A Rogue Meets His Match (The Rogue Chronicles Book 7)

by Lana Williams

  Margaret paused in the dining room doorway for luncheon to study her mother, unease settling in the pit of her stomach. When she’d greeted Margaret earlier that morning, it had been immediately evident that she was under the weather. Her face had been pale, and her manner listless.

  The only explanation she’d offered when Margaret asked what was wrong was that she hadn’t slept well. When Margaret had hinted she should return to her bedchamber to rest, her easy agreement made Margaret fret all the more.

  Now as she studied her mother, it was easy to see she hadn’t recovered in the past few hours, regardless of the fact that she was seated at the dining room table. Her father was at his usual place, seemingly unaware anything was amiss.

  Margaret continued into the room, her focus returning to her mother. Though she didn't want to alarm her father by mentioning her mother’s illness, the sooner she returned to bed the better.

  “Mother, would you like a tray sent to your room?” Margaret asked.

  “Why would you suggest that?” her father asked. “She's already at the table.”

  Her mother forced a smile and gave a small shake of her head, suggesting Margaret not pursue the issue. “I'm looking forward to having luncheon with you two.”

  “Of course you are,” her father said with a glare at Margaret as if she’d lost her mind.

  Frustration welled within her. Not being able to speak plainly was irritating at times, and this was one of those. She and the rest of the family always placed her father’s needs above anyone else’s. She should be used to that by now, yet she still found it difficult on occasions like this.

  Margaret forced herself to draw a slow breath to find her patience as Barclay entered the room with a tray. The butler’s attention shifted immediately to Lady Gold, making it clear that he, too, was concerned with her health.

  The sooner they finished the meal the better, Margaret decided as Barclay offered a selection of thick slices of ham and bread along with dried plums. Luncheon was a light meal, something to tide them over between breakfast and dinner.

  “I’m quite famished,” her mother declared as she helped herself to a slice of ham.

  Yet Margaret noted how little she ate along with the fact that she had to wipe her nose several times. Her voice sounded gravelly and quite unlike her normal self.

  “The weather is lovely today, isn’t it?” Lady Gold asked as she glanced out the window.

  “It is, indeed,” Margaret agreed, trying to follow her mother’s example of keeping all things normal and routine. But she couldn’t resist rolling her eyes when what she wanted to do was escort Mother to her bed.

  “I thought it would be snowing by now.” Her father stared out the window, a bite of ham still on his fork. “Christmas will soon be here.” His gaze swung to meet his wife’s. “Have we bought presents for the children?”

  Margaret watched her mother’s expression fall, revealing worry etched in her features. Then she forced a smile and nodded. “Yes, we have.”

  Though Margaret longed to correct her father and explain that the month was April, she knew doing so would be a losing battle. Either he would become angry and insist they were wrong, or even worse, he’d become despondent if he realized how confused he was. Often it was better not to make a fuss over his statements as he often soon forgot them.

  “It’s going to be a special Christmas.” Her father held his wife’s gaze tenderly, making Margaret wonder at his thoughts. Did he remember a previous holiday? Or had his mind returned him to a time when he’d anticipated an upcoming Christmas?

  “Very special.” Her mother blinked as if fighting back tears, then a coughing fit hunched her shoulders.

  “Mother?” Margaret whispered, alarmed at how weak she suddenly looked.

  Again, her mother shook her head as she sat back in the chair and wiped her nose, sending a pointed look at her father.

  Margaret bit her lip to keep from protesting. Instead, she motioned toward her father’s now empty plate. “Are you done, Father?” The sooner he left the table the sooner her mother could return to bed.

  “I believe I’d like another slice.” Sir Reginald glanced over his shoulder to Barclay.

  “My apologies, sir, but that is the last of the ham. Why don’t I advise Cook to provide extra biscuits for afternoon tea?” The butler came forward to clear his plate. “Shall I meet you in the library, sir? We didn’t finish reading the news sheet yet.”

