The family feast was held in one of the smaller dining rooms, the long table laid not with glittering silver and formal place cards, but with simple dishes Margaret herself had helped choose. She presided at the head like a miniature duchess, flushed with pride.
Afterward they moved to the drawing room, where Margaret, eager to show her accomplishments, sang at the pianoforte while Jane played, then recited a piece of verse Miss Ansley had helped her learn.
“England, with all thy faults, I love thee still
My country! And, while yet a nook is left
Where English minds and manners may be found,
Shall be constrained to love thee.”
Cowper’s lines rang bright and earnest in the child’s voice. When she finished, the family applauded; William’s clap was loudest of all. Margaret glowed, darting a look at Jane, who caught her close and pressed a kiss to her hair.
Charlotte leaned toward her brother, murmuring with a faint, puzzled smile, “She mothers the child. It is almost unnatural—to be so warm with one not her own.”
Jane heard. A blush rose in her cheeks. She lowered her eyes, her arms tightening around Margaret as if to shield her. Inwardly she thought of her own sisters, far away at school under her uncle’s provision, and the pang of missing them mingled with pity for little Margaret, who seemed starved of love in her own home.
William saw the color in her face, the gentle way she bent her head to the child, and felt an unfamiliar ache take hold of him.
Margaret meanwhile was tugging at his sleeve, looking up at him, unsure but hopeful. “Did I do well, William? Did I?”
He bent toward her, his smile indulgent. “You did magnificently. So well, in fact, that I shall reward you withsomething better than applause. Tomorrow we’ll begin riding lessons.”
Her mouth fell open with delight. “Truly? Oh, William! Then I shall become a general too, just like you! Even outrank you!”
He laughed, unable to help himself. “And what shall we do with Old Nosey Wellington then?”
“I shall put him in retirement!” she cried, bouncing with excitement.
William’s expression mellowed. He had not the heart to tell her it could never be. Instead, he bent and kissed her brow. “And what a fine general you’d make.”
Margaret’s pride lit the room like a flame, Jane’s soft hand steady on her shoulder. When she had at last been coaxed upstairs, still beaming from her triumphs, the house grew quieter. The candles burned lower, the air thick with wine and smoke. Charlotte lingered in the drawing room, glass in hand, her cheeks flushed not with laughter but with drink.
William watched her warily. “You are vexed.”
She gave a sharp little chuckle. “Vexed? At you, indulging that child as though she were some treasure? You forget whose daughter she is. That dreadful woman’s.”
His voice cut, low and hard. “Do not be cruel. She is our sister. Our blood.”
Charlotte’s eyes gleamed, feverish. “Is she? You know as well as I, the duchess is not renowned for her fidelity. She had her lover’s child only last year.”
He leaned forward, his gaze burning. “This is not the same, Charlotte, and you know it. Margaret is ours. How can your heart be so withered?”
Her mouth curled. “And you, lecturing me on affection? You, who pretended at it, and instead debauched every woman within reach—leaving reputations in ruins behind you?”
He exhaled sharply. “You can prick at me every time, but those days are behind me. The army gave me purpose.”
“By taking mine?” she shot back, slurring slightly from the wine. “You let Andrew die. You could have saved him. He was a brave fool, and I trusted you to bring him home alive. Instead, you let him sacrifice himself while you were rutting in a whore’s bed—I am sure of it.”
His jaw clenched. “Charlotte—there was nothing I could do.”
She laughed bitterly, almost a sob. “And yet here you are alive, building your fine career on his grave.”
Something hardened in his eyes. “You still love him. That is why you waste yourself so.”
Her cheeks burned, hot with fury, with shame. “I will not answer that, brother.” She tossed back the last of her drink and turned away, the glass trembling in her hand.
William stared at her, but she would say no more. He rose at last, silent, and left her to the dregs of the bottle. Later, when the house lay quiet, he sat in the library with a decanter of brandy, pouring until the glass blurred, until the silence closed in and the past loomed too heavily to bear.
