by Lynda Hurst
The need to get ever closer compelled her to wrap her arms around his back just as he banded her within his embrace. If it was doable, she would have liked to crawl beneath his skin to be that much closer, but even then, it still wouldn’t have been enough to satisfy her.
The sound of a shutting door somewhere in the house caused the both of them to jump apart. With their chests heaving as though from heavy physical exertion, they stared at each other. Jackson watched bemusedly as what looked like guilt flamed Margaret’s cheeks rosy.
Catching her chin in one hand, he whispered, “When I kiss you, I only want to see your pleasure written all over your face. I will not have guilt or shame mar your lovely features when you are with me.”
Mortified, Margaret inhaled sharply. “How can I not feel guilty for kissing you knowing I am just as good as promised to another?” she hissed between gritted teeth.
“But the fact is, you aren’t. Not yet, anyway, nor will I stand by and watch you fling yourself into a marriage with a man who’s all wrong for you.”
“And if you tell me you are the right man for me, I will scream! You cannot think that will sway me from breaking my word!”
“Shush, you’ll wake our godson and have Nurse blaming us for his too short nap. Let it be said that I have no intention of influencing you to break your promise to Collingwood. I only intend to wait out your self-imposed time limit, and in the meantime, I hope to wear you down by convincing you that we are perfect for each other.”
Perfect? Once upon a time she had thought he was perfect for her, but after years of his disregard, she had come to the conclusion that she wasn’t perfect for him to consider as his wife. Jeffrey’s suit made her feel more than adequate both as a woman and as a bride, and it was one of the reasons she believed she owed him her respect and admiration.
Flouncing away from him, she tossed over her shoulder, “If you are not careful, you will actually start believing your own words.”
He stood rooted to the spot as he contemplated how her parting statement told him in spades how little she believed in him and how little she saw her own self. Despite her outward appearance of confidence and self-possession in public, he was suddenly aware of her vulnerability. Then and there, he vowed to make it his life’s work to make her realize her worth, and if it took him more than a lifetime to do it, it would be worth it to show her how much she truly meant to him.
19
On the Road to Donnesbury—Several Weeks Later
With the long journey via carriage headed home deep in the country, Margaret had ample time to ruminate over the events of the past several weeks. Devlin chose to ride his own mount alongside the carriage as a way of keeping the driver alert with their lively conversation wafting through the open carriage window. Faith and Grayson napped in the seat across from her, forcing her to befriend her own thoughts for company as they rolled down the road home
Since Devlin’s parliamentary duties stretched further into the hotter part of summer, both Faith and Margaret found it mildly difficult to muddle through the season’s entertainments in such uncomfortably warm weather. Faith’s eagerly-awaited house party in the country was a much-needed reprieve from the heat and stench of the city, and everyone in the de Chamblay household were anxious to be off, deep into the English countryside, albeit for individually different reasons.
Margaret was sure Faith would be busy enough preparing for a house full of guests, and she had readily volunteered her services in the event Faith required her assistance. With the carriage ambling along and the other two occupants breathing the soft, even breath of sleep, Margaret had no one else to share her anxieties about the upcoming party.
The party itself represented the inevitable for Margaret; her day of reckoning was fast approaching. Jeffrey would be expecting her answer as she had promised, and by using her time in the past several weeks to properly evaluate and reflect on such an important matter, she could proudly claim that she came to a final decision.
It was no easy feat for Margaret to arrive at this life-altering decision, but it had helped to deliberately avoid the man who could possibly cause her resolve to waver. Through no fault of his, Jackson hadn’t sought her out either, and from Mary’s revealing admission, it had been mostly due to his increased duties as the future Earl of Ellesmere, that their father, Lord Anthony, had lain at his son’s feet in the interim.
Which was completely fine with Margaret: without Jackson hanging about, she had been able to think long and hard on the future stretched before her. A future that saw her married to Jeffrey. As a Duchess-in-waiting until Jeffrey inherited the ducal title, she would outrank most of her peers, and she was honest enough with herself to admit that she would gladly enjoy the prestige that came with the lofty position. If that prestige meant that she could continue on with her historical studies, it would mean more to her to carry on in that sphere than the title itself.
To say she did not have reservations about being a wife would not be entirely true, and she had one day called upon Faith’s own experience and advice, hopeful for another woman’s insight and perspective. Faith, to her credit, had done her best to give her an honest account of how her life had changed for the better since becoming Devlin’s wife, but Margaret wisely realized that both of their situations were completely different. Where Faith and Devlin had fallen in love with each other long before they decided to marry, she and Jeffrey had, at best, an affectionate kinship that was based on their genuine enjoyment of each other’s company. In fact, his proposal the year before had been
In spite of her qualms, she was more determined in her resolve than ever that Jeffrey was the better choice. Her ultimate decision had been produced from one simple, essential detail that still smacked of her younger self in all of her vain glory: Jeffrey had seen her and without hesitation, had chosen her as his first choice. As a woman with tender sentiments, she loved that Jeffrey made her feel cherished in everything he did.
