I returned from a short visit to Cliveden with the queen. I have to confess to losing sleep over a particular worry of my own, but the contents of your letter guaranteed that I did not sleep a wink!!!!
I had assumed from the very brief notes you have been sending that all was proceeding to plan with you, but once again I discover that my dearest and oldest friend has been keeping a shocking secret from me. You ask my opinion, but I don’t know where to begin, nor do I truly believe you need any advice. You cannot marry a lowly priest, M., you must know that. It would be the end of your life as you know it, and would inevitably precipitate the end of our friendship, too. Surely you cannot seriously be contemplating this? Your visits to Lambeth were your reward for your exemplary behaviour. Your own words, M., I clearly remember them. And how do you return the duchess’s trust in you? By falling in love with a priest. A priest!!!! I still cannot believe it.
Margaret (yes, matters are so serious that I must address you by your full name), you have worked so hard to restore yourself to the good graces of your parents. I truly believed that you were ready to embrace your future as the Countess of Killin with a clear head and a determined heart. Your resolve must not waver now. The consequences simply don’t bear contemplating. Your plan to turn the cold shoulder on your original suitor is bound to backfire. Aside from the fact that a young woman who blows hot and then cold gets herself a certain reputation, I cannot believe that it will forestall the proposal you have worked so hard to earn, and now claim to be dreading. Steel yourself, forget the priest, and marry the earl. It is your destiny.
And now I must reluctantly turn to my own concerns. Oh, M., I feel such a hypocrite telling you to quash your more tender feelings while I—I pray you make sure no-one sees this—while I have foolishly indulged mine. I dare not say any more. I fervently hope every day that my fears will prove unfounded. Perhaps by the time you receive this missive, all will be well. I must believe that, for I dare not even imagine what will happen otherwise.
We leave for Balmoral on the thirteenth, and the queen is as ever most demanding of my time. In the circumstances, I must play the attentive daughter even more assiduously than ever, so I doubt we will meet before Lenchen’s wedding, by which time I hope that both our dilemmas are resolved satisfactorily. Your betrothal will have been settled, and I will have no need to contemplate a country retreat. Thus will our friendship and our reputations be preserved.
Oh, M., what foolish creatures we are when we fall in love. Is there anything more wonderful? Or so catastrophic, when it goes awry? You know better than to reply to this letter. I wish I could see you, even if it was only for half an hour. If I sound stoic, if I sound strong, then do not be fooled. You know me better than anyone. I have never needed your loyal support and wise counsel more. And yet I cannot have it, and so must soldier on alone, as you must, too.
Until we meet again, in happier times! With my best love always,
Louise
Chapter Seventeen
Sunday, 17 June 1866
Margaret curled up on the window seat of her bedchamber. Outside, the church bells pealed for Sunday service. Louise would be at Balmoral now. Her friend’s latest epistle had stated cryptically that there was no material change in her situation.
Unlike her own. At last night’s ball, Killin had informed her that he would be calling on her father immediately after the royal wedding to discuss the announcement of their betrothal. Her attempts to dissuade him in the month since Sebastian had declared himself had been to no avail. If she wasn’t careful, she could well end up betrothed to two men at once. Would it be pistols at dawn for the right to her hand?
Oh dear lord, but this situation she’d got herself into was not remotely funny. What was she going to do? Leaning her hot cheek against the windowpane, she closed her eyes and tried to calm herself. First things first. She could not marry Killin. In the quagmire that was her life at the moment, that at least was clear-cut. If she had not met Sebastian, she may indeed have forced herself to go through with it, but it would have been a huge mistake. She had to face up to the fact that she was incapable of living a life of dutiful misery. If that made her an errant, ungrateful daughter, so be it.
Her relief at finally having arrived at that conclusion was, however, very short-lived. Refusing Killin was one thing. Accepting Sebastian was quite another. The ever-present band of pain tightened around her head. She loved him. He loved her. It ought to be a straightforward decision, but it was not. A world well lost to love was a seductive vision, but Sebastian wasn’t the one who was going to have to bear the burden. That would be borne by her and her alone, and it would be a formidable undertaking. His life wouldn’t change much at all, but hers would change irrevocably. Louise’s letter had forced her to confront what she had known from the first. If she chose Sebastian, the price would be complete estrangement from everyone else, all her family and every one of her friends. His world would become hers. She would be leaving her old life behind forever. Her family would never utter her name, save in a scandalised whisper. She’d have to read about Montagu marriages and births and even deaths in the press. Her exile in Dalkeith had given her a taste of what it would be like. Only this time, it would be a life sentence with no hope of reprieve.
She couldn’t do it. The price was simply too high. Did that mean she didn’t love him enough? Perhaps, but it made no difference. Marriage to Sebastian would be, albeit in a very different way, as impossible as marriage to Killin. This simple, clear thought had the solid feel of a fundamental truth. Margaret stared, dazed, out of the window, wondering that the view remained unchanged when she felt as if the world had shifted on its axis.
The church bells stopped ring
ing. The duke would be working in his study. Her father was the key to unlocking the tangle she had got herself into. She had to persuade him that he must reject Killin’s request for her hand in marriage. Once that that particular sword of Damocles was no longer hanging over her head, she could buy herself time to find a way to let Sebastian down gently.
She would have to stand her ground with the duke for the first time in her life. She’d have to persuade her father that she was not, once again, procrastinating, but had made a grown-up, carefully thought through decision and that she was entitled to have a say in her own future.
Could she do that? She had to, otherwise she may as well resign herself to doing his bidding. Terrified but determined, she rang the bell to summon Molly and prepared to confront the lion in his den.
Dressed in a demure morning gown of pale-blue muslin, Margaret hesitated outside the door of her father’s study. It was almost exactly a year since she had been hauled over the coals in this very room prior to her exile, and six months since her second lambasting on her return from Dalkeith. How immature and naive she had been. This time she had to be calm, logical, coherent. Knocking on the door, she entered without waiting for permission.
“Margaret!” Her father was seated at his desk, pen in hand, an account book open on the blotter in front of him. “What do you want? I’m extremely busy.”
“Good morning, Your Grace. May I?”
As she took a seat in front of the desk, the duke continued to stare down at his accounts. “Well?”
“Killin informed me that he intends to call on you after Princess Helena’s wedding.”
“Ah!” The pen was set down. The frown disappeared. “I hope you appreciate how fortunate you are to be given a second chance. Killin . . .”
As her father launched into a familiar-sounding litany of Killin’s many attributes, Margaret stopped listening. The duke’s hair was receding, she noted. He had combed it forward in an effort to disguise the fact, but the effect was to make it look as if he was wearing a hat. His mutton-chop whiskers were no longer bright red but ginger tinged with grey. His eyebrows were wildly curling and untidy, in need of a trim, and there were hairs sprouting from his nostrils. He was not omniscient and he wasn’t infallible. He was merely a man set in his ways who must be persuaded to view his recalcitrant daughter in a fresh light.
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