  Margaret watched with approval as Barclay handed the dishes to the footman then smoothly moved her father toward the door all while reminding him of the articles they’d read prior to the meal.

  When Barclay glanced back at Margaret, she mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

  He nodded, his concerned gaze shifting to Lady Gold before he returned his attention to Sir Reginald. Then the pair was out of sight.

  Margaret tossed her napkin on the table and stood. “Mother, let us return you to bed.”

  “Yes, perhaps we should.” She coughed again before slowly rising.

  As Margaret assisted her out of the dining room and up the stairs, she grew even more concerned at how weak her mother seemed. She rang for the maid then assisted her mother to change into a nightgown with Mary’s help.

  “Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Margaret asked after they’d settled her under the covers.

  “Nothing more than a cold in the head, I’m sure.”

  Margaret had already noted how warm she felt. “A bit of a fever as well, I would guess.”

  “Difficult to say when I feel so chilled.” Her mother sniffed as she pulled the bedclothes tighter around her. “My throat is rather sore, and my head aches terribly.”

  “Mary, will you prepare a bed warmer and ask Cook to make a draught?”

  “Of course, miss.” Mary added coal to the fire then hurried from the bedchamber.

  “I’m sorry you’re feeling so poorly.” Margaret brushed her hand along her mother’s forehead, wishing she could do more to ease the illness. “Perhaps I should send for the doctor.”

  “Nonsense.” Lady Gold pressed a hand to her chest as her eyes drifted closed. “I’m sure to feel better come morning.”

  Yet Margaret could hear the congestion in her voice. She settled into a nearby chair, pleased when Mary returned with the bed warmer and news that Cook would send up a draught once it was finished.

  Despite the addition of the bed warmer, her mother continued to shiver until at last, she fell into a fitful sleep.

  “Shall I sit with her, miss?” Mary asked in a whisper.

  “Yes, thank you. I will relieve Barclay. Please let me know if anything changes.”

  With one last glance at her mother, she went downstairs, alarmed at the sound of her father’s angry voice coming from the library. The afternoon was going to be a long one and attending the Osterly Ball was out of the question.

  She swallowed against the lump of disappointment lodged in her throat. This was for the best, she told herself. Spending more time with Edward would only cause additional heartache. She already had enough of that at home.

  Chapter Twelve

  Edward pulled his pocket watch from his waistcoat once again and popped open the lid to check the time. The hour was nearing midnight and still, Margaret hadn’t arrived at the Osterly Ball. He scowled in disappointment. It did little good to tell himself that her absence didn’t matter.

  He missed her, and there was no denying it.

  “Are you late for an appointment?” Charlotte asked with a teasing note in her voice.

  “I believe that is the fourth time I’ve seen him check the time,” Redmond added.

  The three of them stood together not far from the edge of the dance floor where they’d been visiting. His mother was nearby as well and conversed with friends. Though the terrace doors stood open to invite in the evening air, the room was warm. The numerous guests seemed to be enjoying themselves but Edward was not.

  He clicked shut the lid and tu
cked away the watch, managing a smile. “Not at all. Time is passing so slowly this evening that I thought something was amiss with my watch.”

  “Perhaps you should dance more,” Charlotte suggested as she shared a look with Redmond. “I find that helps the time to fly by as if on wings.”

  “I would have to agree.” Redmond held her gaze with a tenderness in his expression that once again reassured Edward the two of them belonged together. Never mind the pang of envy that speared through him.

  He looked away, unable to watch a moment longer. He didn’t pretend to understand what was wrong with him this evening. He’d had a clear intention when he’d arrived but had yet to act on it.

  His plan had been to select three potential ladies, dance with each, then discuss them with Margaret, hopefully, while dancing with her. And if he had the opportunity, he’d thought to see if he could discover anything more about Lady Maria’s circumstances to determine whether the rumor was true.