Frowning, she was reminded in comparison of all the anguish she had shored up that had involved Jackson through the years. From being a young lovesick girl who had grown into a lovesick woman, pining after a man who refused to see her as anything more than an irritation, disappointment had been a constant companion in her life where Jackson was concerned. Nothing had worked when she made so many attempts to secure his attention and to see her as someone exceptional and worthy of his notice.
Truthfully, she was a little ashamed for clinging onto that hope for so long, for so futile an effort. And now, that Jackson had kissed her not once, but twice, she could not stop herself from resenting him for suddenly deciding she was desirable to him at so late a date. Especially when she was not his first choice.
Their longstanding acquaintance of each other had probably stood to confuse the wretched man, and if not for their history, he would have happily married Lady Celia with no hesitation involved. As the epitome of female perfection, graceful, demure, and accomplished in the feminine arts that their society so highly prized, Lady Celia trounced her on those merits alone. She was glad that Jeffrey had not chosen Lady Celia for his choice of bride; he had accepted her for her less-than gracious self, and it pleased her immensely that he appreciated her in her totality, in spite of her flaws.
The carriage rumbled to a stop, and the abrupt halt of the swaying carriage woke Faith from her slumber. Blearily, she asked Margaret, “Have we arrived home?”
Margaret nodded, “Yes, it’s a blessing we’ve arrived sane with Lord Are-We-There-Yet wriggling about the entire trip. Thank goodness he had fallen asleep for part of it so that the rest of us could enjoy some measure of peace.” Her twinkling eyes belied her stern tone, alerting Faith to her teasing.
Faith breathed, “Yes, well, he will soon be putting his nurse through her paces once he’s up and about, what with all of the space he has here to roam. It certainly is good to be home, where the air is far cleaner and less oppressing than that in the city. Why, I’ve already found I’m wholly re
freshed now and am eager to get to work.” Handing Grayson, still groggy from his nap, to his awaiting father outside the carriage, Faith practically bounced out of the coach to spring into the house, clearly invigorated.
Knowing Faith would be eager to spruce up the house for the onslaught of houseguests who would be arriving soon, Margaret followed closely behind to see in what capacity she could lend a hand. Devlin walked alongside her, Grayson still in his arms, and asked his sister, “Have you given any more thought to the Artemis clue lately? I haven’t heard much of your progress lately, and might have missed much while I was busy with parliament business.”
After Frederick’s revelation of his true intentions, Margaret had tried to contact Abraham concerning the Artemis artifact but received no response. Worried, she had contacted the gallery where they had last met, and the curator could only tell her that Mensforth had made one last visit and hadn’t returned since.
Margaret replied, “I have been preoccupied lately with thoughts of what I am to say to Jeffrey that I hadn’t dedicated as much time as I’d like to the project. Why do you ask?”
Over Grayson’s head, Devlin said, “Now that we are home, had you already forgotten about those account books we had found in the Revelstoke library? We hadn’t had the chance to view them before we left for the city.”
“That’s right! That had slipped my mind since we were caught up in the bustle of the season. Where are they now?”
“They are currently sitting atop my desk in my study. You’re welcome to them once you’ve had a chance to shake off the dust from our long journey.”
Eager to be back on board with her Artemis findings, she waved away his suggestion. “I would much rather take a look at what those dusty things have to say. I can freshen up later.”
“All right, I only hope that you will make sure that you freshen up before dinner. I would hate to have the entire highway’s dust suddenly salt my soup,” he called over his shoulder as he walked away.
His ears perking up at his father’s last word, Grayson cried, “Soup! I want soup,” which had Margaret chuckling at the little boy’s selective hearing.
After Devlin’s retreating back, she called after him good-naturedly, “If you find your soup too salty tonight, you’ll know I’ve done it to spite you, you insufferable man!”
In acknowledgment of her jibe, he sent her an exaggerated wave without looking back.
Since Devlin’s study was on her way to her room, she decided to make a quick stop into the masculine room to briefly glance at the account books that they had neglected before making their way to London for the season.
Having already glimpsed an artifact that was alarmingly close to the clue’s description, she was sure that the museum curator would allow her another closer look by way of a generous donation made in her brother’s name. If only Abraham had answered her missive to him, they could have confirmed her suspicions surrounding the artifact together weeks ago.
