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“I have made my bed, and to unmake it now . . . you have no idea what repercussions I would bring down upon myself and others. Besides . . . Captain Longhurst has washed his hands of me.”
He waited but she said no more, staring at the patterned carpet in front of her as if it held the answers.
“As you wish,” he said, and rose to leave. And yet he hesitated, reluctant to give up on her. “You should speak to him, Lady Richmond. Captain Longhurst is not the sort of man who will refuse to listen if he thinks your argument is heartfelt. He is a soldier and a brave one.”
Her gaze fixed on his. “An honourable one,” she added.
“Trust him,” he told her, “and trust yourself. What is the worst that can happen?”
“I can be broken-hearted and miserable,” she answered.
“But aren’t you that already?”
Margaret waited patiently while William the Pug inspected a corner of the central garden. He missed his friend, but Rory and Olivia had taken Archie Maclean’s dog back with them to Invermar. Olivia had suggested William come too, but in the end they decided the pug was far too civilised a dog for the wilds of Scotland, and would be much happier here in Mockingbird Square.
Margaret was a little lonely in the town house without her cousin and her husband, although she had her acquaintances in the square. Lavinia Richmond had become more of a friend than she had ever imagined when they first met. That cool, polite façade was just a mask, and as she grew to know her better, Margaret begun to understand that Lady Richmond was very unhappy.
A niggle of worry wormed its way into Margaret’s mind, but it was hardly her business to interfere in the other woman’s romantic entanglements, no matter what Monkstead might think to the contrary.
The earl had made it clear he believed Lavinia needed their help and he thought they would be remiss if they didn’t at least try to bring her and Captain Longhurst together.
Margaret thought he was arrogant and a know all.
And yet seeing Lavinia looking so pale and miserable made her wish there was some practical way of helping. Perhaps Monkstead was right, and Lavinia needed a nudge in the right direction?
She admitted to herself she would miss Mockingbird Square. Over the past months this place had become her home, and when she was far away she knew she would think often of its inhabitants. One in particular, no matter how stupid of her it was to imagine he would ever think of her. Monkstead was as far out of her orbit as the sun.
“Miss Willoughby.”
Monkstead. It was as if she had magicked him out of thin air. Would he know she had just this moment been thinking about him? Margaret schooled her features to polite indifference before she turned.
The earl was smiling at her, his dark eyes warm and amused. She seemed to amuse him endlessly, although she didn’t know why. There were a great many things she didn’t know about the arrogant earl, but she told herself she had no wish to understand him better.
“My lord,” she said.
William trotted over to the earl’s boots and inspected them. She wondered whether he might do more, and almost hoped that he would. Perhaps the earl’s consequence was too much for the pug because he sat down and stared up into Monkstead’s face, his tongue lolling.
The earl ignored him, his dark gaze focussed on Margaret.
“I hope you will come to supper tomorrow night, Miss Willoughby. My sister will be there, and I have promised her she will meet the residents of Mockingbird Square.”
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“Hasn’t she met them before?” Margaret asked, puzzled.
Something shifted in the earl’s dark eyes, something she hadn’t seen before. As if he didn’t want to answer her question. Interesting.
“She has been away,” he said, and shifted his ebony cane from one hand to the other.
Margaret was intrigued. “Away where?” she asked, momentarily forgetting her manners.
Monkstead raised an eyebrow.
“My apologies. You don’t have to answer,” she said quickly, disconcerted to see the earl less than his usual urbane self.
“It’s no secret,” he said, staring down at her. “You will hear the gossip soon enough, Miss Willoughby. My sister eloped with a most unsuitable man, and now . . . it is over. He died on the continent and she has come home.”
A scandal! Margaret didn’t know why she was so surprised, but she was. And Monkstead suddenly looked vulnerable, and she had never considered the earl less than full of annoying self-confidence.