  But he’d done none of that. Instead, he’d watched the doorway for Margaret’s arrival from his position along the edge of the ballroom. She’d intended to come and the fact that she hadn’t worried him.

  “I don’t feel inclined to dance this evening,” Edward said. He only wanted to know why Margaret wasn’t there.

  “Then why did you come to the ball?” Charlotte asked.

  “To escort you and Mother.”

  His sister scoffed. “I know that’s not true when you never bothered to do so in the past. In fact, I think you had already made plans to attend before you realized we were coming as well.”

  He shifted, not appreciating being caught in a lie. “I fear my normal routine has changed now that I have no one with whom to go gambling.” He sent a pointed look at Redmond, hoping to cast Charlotte’s attention back to his friend.

  “Ah.” Redmond nodded, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “True enough. The fault is mine.” Mixed with the humor was a look of curiosity as if he suspected something else was afoot. “Don’t expect that to change. I am a reformed rogue, you know.”

  “I do, and while I appreciate the reason for it, I still miss your companionship.” Edward shrugged. “What else can I do but come to gatherings such as this with the hope of finding entertainment?”

  Redmond frowned, suggesting Edward might have put it on a bit thick. “What else, indeed?”

  “I, for one, am pleased you’re here, no matter the reason.” Charlotte smiled at him then glanced about. “I had hoped Margaret would attend as well.”

  Edward waited with bated breath to see if she’d expand on the statement. When she said nothing more, he couldn’t help but prod her. “Did she tell you she was coming?”

  “She did. I do hope nothing happened with her father. That would be the most likely reason for a change of plans.”

  “I suppose she’ll advise you on the morrow as to the reason,” Edward said, hoping it was true.

  “Perhaps. Although probably not until after the problem is resolved, whatever it is. We’re not scheduled to see each other again until next week at the Haverston Garden Party.”

  A week? That was far too long to wait. “Why don’t you send her a message, so she knows you’re thinking of her?”

  Charlotte stared at him with a perplexed look as if he’d suggested she dance on the moon. “I suppose I could, just to make certain all is well.”

  He nodded, careful to shift his gaze to the crowd, avoiding looking at both his sister and Redmond as he could feel the weight of their regard. “Excellent idea. Let me know if you hear any news.”

  “Of course.”

  “Now then, I suppose I should find someone with whom to dance.” He moved into the crowd only to find himself heading toward the door. His body had seemingly decided the time had come to leave, and his mind wholeheartedly agreed.

  Though he berated himself for wasting the evening and not following through on his intentions, he couldn’t bring himself to care over much. Not when his thoughts were focused solely on Margaret. What could have happened to keep her away from the ball this evening?

  ~*~

  Margaret startled awake in the chair by her mother’s bedside when the clock in the hall chimed three times early the next morning. She couldn’t believe she’d fallen asleep given the concerning rasp of her mother’s breath that echoed in the bedchamber. Each inhalation and exhalation seemed to require great effort on her mother’s part despite the fact that she slept, if fitfully.

  Shifting onto the edge of the chair, Margaret placed the back of her hand along her mother’s forehead, dismayed to find it still overly warm. How she wished she would’ve sent for the doctor last evening. But her mother had insisted she merely had a cold in the head. Obviously, that was no longer true, if it ever had been.

  As quietly as possible, she rose to dip a cloth in the basin then wrung it out before placing it on her mother’s forehead. Margaret knew having such a high fever wasn’t good.

  Her mother’s eyes fluttered open. “That’s too cold, dear,” she whispered then reached up to remove the cloth and handed it back to Margaret. “I feel as if I’ll never be warm again.” With shaking hands, she pulled up the bedclothes and huddled beneath them.

  “I’m going to send for the doctor,” Margaret murmured just as her mother’s eyes drifted shut again.

  “Nonsense. It’s the middle of the night, isn’t it?” She coughed several times, the effort causing her to gasp for air.

  “Mother, you are having difficulty breathing.” Fear held her in its grip, making her uncertain of what to do. Her mother was never sick.

