The words spilled forth uncontrollably in my effort to distance myself from the doubt within me. “Do you want something to eat? Here, you can have my chair.”
I turned the chair, offering it to Daniel while at the same time placing it as a wall between Lord Williams and myself. I didn’t dare look at him.
“Yes, food would be nice. I searched all the way to the Rosthorns’.” He trudged to the table, a line of wet footprints evidence of his recent expedition.
I frowned, finally coming to my senses. “Daniel, you are dripping water and mud everywhere.”
He shrugged and plopped into the chair. “I hardly think it matters tonight.” He pulled dishes toward him and started piling food on a plate. “Why didn’t she just come home?”
I glanced at Lord Williams. The smile was gone, a frown planted firmly in its place.
He blamed himself. But Alice’s being out there was just as much my fault. More, really, because I was her sister. I should have known what she was about.
“I don’t believe she thought it would rain quite so much, nor that it would be quite so cold,” I said.
“She and I discussed it at breakfast, didn’t we?” Daniel asked.
I didn’t know; I hadn’t eaten breakfast. This had all transpired because of the way I had acted before breakfast. “Earlier she’d hoped we could dance in it.”
“Well, at least she’s safe, thanks to you, my lord.”
Yes. Thanks to him.
I had to get away from him. Away from the way he made me wonder about breaking promises, about changing my mind. “Excuse me, please.”
I left the room, walked out the front door, and leaned against the stone wall of the house. The cold rain fell a few feet from me, the wind blowing occasional drops onto my face and arms. The chill of the stones seeped past my dress and crawled along my skin. I pressed against the stone with more force, needing to feel its cold bite.
This was what I’d needed, this cold to clear my mind and allow me to focus on the reality of my situation. Which was actually quite simple.
Lord Williams would leave and everything would return to normal, just as though we’d never met.
Twenty-Two
A knock on my door awoke me. The room was dark except for the low fire. It must still be night.
The door pushed open. “Margaret?”
I rolled over. “Mother, yes, I am here. I’m awake.” I rose to add more wood to the flames.
My mother closed the door with a soft click. “Your sister is unwell.”
Poor Alice. “I shall take my turn at her side so you may rest.” I grabbed my dressing gown off the back of the chair.
“Dr. Johnson is here.”
“What?” I froze, one arm halfway through a sleeve. “Is it so serious?” A glance at the clock told me I had been asleep for several hours.
“It is a precaution. He says it is nothing more than a fever and a cough.”
I hurried into my robe. “I should not have fallen asleep.”
“Margaret, your father cannot stay. Not when there is fever in the house.”
I paused in tying my gown. “You wish for me to speak with him?”
“Yes.”
“Is he downstairs?”
“I believe so. And, Margaret, he should leave as soon as possible.”
“But where will he go? We have no family for him to visit and he would never consent to staying in the village.”
“Anywhere would be better than here. Convince him to go with Lord Williams—he is leaving this morning.”
It was done, then. The engagement was off. And my father must have told my mother.
That she would still suggest such a destination was astonishing. “Mother, he cannot go to Lord Williams’s.”
She reopened the door. “I must return to your sister. I leave it to you to persuade your father of the necessity of his leaving and to come to some agreement of where he is to go.” She swept out of my room.
Securing my dressing gown, I went in search of my father, discovering him sitting behind his desk in the firelit study. I knocked softly on the open door. “Father?”
He stood. “Margaret.”
I stepped into the room. “I assume you know the doctor has come. Alice is ill.”
He nodded, stepping around his desk to walk to me. “Yes. I sent John for him myself.”
“Father, Dr. Johnson—and Mother—do not believe your continued residence here wise.”
He took my arm as though to usher me out of the room. “I had heard, but I will not leave my home while my daughter is ill.”