Outside of their correspondence which she deliberately kept on a strictly professional and academic level, she and Abraham had little in common other than that their circles would occasionally collide at ton events. She had worried that there might possibly have been an urgent matter that would have pulled him from the Haversham ball as he had not come to claim his promised dance with her. No matter; she was sure that their relationship was not so deep that either of them needed to keep each other abreast of their every activity.
Breezing through Devlin’s study, she made a beeline straight for his desk where the account books had lain untouched since the start of the season. Seating herself comfortably in Devlin’s chair, she picked up the book that looked less used than the others. Margaret guessed it would have been the latest in the series, and hoped it would hold the last set of records Edwin Revelstoke would have kept before his passing.
Beginning at the end of the book, where at least the last half of the ledger were unused pages, she soon found the last page containing written entries of the Revelstoke’s state of finances. Judging from the numbers she fleetingly saw through the columns, Edwin Revelstoke had his family living hand to mouth with what meager income he was able to procure.
Reading backwards, she was able to discern a pattern where the former Revelstoke patriarch had begun selling off family heirlooms of worth in-between the monthly stipend provided from his wife’s own inheritance through her father. Most of what was sold were household items: pieces of silverware at a time, candelabras, and paintings that must have been part of the household for generations before being carelessly sold for a quick bit of money in the pocket.
Skimming through the next page, a familiar name jumped up at her in its flowing script: A. Mensforth. Underlining his name with her finger, she moved it along the same row in which it was written to find that Edwin Revelstoke had sold a “statuette” to A. Mensforth eight years ago. In other previous entries, A. Mensforth had also bought other items of note: a tapestry and a small parcel of Revelstoke land that was kept separate from the other entailed lands, just outside of Donnesbury.
Puzzled, Margaret could not recall Abraham ever having evidence of wealth about him on the several occasions that they had met. That he had money at all was a surprise, since she only knew of his academic pursuits and nothing else of his personal life other than that he was related to a marquess.
All the same, the mention of that statuette begged a thousand questions in Margaret’s inquisitive mind. What did it look like? Was it one that Faith would have recognized as a child? Was it possible that Abraham still had possession of it in his own private collection?
Out of the myriad of questions plaguing her, there was one that could quite possibly be answered by Faith herself. With the thrill of the treasure hunt once again singing in her veins, Margaret stalked through the great manor, on the hunt for her sister-in-law, with the account book tucked under one arm.
She was fortunate to have come upon Faith, who had just finished conferring with the housekeeper about room assignments, in the parlor. With excitement brightening Margaret’s eyes and flushing her cheeks, she practically cornered Faith to begin her barrage of questions. But not without warning her first: “Faith, I have a million questions to ask you after having read your father’s account books.”
Faith’s eyes grew round as she remarked, “You must have found something worthy of note for you to look like you’re about to jump out of your skin. What has you so excited?”
Margaret related her findings concerning her friend and colleague and how Faith’s own father had recorded a point of sale that involved Mensforth. “But my question is, would you have noticed things that were once part of the Revelstoke house had suddenly gone missing?”
Faith readily replied, “Oh, yes, it was common for Father to sell off what he could to make extra money.”
“As for my next question, would you recall this particular item?” asked Margaret, as she indicated the appropriate place in the account book and let Faith read the line she pointed to. With nothing more descriptive added to the “statuette” entry, Margaret hoped Faith knew to what the entry was actually referring.
With her brow furrowed in deep thought, it took Faith several moments to think back to those times, and eventually, she began to voice her thoughts out loud. “Statuette? I wonder if Father meant that odd-shaped artifact that used to sit on the mantel in the library. He had said it had been part of the family for generations, and that none of us were allowed to touch it. As a child, we were threatened severe punishment if any one of us dared to damage it, it was so very old, you see. Father had said it had once belonged to the first Earl of Revelstoke, and therefore, it was a very important part of our family history.”
“Can you recall what it looked like?” Margaret asked excitedly.
“As I’ve said, I barely paid any attention to it when I was younger. What I can recall was that it was an odd-shape for a family heirloom, and at first glance, it had no visible value to it, other than that it had
always been in the family,” Faith said, as her last words tapering off in volume, as though her mind was seeing something else that distracted her from her speech.
Margaret pressed, “What is it? Is there something else you remember?”
Once again, Faith’s eyes widened, this time in recollection, as she burst out, “Yes! Yes, it’s something that was always there in the background, and now it all makes sense!”
Continuing, Faith’s words poured out in a flood. “The ‘statuette’ as Father referred to it, was a single, squarish piece that had two figures on it. The side with the two figures was obviously made of carved stone, whereas its backing was made of a simple, earthenware clay. At sixteen, I had thought it was an odd mix of materials for an old artifact. And I can also recall looking to the library mantel, expecting to see it in its usual spot one day and was mildly surprised to see it was no longer there.”