When the conversation paused, Edward cleared his throat. “May I ask why you approached me?” He’d known the earl for many years but not well. And never before had Aberland extended this sort of opportunity.
“Is there a reason I shouldn’t have?” Aberland asked, his dark eyes watching Edward.
The earl had never been easy to converse with, often avoiding answering questions. He always seemed to be tight-lipped, revealing details only when necessary.
“Not at all. I’m grateful for the opportunity.” Edward continued to hold Aberland’s gaze, hoping to make it clear he would appreciate an answer.
With a reluctant smile, Aberland said, “A mutual friend suggested you.”
“Oh?” Edward glanced at Raybourne whose attention was suddenly focused on his drink. “Who might that be?”
“My sister-in-law, Miss Gold.” Aberland’s smile broadened as if amused.
Edward sat back in his chair in shock. Blast it all. He’d finally managed to focus on something other than Margaret only to have her tossed back into his thoughts.
He wasn’t certain if he should thank her or shake her for interfering in his life. Damn if he didn’t want another kiss.
~*~
Margaret settled into the desk in the corner of the drawing room near the window, looking forward to putting the final touches on her latest drawings for the next magazine. After these were complete, she would sew the lovely silk fabric she’d cut the previous day for one of Charlotte’s gowns.
The house was quiet this afternoon. Her mother was reading in her sitting room and her father was resting. She and her father had taken a walk in the nearby park earlier this morning. His spirits always seemed much improved after some fresh air and exercise.
The doctor suggested it wasn’t necessary, but Margaret disagreed. Even her mother noticed the changes after they’d started taking regular strolls. It only made sense to keep his body and mind as active as possible.
Unfortunately, their efforts to engage his thoughts were only partially successful. What worked one time might be a disaster the following day.
She pulled out the first sketch which featured two women and a man, all finely dressed. The waists of the gowns were high, coming just below the breasts. The lines of the skirt were more triangular than the past year’s fashion. She’d added a wider hem as well, so the extra fabric would give weight to the soft fabric, keeping it straight.
Trains were a thing of the past, but she embellished the area above the hemline to draw one’s eye and break up the long line of the skirt. The technique worked well for both slim and rounder ladies and allowed a personal touch.
Margaret was so immersed in adding the details along the hemline of the sketch that she was startled when she realized her father was looking over her shoulder at the drawing. She hadn’t even heard him come into the room.
“Good afternoon,” she greeted him with a smile even as she pressed her fingers over her pounding heart. “You didn’t rest very long.”
He frowned and pulled his pocket watch from his waistcoat and popped open the lid. “It’s nearly half-past two.”
She glanced at the clock on a nearby table in surprise. “Yes, it is.” He rarely read his watch correctly though he often pulled it out to look at it.
“Have you broken your fast?” he asked, still frowning.
“Yes.” Her heart hurt at the question. “We had luncheon together just an hour ago. Do you remember?”
“Of course, I do.” His brows furrowed, and she realized too late that she shouldn’t have said anything. It was as if a part of his mind knew his memory failed him and was frustrated by the fact.
Margaret had yet to find the proper balance between correcting him and simply letting his comments go. Yet she didn’t see how not helping him remember was the right answer. Wouldn’t his confusion grow worse if they didn’t address it and encourage him to use his mind when possible?
“We had...” His eyes narrowed as if searching for the right word. “cold ham with bread and butter.”
She drew a relieved breath. “That’s right.” Never mind that the meal was their usual luncheon. Anything he remembered correctly was a positive as far as she was concerned.
He studied her sketch, tilting his head this way and that with a puzzled expression.
“What do you think?” she asked. Though it was silly, she still wanted his approval. Would the man he’d been be proud of her? Since she would never know, hearing it from this version had to suffice.
“I prefer drawings of the countryside. Have you seen the painting of the sheep in my study?”
Disappointment speared through her, but she did her best to hide it. That was the challenge of speaking with him. Just when she thought he was fully engaged and thinking properly, something slipped, shredding the illusion into bits and pieces, along with hope.
The doctor had told them he would never improve. The only question was how quickly he would fail. But that was a difficult diagnosis to accept.
“Yes, I like that painting very much,” she managed.
“Come and see it. I think you’ll like it.” He reached to take her hand.
“I’ve seen it many times,” she added but set aside her sketch and stood all the same. When he had something on his mind, it was nearly impossible to change his course.
He pulled her out of the drawing room and down the stairs, past Barclay, the butler, who gave her a sympathetic look, and down the corridor to his study.
She knew she should be grateful that her father remembered where his study was as well as the sheep painting displayed there. Yet some days, focusing on gratitude was a challenge.
They entered the study but suddenly he paused and looked around in confusion, quickly releasing her hand. Margaret waited a moment to see if he would remember why they were there. Reminding him might ease his confusion but could also anger him.
He turned to look at her, a fierce frown narrowing his eyes. “Who are you? What are you doing in here?”
A hitch of panic clogged her throat. “I’m Margaret, Father. Your youngest daughter.”
