He took one step, and lunged for the bedpost as his legs threatened to buckle.
“What are you doing?” Margaret called out.
“Beginning a journey.” He had crossed the ocean and a good deal of England, but this small distance might defeat him.
“You get back into bed,” she ordered as she threw off the blanket.
“I’ve been there long enough,” he growled.
She came to him, held his hands, and eased him onto the soft mattress. “Now stay put.” She put her hand on his forehead.
“I don’t have a fever,” he informed her. “I am quite recovered, and I need some hearty food to build up my strength.”
“You’ll get broth.” Her silvery eyes sparked bits of lightning.
“I’ll go out, snare a rabbit, and roast it in that fancy, marble fireplace.”
She sat on the edge of the bed and started laughing, or weeping. He wasn’t quite sure.
“Margaret?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”
She kept on laughing and crying. Tears ran down her face and she wiped them away with her sleeve.
He didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t seem to stop. “You’re tired. Aren’t you? I woke you up. You should lie down.” He patted the space beside him.
She stopped suddenly, hiccupped, and blinked, while a lovely blush bloomed on her cheeks. “This is your bed. I have my own.”
He lifted her left hand in his and traced the thin gold band on her finger. “We did get married. It wasn’t a dream.”
She lowered her head and stared at the floor. “We were married by the vicar at St. Gregory’s church.”
He smiled, reached out, and tilted her chin upward to gaze into her hypnotic silvery eyes. “You don’t need another bed. You may share mine.”
She reddened further. “I am sorry you were forced into marrying me, but Mr. Tinton and Mr. Willis were quite convinced it would be an expedient way to save you from the mob and offer you considerable protection. In addition, I did not have to marry a stranger.”
“While I wasn’t capable of rational thought at the time, I do not regret being married to you.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “I know it won’t be much of a marriage, for I wish to go home and you intend to remain in this country.”
“Did John Hunter visit me?”
“Yes, but it took a many days to get a message to him and a longer time for him to arrive.”
“Who set my broken finger?”
“A carpenter in this castle is quite an expert on bones,” she answered. “You do appear much better. If you promise to stay put in the bed, I’ll fetch some broth for you.”
“No broth,” he insisted.
“All right, bread and broth.”
“I want meat,” he stated.
“Pudding,” she countered.
“Oh, all right.” Weariness overtook him. He put his head back on the pillow.
“I won’t be long.” She kissed him on the forehead and left the room.
He closed his eyes. She had married him in order to take her inheritance home.
But did she love him?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Margaret knelt in Dalfour Castle’s small chapel. With a contrite heart, she thanked the Lord for Derrick’s recovery. She also begged forgiveness for herself. She had thought of Derrick as proud and arrogant, but she never acknowledged possessing those same character traits until he lay near death’s door. The scripture verse about seeing the splinter in her brother’s eye but not the plank in her own came to mind.
Sitting by his bedside all those many nights gave her plenty of time to think of her own failings. Despite her simple upbringing in Leedsville, she harbored a great deal of pride in being the granddaughter of an earl. She was a patriot, but that touch of royalty puffed her up, making her believe she was better than most.
Her mind burned with the memory of her haughty and cool demeanor toward Derrick. He had gone out of his way to help her and come close to losing his life because of it. When she learned he had gone to Broadcraft Hall to retrieve her book, she wept for days. The mob would not have attacked him if he had forgotten all about the little volume of poetry.
Because he was considerate and honorable, they beat him to a pulp for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Once she had loved Frances. When he died, her heart was empty, but Derrick filled up the hollow void. However, she didn’t realize it until she nearly lost him.
In her arrogance, she believed she knew more about caring for people’s illnesses than Derrick, but only a day after she entered Dalfour Castle, she received word that Finney, their courageous coachman, died. Though she had slathered him with salve and left him a great quantity of it, he succumbed to the infection anyway. Her salve had not worked.
She applied it liberally to Derrick, too. However, she could not credit the salve for his healing. That was the Lord’s work. Not hers.
She pressed both hands over her eyes. Numb and exhausted, she wondered how she would ever be able to deal with being a wife in name only, for she fully intended to return to Leedsville as soon as Derrick was strong enough to go back to London and study with John Hunter.
She had her inheritance, she need not marry an English stranger, but she might never see Derrick again. He would forget about her.
Through her despair, the lively sound of birds twittering outside the chapel’s ornate stained glass windows caught her attention. She recalled how much she had missed the sound of birds on the Prosperity. The sweet tones cheered her heart, and she decided she must get Derrick outside to listen to the birds, too.
She walked out of the chapel to search for the gardener who had a special chair with wheels he called a Bath chair. Several men carried Derrick down the stairs and helped him into the chair. One of the servants pushed Derrick in the chair while Margaret strolled beside him around the castle grounds.
