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Chapter 7
Margaret couldn’t believe her good fortune. How was it that John just so happened to be in the right place at the right time? She delighted in his company, and what’s more, she felt safe. She still had no clue as to where her father had gone, but none of that mattered. She would relish each moment of the present.
“Let us sit here,” Margaret suggested, motioning towards a bench.
“Perfect.”
The spot was in the shade, allowing Margaret’s fears to quell that the meat might go bad. “I shall pay you back,” Margaret said as she sat.
“Nonsense. I will have none of it.”
“But it was too generous.”
John warmly smiled. “Consider it a gift.”
Margaret placed the sack down upon the bench and gazed out at the lovely park. The garden was teeming with color and life, and here and there, people strolled about.
“Was there a beautiful park in Cornwall?”
John shook his head. “Nothing like this. Cornwall was beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but there was nothing that matched the loveliness of Farthington.”
“I remember a time when I would come into town every day with my mother,” Margaret mused. “Those were the best of days.”
“I can only imagine how much you miss her.”
Margaret sighed. “She was such a lovely woman. Everything changed after she departed. Father got worse and worse and more controlling. I am so grateful that I had Jane throughout that time, for without her, I do not know what I would have done.”
John leaned back on the bench comfortably. “I feel the same about my mother.”
“I am so sorry that both of your parents have passed,” Margaret went on, remembering the heartbreak that Jane suffered when the whole ordeal took place.
“It is a strange thing. You feel as though you are untethered in the world. Of course, Jane and I had already found our own lives by then, but it does not make the impact any less.”
“Yes,” Margaret replied knowingly.
“Did your mother share a fondness for parks and gardens?” John asked.
“Oh, yes! We both did. Mother arranged a fine garden in the back of Pelham Downs. I try to keep it up, but I do not have her expert talent for it. When we still had a gardener, the garden bloomed. It always made me think of her. Sadly, the gardener had to be let go.”
John shook his head. “I do not know how you do it, Margaret. How you remain so strong in the face of all of this.”
She peered into his eyes. “What choice do I have?”
They sat quietly and contentedly for a few moments, listening to the birds in the trees and the rustling of branches in the wind. Margaret thought that perhaps she had not been this content in some time. Perhaps years.
“I should walk you home,” John finally said. “I do not wish to raise suspicion.”
“So soon? I could tarry here all day.”
“I think that it is for the best.”
With that, Margaret and John made their way out of the park and began the walk to Pelham Downs. The sun still shone beautifully, but Margaret had to wonder what happened to her father. With any luck, he would not be home when she arrived so that she might delight in the memory of spending the day with John.
They walked slowly, no doubt trying to make the day last as long as possible. Margaret noted how causally John walked. He didn’t put on airs like society men, who walked with their hands clasped behind their backs, and their chins held high. John walked with power but also grace. Oh, but she admired his athletic form so much! When she thought of it, Margaret would feel a warming sensation within. What must it feel like to be in private with him, indoors, and feel his strong arms around her?
But Margaret could not think of all of this for fear that she might blush another time.
“I think that you should remain in Farthington,” Margaret offered. “No matter what my future circumstances might be.”