  “Nothing...that can’t wait until morning. Allow me...to rest,” she managed between shallow breaths as if to avoid coughing.

  “How about a few sips of the draught that Cook made for you?”

  Her mother only shook her head, closing her eyes. Her behavior reminded Margaret of Caroline’s daughter, who had a decidedly stubborn streak. This was a side Margaret had never seen in Lady Gold.

  “I wish to sleep.” Then she opened one eye to stare briefly at Margaret. “Why aren’t you abed?”

  Because I need to know you’re going to be all right, Margaret wanted to say, but she held back. “I am remaining here in case you have need of me.”

  “Hmm.” That her mother didn’t argue wasn’t a good sign.

  Soon her labored breathing filled the room once again. The terrible rattle made Margaret feel all the more helpless. Yet at least she had spoken. If she were incoherent, that would be far worse. With a weary sigh, Margaret returned the rag to the basin, wishing there were more she could do.

  As her mother settled into a restless sleep, Margaret wondered what she’d missed at the Osterly Ball. It was selfish of her to even think of it. But she’d had high hopes for the evening—all because of Edward. More than likely, they would’ve danced, and he’d recently become her favorite partner.

  Had he noticed her absence? Had he discovered details about Lady Maria or found someone new to pursue? How silly of her to wonder about such things when she had more important concerns. Perhaps her mother’s illness was a nudge from fate to remind her where her priorities should be.

  She pressed a hand against the ache in her heart. Better that she realized it now. This way, she could keep her feelings from becoming even more entangled with Edward. Nothing could come of it. Besides, it wasn’t as if he would consider offering for her. While her dowry was generous, it wouldn’t come close to solving his financial woes from what Charlotte had told her.

  With another sigh, she rose to add more coal to the fire only to hear voices in the corridor. After a glance at her mother, she hurried to the door to find her father and Barclay arguing.

  “What is it?” she whispered as she shut the door behind her.

  “I was attempting to convince Sir Reginald to return to bed.” Barclay’s normally calm expression revealed frustration even in the dim glow of the hall light. His patience rarely faltered.

  “It is time to b
reak our fast,” her father insisted. “I refuse to waste the day abed.”

  “Father, it’s the middle of the night. Still dark outside.” His confusion often extended to time as well, so this wasn’t unusual. But why did he have to have a bad spell when Margaret was already worried about her mother? “Let us return you to bed.”

  “What are you doing in your mother’s chamber?” her father demanded as he looked at the closed door then back at Margaret.

  She tensed at the cold, accusatory way he glared at her. Did he remember who she was? “I was assisting Mother as she isn’t feeling well.” Margaret had told him at dinner that Lady Gold was under the weather. Though she’d known then he most likely wouldn’t remember, moments like this were still frustrating. Past events held in his mind more firmly than current ones.

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “She has a cold in her head.” Though Margaret worried it was much more than that given her difficulty breathing and terrible cough. She took her father’s arm and gently turned him toward his bedchamber.

  “Then take it out.” Her father pulled his arm away and refused to budge.

  At times, his logic matched that of his grandchildren. On a normal day, she might’ve found his remark amusing. But not when she was tired and worried and overwhelmed. “She needs to rest, Father, and so do you.”

  With a nod at Barclay to advise him she’d see to her father, she gently hooked her arm around her father’s and spoke in a quiet, soothing voice. “Perhaps on the morrow, we can take a walk. The flowers are so beautiful this time of year. Which ones are your favorite?” A distraction often prevented further argument.

  “Peonies.” Sir Reginald took one step and then another, at last allowing her to lead him to his chamber. “Pink ones, because that is your mother’s favorite color.”

  “Then we shall see if we can find some in the garden for her.” Margaret’s heart pinched as what he’d said was true. Her mother adored pink peonies. At least he remembered that much.

  She helped him settle into bed and continued to speak, moving slowly with the hope that both her calm voice and movements would lull him back to sleep.