He shook his head. “Annabelle is our youngest. Where is she? Annabelle?” He glanced about as if expecting to see her sitting in one of the chairs. “Annabelle!” His voice rose sharply.
“Father,” she began, reaching out a gentle hand to calm him.
He pulled away. “Annabelle!”
Barclay appeared in the doorway, sharing a concerned look with Margaret.
“Barclay, see this young woman out. She shouldn’t be here. And find Annabelle for me, would you?”
Margaret’s heart ached at the knowledge that he knew the butler but not her.
That he knew Annabelle but not her.
She blinked back tears even as she reminded herself not to let moments like this hurt. She gave a small shake of her head as Barclay started to protest. When her father became belligerent, no purpose was served in arguing. Especially when he might very well remember her in an hour or two.
Would the day come when he forgot her permanently? If he did, how would she be able to help care for him as she planned?
The worry was for another time as were her tears. It wasn’t her father’s fault, nor was it hers. Yet it still hurt. Especially since it happened to her the most.
She forced a smile and moved past Barclay toward the door. “My apologies. I will see myself out.”
She hurried up the stairs to find her mother, hoping she would be able to calm him. If not, it seemed they’d be sending a message to Annabelle to pay a visit as soon as possible. Margaret tried not to think of the bleakness of her future if it was going to be filled with moments like this.
Chapter Six
Margaret rose early the next morning after a sleepless night and rang for her maid, who helped her change into a riding habit. She peeked in on her father, surprised to see Barclay sitting with him. The tangled covers suggested her father’s restlessness of the previous day had continued throug
h the night. The butler looked up when she opened the door and came to speak with her in the corridor.
“Did he have a bad night?” Margaret asked, her voice low.
“He didn't settle into a decent sleep until early this morning. I relieved Lady Gold shortly after two o’clock.” The concerned look on Barclay’s face said everything.
Guilt speared through Margaret that she hadn’t been able to help. When her father had troubled nights, the three of them usually shared the burden, each taking a turn to sit with him. However, since her father hadn't recognized her, they decided it best that she keep her distance until today when they would see if things were any better.
She hated not being able to assist with his care. The idea was especially troubling when she was planning on taking care of her father for the rest of his days. Would that even be possible? How could her mother ever have a few days away without worrying? Margaret would be of no use if his memory lapses regarding who she was continued.
“Barclay, I don't know what we would do without you.” She reached out and squeezed the elderly man's hand. He had been with them through the ups and downs of the past few years, his loyalty a pillar in their lives. He'd even remained with them when they couldn't afford his pay. He was more than simply a butler as far as she was concerned. “Thank you for everything.”
Barclay’s tired but pleased smile said so much. “I'm happy to be of service, miss.”
“I'm going for a ride. I’ll speak with Father after breakfast if he’s in good spirits and see if...if he remembers me.” Saying the words out loud hurt as did Barclay’s obvious sympathy. But nothing could change the truth.
She left the butler to his post and requested a footman to have her horse readied. While she waited, she nibbled on a piece of toast and drank a cup of tea. Soon the footman came into the dining room to advise her that her horse was waiting.
Eager to be on her way, she headed out the door, nodding at the groomsman who would accompany her before greeting her dappled grey mare. The hour suggested morning had come in full but the overcast sky made that difficult to believe. Low areas held lingering fog and lent a cool dampness to the air.
Margaret didn't mind the weather as it suited her mood perfectly—gloomy. She rode through the quiet streets, passing the occasional cart and various tradesmen, and soon arrived at Hyde Park. As the hour was too early for most of the ton, she saw few others as she rode along.
The meadow beckoned and she gave her mare its head, enjoying the breeze on her face and the freedom galloping over the grassy expanse offered. Riding never failed to lift her spirits. It reminded her that it was good to be alive despite all the problems her family faced. She drew back on the reins of her horse to slow her pace, drinking in the scenery and allowing her thoughts and emotions to settle.
Now that she had cleared her head, it was easier to believe the incident yesterday with her father was not a major setback. It was a bump in the road. One of many they had faced thus far with even more to come. This wasn’t the first time he hadn’t known her, but it was the longest it had lasted.
However, she couldn’t allow herself to take offense. She was two years younger than Annabelle and five years younger than Caroline, so it only made sense that her father's memories of them were stronger. She knew he loved her, and she loved him. Sometimes it was as simple as that.
“Miss Gold?”
Margaret jerked her thoughts back to the present to see a familiar form riding toward her. Edward? Really? Of all the people she might have come across at this hour, she hadn't expected him. Nor did she particularly want to see him. Why was it that immediately after telling herself she needed to make certain not to be alone with him again, here he was?
“Good morning, my lord. You're out and about early.” She knew he normally kept late nights, so to see him at this hour was a surprise.
“I decided a ride might help to settle my thoughts.” He drew his horse to a halt, and she did the same. He studied her face for a long moment then frowned. “Is all well?”
