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“You will love her and treat her with respect.”
“Ha!” Darkmoor laughed. “My duty is to keep her fed and clothed.”
John could not tell if his sense of humor was coming through, but he did not care for it one bit. “I should think that a man must assume more duty than that.”
Darkmoor appeared confused. “How so?”
“A man must be the protector of a lady’s body, mind, and soul.”
The two gentlemen fell silent, as surely they thought that what John had expressed was novel, indeed.
“That sounds like a hefty job,” Darkmoor went on, lifting his drink. “I shall let her take care of those things for herself.”
John felt himself go pale with anger. These were two of the most deplorable men that he had ever encountered, and the urgency to free Margaret from all of this had become more dire.
“Would you have the energy or wherewithal to do any of these things that you speak of?” Bolton asked.
“Of course. I would not propose such a thing if I did not desire to do it myself. My future wife will be showered in love and praise. I would never marry a woman that I did not intend to do that for.”
“You sound like my daughter,” the viscount said dubiously, lifting his brow.
Now, John could not help but smile. “Then I am sure that she is a fine lady.”
Just then, John noted the sad expression upon Bolton’s face. “She is like her mother,” he finally replied.
Here was yet another reason for John’s heart to ache. He could see the fondness that Bolton had for his wife, but in losing her, was he punishing Margaret because she was similar.
How could people be so cruel? What horrible darkness lay within the hearts of men that caused them to do such wretched things? John, for the life of him, could not understand it. His disgust did not cause him to excuse himself, for John took comfort in sitting with these men that he hated, because it allowed him some small measure of control. What’s more, soon he would beat these men at their own game. John was sure of it.
After finishing his drink, John finally bid his farewell, and the two men remained, no doubt hoping to get as drunk as possible. This encounter left John with the most abhorrent taste in his mouth. The only recourse was to return to the inn to compose a letter for Margaret. He would make sure that Jane delivered it. This bit of action felt right, considering that he was upholding his promise to not go to Margaret that very day.
Once he was seated at his desk, John lit a taper to create illumination, and the light flickered across the page. He did not need to think for very long before composing the letter. The words flowed through his hand.
My love,
I have heard the whole truth, and I know that my sister intends to have you resign yourself to your fate. Trust that I do not accept this and cannot ask for you to do the same. We are free in this one life, whether we see that clearly or no. We shall be together, for there is no other path. Since I heard the news, my heart has been ripped from my chest, but this temporary rip shall be mended once we are safe in one another’s arms.
Trust me, Margaret. Please trust me. I know that I can set you free.
Yours,
John
The letter done, John used the wax seal that the inn provided so that Margaret might see if the letter had been tampered with. Now, all he could do was wait for Jane to return, and then, the letter would be dispatched.
***
It was upon the following morning that Margaret received John’s letter. She read it over and over again, bringing a hand to her cheek in amazement. He was still holding onto hope! What’s more, he said that he could set her free. Was this the blindness of love speaking, or could it actually happen?
Jane gazed at Margaret suspiciously, wishing to know the letter's contents, but Margaret said she could not divulge. She did not wish to be scolded by Jane yet again, and also, she wanted to bask in the glow that the letter instilled in her.
“The viscount came home rather late last night,” Jane remarked, selecting a dress that Margaret might wear that evening to encounter Lord Darkmoor.
“I am not surprised.”
“I am told that he met with Darkmoor… at a tavern.”
“How do you know?” Margaret asked.
