Margaret said. “I am not some woman who has become pregnant out of wedlock and must be shipped across the Channel to have her child in secret. I took in a charity case and grew to love the child as my own, that is my only crime.”
“Your actions have consequences,” her father said wearily. “You are not a child anymore, and you ought to know that by now. I am at the end of myself, and I will not discuss this matter again. Make arrangements for the child yourself, or I will do it for you.”
Margaret opened her mouth to protest, but her father was not finished. He turned and looked down on her, his eyes angry and sad at the same time. “Perhaps it would not be such a bad thing if you went away as well,” he said. “I keep trying to find a way to keep you here and to restore your reputation such that you might appear in public without shame, but I fear that you have fallen too low.”
“Nothing a proper marriage couldn’t fix,” Margaret said drily. She only meant to point out to her father his meddling ways, to throw his own priorities back in his face, but she was met with only a serious glance from him. He shook his head.
“I don’t think even that would suffice now,” he said quietly. “I can’t think of any man who would have you. You are no longer the sort of woman any man would marry, even one of low class and standing. Certainly not one with a title whom society would wish you to join with. You have made yourself a black mark on this family and on the county as a whole.”
Margaret’s lips felt dry. She took a shallow breath. “So that’s it? You’re giving up on me as everyone else has?”
“Don’t turn this on me,” he said, walking to the door. He put a hand on the frame for a moment and stood with his back to her. “You’re the one who turned your back on this family and our legacy when you first indulged your bleeding heart and took in that child. Again and again, I gave you a chance to redeem yourself, but you did nothing.”
When he left the room, Margaret sank down into a chair by the fire and dropped her head into her hands. She was too tired for tears, too worried about her future and Poppy’s to indulge in self-pity. She sat like that for what felt like an age before she heard a soft step near at hand and Poppy’s fingers curled around her arm.
“Aunt Maggie?” the little girl asked.
“Yes, Poppy?” she raised her head.
Poppy was wearing a little brown dress and pinafore, her hair back in neat plaits, the soldier doll tucked under one arm as it always seemed to be these days. She bit her lip. “Is everything going to be all right? Are they going to send me away?”
Margaret wondered what the child had overheard, or if she had only guessed from the manner of the staff and from her forced isolation. She reached out and put an arm around Poppy’s waist, drawing her near.
“If you go anywhere,” she said gently, “then I will go there too. You will not be sent anywhere without me.”
“Will we be able to see the mountains?” Poppy asked hopefully. She had a picture book she looked at daily with fairy tales inside and large illuminated paintings on the right-hand pages. She had been speaking about the mountains in one of the paintings since she’d first seen them. Margaret nodded, trying to be hopeful.
“Perhaps. I’ve always wanted to see the mountains myself. Perhaps we could go together.”
Poppy smiled, contended enough, and crawled onto Margaret’s lap. Margaret held her close and went through the motions of singing songs and playing with the doll – all the little things they’d done since Poppy first came into her home – but in her heart she feared the future, and wondered how long this temporary quiet would last.
Chapter 22
There was still no word from Reginald, and so the duel was postponed a few more days. Nigel waited and watched. The town seemed to take on a new form before his eyes, whispering in corners and talking about the great Lady Margaret and how far she had fallen in public opinion.
At first he thought it best to keep his own counsel on the subject – fearful that too much conversation would draw undue focus