Her stomach dipped alarmingly at the idea that he could so easily read her mood. “Well enough.” She attempted with a smile. “I thought an early morning ride would clear my head too.”
He raised a brow, obviously doubting her reply.
She sighed, deciding no harm could come from telling him the truth. “My father had an especially bad day yesterday.” She assumed Charlotte had mentioned her father's health to him. After all, one of the things that had deepened her and Charlotte’s friendship was sharing some of the trials and tribulations about their fathers.
“I'm sorry to hear that.” Although he had been riding in the opposite direction as her, he turned his horse to match hers and gestured toward the meadow. “Would you mind if I accompanied you for a time?”
“Not at all.” And she realized it was true. Edward’s quiet demeanor didn’t demand anything from her. Besides, if she was alone longer, her thoughts would continue circling. She kneed her horse to start walking and allowed the companionable silence and the crisp air to soothe her once more.
“Did something in particular happen?” Edward asked after a long pause.
Margaret hesitated, uncertain whether she wanted to share the truth. It hurt and somehow admitting it to others made the pain more real. But speaking to someone who wasn't a member of the family might gain her some perspective.
She studied her horse’s ears, watching as they twitched this way and that. Somehow, keeping her focus on the grey velvet made talking easier. “He didn't remember who I was yesterday.”
“That must have been painful.”
“Especially when he requested our butler to see me out and to find Annabelle.”
“So he remembered her and the servant but not you?”
She met his sympathetic gaze, swallowing against the lump in her throat. “Yes.”
“Has this happened before?”
“Not quite like this. But my sisters have all experienced something similar. I shouldn't take it so personally.”
“Easier said than done I'm sure. How ironic that there were times when I wished something like that would happen with my father. He could be so difficult and unreasonable that it was a challenge to claim him as my father.”
“Charlotte shared a few of those stories. Your situation was not an easy one either.”
“Does she talk about that day? The day he died?”
Margaret glanced at Edward in surprise, but he kept his gaze straight ahead. Perhaps he found it easier to talk when focused on something else as well.
She wasn't certain how to respond. She knew some of the details, including how guilty Charlotte felt about the confrontation that preceded the earl’s death. If Charlotte felt guilt, no doubt Edward did as well. And Viscount Redmond along with Countess Wynn. She knew they had all been speaking to Lord Wynn about Charlotte’s upcoming betrothal to what they considered to be the wrong man.
What could she do but respond with honesty? “I have to think that if not your discussion with him, something else would have caused the same result. Don't you?”
He was quiet for so long she didn't think he would respond. Had she overstepped?
“I have thought the same thing, although it feels like an excuse to assuage my blame in the situation.”
“But what would have happened if you hadn't stood up for Charlotte? That would have caused you angst as well. Which would have been worse? Seeing your sister disastrously wed or a difficult conversation with your father? You had no way of knowing the outcome.”
“True. I think I remained silent too often when I disagreed with him. But there seemed to be so little purpose in arguing when he never changed his mind. He only dug in his heels deeper. We all suffered when that happened.”
“From what Charlotte mentioned, he was not a happy person. How unfortunate that he made all of you unhappy as well.”
“In all honesty, I’m relieved he’s gone.” Edward closed his eyes briefly. “Which makes me
feel worse.”
“It should make you feel human. None of us like to be in unpleasant situations.”
“Yes, well. He was my father. I should’ve loved him despite his faults.”
“Easier said than done,” she said, unable to resist using his own words back at him.
He smiled as he glanced at her, causing awareness to flutter along her skin. “Well played.”
Margaret returned his smile, pleased they had come across each other. Their conversation had already eased her mind, and she hoped it had his as well. Edward was easy to converse with. If only she could ignore the way he made her feel.
~*~
Edward didn't understand himself. He’d been so annoyed with Margaret after learning that she had spoken to the Earl of Aberland about him that he hoped not to see her again for some time. Yet when he'd noticed her riding across the park, looking so forlorn, he’d approached without a second thought.
Now he was discussing his father with her, something he hadn't done with anyone. The subject of Lord Wynn was like a sore tooth. He frequently poked at it since it continued to bother him. Doing so served no purpose as he couldn't change the past. His father was gone, and Edward would never have the chance to speak with him again.
He supposed his father's behavior remained a puzzle to him. Until he better understood the reason for the things the late earl had done, he couldn’t set it aside.
Edward hadn't realized how much he and Margaret had in common. She couldn't truly speak with her father either. Even if he understood what she was saying at any given moment, it sounded as if he might not remember any of it on the morrow. Each of them had a troubling situation to work through with no easy answer.
He glanced at her as they rode, appreciating how well she sat her horse. Her posture was perfect yet natural even though her shoulders seemed weighted down this morning.
She often reached out to pat her horse’s neck, the gesture of affection one he appreciated. Her normal vitality remained dim this morning. To his surprise, he realized he missed her inherent verve and wished he knew some way to help her regain it.
A Rogue Meets His Match (The Rogue Chronicles Book 7) Page 6