When she grew tired, she asked the servant to stop at a bench in the garden under a quiet, rose-covered canopy, which was Margaret’s favorite spot at Dalfour Castle. Yes, the rooms and furnishing were all very splendid, but the garden was the most magical place she had ever seen. Everything was in bloom. Sweet fragrances wafted past her in the gentle breezes. After days on end of the sickroom, the sight and smell of the brightly colored flowers had hope overflowing in her heart. Birds flitted this way and that, trilling short, but merry tunes. The low hum of insects completed nature’s symphony.
She gave the servant his leave after he made sure the Bath chair would not roll. She sat on the marble bench and took the mending out of the basket on her arm.
“Where’s Mrs. Ulery?” Derrick asked with the full intensity of his dark eyes fixed on her.
From their first meeting, his soulful gaze always disoriented her. Flustered by his piercing scrutiny, she picked up a needle and focused on threading it.
“She’s spending time with her niece, grandnieces, and grandnephew,” Margaret answered.
His brow furrowed. “I thought she had a brother.”
“Yes, we discovered he had died some months ago,” she explained. “That was the same evening you were attacked. She was quite grief-stricken until she learned she had a niece who had married a young man who worked here as a shepherd. Their cottage is down by the river. Mrs. Ulery’s been staying with them, for she loves the little ones. She tells me everything they do.”
“What happened to Theo?”
“He went back to his family at Great Leighs, of course. He sent a message to tell me Finney passed away.” Her throat grew tight. She would always remember the coachman’s bravery.
“I am sorry to hear of his death, though I will admit I did not think he had much of a chance to survive.” His voice was a mere murmur. “John Hunter said it was best to leave the bullet in place if it was not doing any harm. I wish I had known that…”
The sounds of the garden filled the silence for a while and Margaret’s busy fingers calmed her sad memories.
; “Aren’t you going to read to me?” Derrick asked after a short interval.
“I promised to complete this mending for Her Grace. We’ve really overstayed our welcome, and I need to repay her in some small way.” She knotted the thread. “Besides, she is my brother-in-law’s mother. She peppers me with questions about Edwin and Agnes, Edwin’s congregation, and their life in little Leedsville.”
“Doesn’t she ask about you?” His tone turned critical.
“I believe in her eyes, I’m only a messenger, which is quite all right. Letters are limited in the information they can convey,” Margaret concluded. “Nevertheless, I am extremely grateful to her, along with the Duke and his wife for their protection and aid.”
“We’ll leave tomorrow,” he stated. “We need not impose on their hospitality any longer.”
“You cannot walk more than five feet.” She stopped sewing and stared at him in utter disbelief.
“I marched twenty miles in a day.” He glowered at her with a fierce expression, but considering his condition, she found it laughable.
“Yes, I am sure you did.” When you were healthy, she wanted to add.
“I’ll consume a large quantity of meat for dinner tonight, regain my strength, and tomorrow we will begin our journey to London, stopping our first night at Broadcraft Hall.”
A cold chill slid down her spine at the mention of the ancestral home. “I refuse to return to that place.”
“It’s empty, but it has a solid roof and would make an excellent place to stay for a night.”
“The solicitor was murdered there, and perhaps Lord Whittington, too.” She plunged the needle back into the cloth and pricked her finger. “Oh bother.”
“Are you hurt?” he asked with genuine concern.
“No, but now I’ve stained the fabric and will need to wash it as well.” She sucked on her finger, and wrapped it in a scrap of cloth to staunch the bleeding. “I meant to tell you there’s going to be a grand ball here in two weeks. The duchess offered us an invitation if you are feeling up to it by then.” The offer had surprised her at first, but the dowager had taken a liking to her.
“Who else is invited?” Uncertainty clouded his visage.
“All sorts of aristocrats,” she chuckled. It seemed almost like a fairytale. “Perhaps you are used to fancy gathering since you come from Philadelphia, but as for me, a simple harvest festival is the best party there can be. I know nothing about protocol and, though the duchess has tried to teach me, I simply cannot comprehend it.”
“You’ve been exhausted taking care of me.” His melancholy touched her.
“I am happy you are well.” She snipped the thread with her scissors as she finished sewing the small tear in the dowager duchess’s lace-edged petticoat. She sighed and closed her eyes. In her mind’s eye, she saw Derrick climbing the rigging. Yes, he would be strong again, but he would be in England and she would be an ocean away from him.
Her lip quivered slightly before she bit it to hide her emotions. She threaded her needle once more, but her hands trembled and she had to try three times before she succeeded. She picked up one of the dowager duchess’s stockings. “Mr. Tinton and Mr. Willis visited at one point during your illness and assured me they are doing all they can. I will be able to return home soon with the funds my grandfather intended to leave for me and my sister.”
“Do you know when you are leaving England?” His hand reached out to still her busy fingers.
She lay the mending in her lap. “No,” she whispered. “Mr. Tinton and Mr. Willis told me not to worry. They will find a good ship.” The thought of another long voyage depressed her. The idea of leaving Derrick forever sent a shaft of pain to her heart.
“Come sit in my lap,” he asked.
Her head snapped up. “That’s unseemly.”
A wide smile wreathed his face, and though his features were marred with the signs of his illness, warmth curled inside her
“We are married, and there’s nobody here except us.”
