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Chapter 15
Margaret waited patiently in her room for Jane to return, but it seemed like her maid was gone for quite some time. Margaret nearly felt jealous, thinking that John and Jane were having fun without her! But she did like that perhaps they were getting closer to one another because of Margaret’s ordeal.
As she waited in her room, Margaret had a mind to tear all of her expensive dresses to shreds. It was all becoming abundantly clear that that finery was merely purchased so that Margaret could make an impression upon society and ultimately, land herself a husband such as Lord Darkmoor. Such a trap! Margaret would be just as happy wearing simple muslin gowns and sitting out in the sun all day long. Truly, Margaret thought that she was not given the life that would make her happiest.
Life with John would make her happiest. Even if he returned to Cornwall and worked on the docks, Margaret would be content being his wife—waiting for him to come home, making him supper, delighting in meeting him at the door. All of this would make her happy, not living in Darkmoor’s estate and spending the rest of her days worrying about frivolous things.
There had to be a way to make it possible…
She went to the window once more; the window that held her in like a prison. But she enjoyed gazing out at the countryside. Also, she was waiting to see if she might spot Jane approaching or even John. That would be bliss!
Sadly, no one was approaching, and Margaret went to sit at her desk once more. There was a faint knock at the door, and Margaret greatly hoped that it was Jane. But, to her utter surprise, it was the cook that stood there, still wearing her apron.
“May I come in, Miss?”
“Of course.”
The cook entered, her hands clasped in front of her. “I do need to apologize.”
“Whatever for?” Margaret asked.
“The other day, when that fellow came to deliver the meat, I was the one that told the viscount of what happened.”
Margaret nodded knowingly. “It is all right. I did know that it was you.”
The cook’s eyebrows shot up. “You did?”
“Indeed. There is nothing to fear. It does not displease me that my father knows of Jane’s brother. I wish that he knew him better.”
There was so much implication in this statement, but there was no need to explain more from the look on the cook’s face. The cook bowed her head. “I shall make a fine supper when Lord Darkmoor returns.”
Margaret felt her stomach flip at the mere mention of his name. “Do not trouble yourself,” she quipped.
The cook crinkled her nose. “Do you not care for him, Miss?”
“How could I care for a man that I am being forced to marry?”
Margaret was all at once struck that she was being so candid with the cook of Pelham Downs, but seeing as they had known each other for some time, it was not strange in the least.
“I do pity your situation, Miss. But think of what an opportunity this is.”
Margaret frowned to herself. First Jane thought it was an opportunity, now the cook! Of course, this was understandable, considering that the cook had to work with such meagre ingredients, and it was clear that more money would come into Pelham Downs after the marriage. At least, she assumed that the cook knew this.
“Oh, you have seen how this home has changed since my mother died,” Margaret went on. “And I know that you wish the best for me. But can I ask a candid question?”
“Of course, Miss.”
“Would you not find it more agreeable to have Pelham Downs come to an end? Find new employment where you truly get to utilize your skills instead of having to work with such paltry things?”
The cook sighed heavily. “Oh, I do miss the grand old days when your mother would order such lavish meals. She was intent upon going to the local market, and I would venture there with her. We always had the best cheese, eggs, and meat. And she was fond of such scrumptious desserts. I miss those days,” she added with a dreamy voice.
“You can enjoy all of those things again! But not in this house,” Margaret offered.
“Perhaps Lord Darkmoor needs a new cook?”
Margaret could not help but laugh. “Then it would be my father left alone here. Can you imagine what meals he would make for himself?”
“I cannot even fathom it!”
