it. Give him a chance.”
Why did he sound as if he were trying to convince himself rather than her?
***
“Margaret! My dear, whatever’s the matter?”
Anne Pelham ushered Meggie inside the townhouse. “Tippett, go to the kitchen and ask Mrs. Johns for some hot cocoa. Right away!”
The footman, who’d been staring at Meggie’s disheveled form, bowed and disappeared.
Anne led Meggie upstairs and into a small parlor. An embroidery frame and half-empty glass of milk sat on the table beside the fireplace, and a small dog snored in the basket on the floor.
“Oh, Anne, forgive me!” Meggie cried. “I’ve disturbed your evening.”
“It doesn’t mean I find the disturbance unwelcome,” Anne said. “Though I confess, I’m surprised at seeing you again so soon after we parted company earlier today.”
Mr. Pelham appeared in the doorway. “I thought I heard voices,” he said. He looked at Meggie, and his eyes widened. “Is everything all right?”
Meggie jumped to her feet. “I-I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I should go.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Anne said. “Harold, leave us.”
“But…”
“Shoo!” she cried, waving her hands at him.
He rolled his eyes, then disappeared. Anne smiled indulgently. “He may be the master of the house, but, unlike most husbands, he has the good sense to know when he’s not wanted.”
Meggie bit her lip, and tears stung her eyes.
“Meggie!” Anne cried, taking her hands. “Whatever’s the matter? You were so happy earlier today.”
Her face paled. “Has something happened to Mr. Hart?”
“N-no, Dexter’s well.”
“Does he know you’re here?”
“No!”
Anne’s eyes widened.
“Forgive me,” Meggie said. “I-I’d rather he didn’t know.”
“Whatever for? Has he done something?”
“It’s what I did,” Meggie said. “He’s so angry. He…” Meggie caught her breath, and Anne drew her into her arms. “Don’t say any more,” she whispered. “There’s plenty of time to talk once you’ve had your cocoa.”
Her friend’s gentle kindness was more than Meggie could bear. Anne stroked her hair, uttering soothing words as tears stung Meggie’s eyes.
After the footman arrived with the cocoa, Anne drew up a chair, settled Meggie into it, and placed a shawl round her shoulders. Then she settled into her chair and resumed her embroidery. The sound of the needle pushing in and out of the frame, together with the gentle crackling of the fire, soothed Meggie’s distress, together with the sweet aroma of the cocoa.
Meggie lifted the cup to her lips. Steam swirled above the sweet, brown liquid, and she detected a whiff of brandy. She took a sip, then relaxed back, cradling the cup in her hands.
Footsteps approached, and Anne rushed to the door. Meggie closed her eyes, taking in the crackle of the fire as she heard whispers.
“Harold! What did I tell you?”
“Is Mrs. Hart all right?”
The voices lowered to a murmur of whispers, then Meggie heard the door close, and a rush of silk as Anne resumed her seat.
“It seems Harold needs another lesson in knowing when his presence is not required,” she said.
Meggie sat up. “What did he want?”
“That doesn’t matter,” Anne said. “He’s promised to leave us in peace for the rest of the evening.” She looked up from her embroidery and focused her gaze on Meggie.
“You can speak freely here,” she said. She resumed her attention on her needle.
“Or not,” she continued, “as you prefer. But I’ll say that any reasonable man would understand that an innocent woman can be blamed for events that are out of her control.”
“And you think my husband a reasonable man?” Meggie asked.
“My dear,” Anne said. “Men—your husband in particular—have no conception of how they appear to others when they’re angry. But your husband is a man of honor. He may not be the most personable man of my acquaintance, but he’s a rational creature, driven by reason, not emotion.”
“What of his feud with my father?” Meggie asked. “That was driven by vengeance, not reason.”
“You think your husband wishes to seek vengeance on you?” Anne asked. “Did you set out to hurt him?”
“No.”
“Do you harbor hatred for him?”
Meggie shook her head. “I love him.”
“Then tell him,” Anne said. “He has no reason to doubt your honesty.”
Meggie looked away.
“The best thing you can do is talk to him,” Anne continued. “You’ll have to do the talking. He’s a man of action, not words. But there’s nothing you can have done that he won’t forgive.”
“I-I can’t,” Meggie said. “Not now.”
“You needn’t worry about your husband tonight,” Anne said, “but you cannot avoid him forever.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Where the bloody hell was she?
There was no sign of Meggie in the study. Doubtless, she’d seen fit to hide in her