She glanced around to check if one of the gardeners might be nearby, but they weren’t. “You’ve been ill.”
“True, but I’m not dead, which is a considerable blessing.”
“How can you believe in a blessing when you don’t have faith in the Lord?”
“A thorough beating and a night in jail did much to convince me of the power of God.”
Her heart leaped. She closed her eyes for a moment and offered a silent prayer of thanks. From a terrible incident came a great gift of grace. The Lord was good.
“Come, Lady Sunshine and get to know the man you made your husband,” he insisted.
“Are you already ordering me about?” she teased.
“Ah, but you are the one in charge, my dear.”
She laughed, for he had looked down upon her at first. “I am a farmer’s daughter with little education, though I have a talent for baking.”
“I’d like to taste some of your baking.”
“This castle has a magnificent kitchen,” she smiled. “I shall ask if I might use their ovens.”
“May I watch?”
“Of course.” Joy whirled in her heart.
“Now, please, join me in this Bath chair and we can discuss our future.”
“I will bruise your bruises.”
“If I have my arms around you, nothing will hurt anymore.”
She eased herself onto his lap, and when his arms encircled her, a gentle peace filled her and her worries eased. She tossed her concern for the future to the back of her mind. For now, she had Derrick.
* * *
Afterwards, Margaret and Derrick spent every sunny afternoon out of doors. Each day, he walked further than the day before as they strolled along the pebbled paths in the garden. Margaret never imagined being as blissfully happy and content as she was. She seemed to have discovered her utopia with Derrick in Dalfour Castle’s carefully tended parkland.
Drowning in love, she and Derrick worked on a plan for the future. They proposed renting a London apartment for six months while Derrick studied with John Hunter. During that time, Mr. Tinton and Mr. Willis should be able to settle all the accounts. Afterward, they would return to their own country.
The only thorny issue between them was where they would settle. Derrick could not envision himself living in a small town, and Margaret was horrified at the thought of living in a city such as Philadelphia.
“Once you visit Leedsville, you’ll understand,” she begged. “It’s small, but that’s the nice part about it, because you’ll soon know everyone.” To her, the entire community became her extended family.
“Philadelphia has more shops than Leedsville,” he countered. “You could open a bakery there.”
“I’m sure they don’t need another baker. Leedsville needs me,” she argued. “I’ve seen London—and I’ve agreed to live there for six months. Philadelphia is a big city and no doubt similar to London—dirty and dangerous.”
“It is not. Philadelphia is far more beautiful.”
It went on and on, and neither would back down. Margaret loved him with all her heart, but she loved her family just as much. Though frustration often clouded her eyes with unshed tears, she continued to try to convince him to see things her way.
“We need a good doctor in Leedsville,” she cajoled.
“I want to work in a hospital,” he countered.
“With the money I will have, you can buy your own hospital.” She said it sweetly, but he did not take it well.
“It belongs to you and I won’t use it.” Pride sounded firm and final in his tone.
“Then I shall build a hospital and invite John Hunter to be the director.” She twirled the parasol the dowager had given her.
He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her soundly. The argument ended for a while, but she despaired, because she suspected it would never be resolved. He was used to city life and she was not.
One day, the solicitors brought her a letter from Agnes. At fi
rst, afraid to open it and read sad news, she closed her eyes and prayed. Then, with trembling fingers, she opened the message, scanned the words, and let out a sigh of relief. Her dear sister had delivered a baby boy, who was doing well. She had named him after her grandfather. Margaret wept as she thought of everyone at home, and though Derrick kissed the tears away, she did not think he understood how painful her separation from her family was.
After a week, they began to dine with the Duke, Duchess, and Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess, in the evening. The meals in the dining room were a stiff and formal affair. While the food was delectable, the stilted conversation made each occasion an ordeal.
The Duke was not above making fun of his youngest brother, Edwin.
“I say.” He sneered. “Edwin lives in a two room cabin and now he has another mouth to feed. As a barrister, he could have done well for himself.”
Margaret had to bite her tongue more than once. She constantly reminded herself of the Duke’s generosity in opening his castle to them.
As Derrick’s strength returned, he cajoled her into riding lessons. They galloped along the river and visited Mrs. Ulery at her niece’s cottage. While Derrick stood outside talking to the niece’s husband, Margaret asked Mrs. Ulery what her thoughts were on where they should live.
“My husband was the one who wanted to go to the colonies, not me,” Mrs. Ulery said. “I missed my family a great deal, but eventually we met wonderful people and made new friends. I adjusted. Our business did well, though our children all died young.” She sighed. “When my husband died, I was quite lost in sorrow and my heart broke. It was such a blessing my cousin in Leedsville suggested staying with her for a while. However, now I’m here and having a grand time with these children. Life is what you make of it, dear.”
That wasn’t the answer Margaret wanted. At an impasse, she asked Derrick to join her in prayer. He did. They decided not to discuss the matter for a while, but to continue their prayers and ask for guidance in the matter.
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