Chapter Twenty-One
Three days of no callers, not even Sir Vincent, and no reprieve from her boredom, and Margaret was beginning to go mad.
The only thing that had brightened her time was that Helen had come to stay with her for a time. They were not to share a room, but she was permitted to spend time out of her room to see her. She had arrived that morning under strict instructions that Margaret was practically disturbed, not herself, and for her own protection, she was confined to her room most of the time.
Well, if that was how one wanted to describe being prisoner in one’s own room and being locked in on a regular basis, so be it.
Helen had appeared full of concern, and the moment she had been let in Margaret’s room she’d embraced her and cried in such a dramatic display that Margaret had been almost convinced that it was Helen that was disturbed.
Then the door had closed and Helen’s tears had miraculously vanished.
“Lord, that took a lot of work,” she’d groaned, flinging off her bonnet and cloak. “I thought Ritson might actually toss me out when I showed up.”
Margaret had hugged her cousin again, no longer in danger of being collapsed on by a fountain of tears. “How did you manage it?”
Helen had pulled back and given her a look. “Didn’t you wonder why after such a party no one had come to see you?”
“Well, yes, actually,” Margaret had said, sinking onto her tidy bed.
Helen went to the bed and sprawled on it in a very unladylike fashion. “They were all told that you were very ill. The Whitlocks sent a physician over, but he was told you’d already seen one. Tibby tried everything, but she could not get through. Marianne Gerrard was going mad with worry, fearing you’d actually been killed or something.” Helen had rolled her eyes for effect.
Margaret had snorted and sat back on her elbows. “How is Rosalind?”
“Beside herself. She knows there is no way that Ritson would let her anywhere near you even if you were well.” She shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly. “I think Will is helping her through it.” She smiled at Margaret deviously. “When all of this is over, they might have you to thank for getting Rosalind to fall for him.”
That made Margaret laugh, and she felt lighter than she had in ages for it. “But how did you get in here today, Helen? I haven’t even seen Ritson in days, she won’t come up here.”
Helen smirked, her cobalt eyes twinkling. “Well, when I heard that my beloved cousin was so very unwell for the third day in a row, and even her supposed betrothed was not permitted to see her, despite his ardent attentions…”
“My what?” Margaret interrupted, rolling onto her side.
“Betrothed. You’re going to marry Sir Vincent as soon as your parents’ permission is secured.” Helen mimicked retching and shuddered. “When I imagine that man taking his husbandly rights…”
“Why would you do that?” Margaret shrieked, feeling sick to her stomach in truth.
Helen gave her a hard look. “He is very vocal in his praises of your person. Disturbingly so.”
Margaret flung an arm over her eyes and lay back on the bed. “Oh, lord…”
“Anyway, I showed up on the doorstep today with my eyes filled with tears and begged to stay with my poor cousin and tend to her in her hour of need.” Helen had nestled closer to Margaret and sighed. “Ritson couldn’t refuse me. Particularly when I barged my way in and only got more hysterical.” She’d reached down and taken Margaret’s hand. “I don’t know what is going to happen, Margaret, but I am here with you now, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Even now, hours later, Helen’s fierce words brought tears to Margaret’s eyes. She knew that there was not much that Helen could do in truth, but knowing she was here brought a measure of comfort.
She knew she was beyond fortunate that Sir Vincent had not made an appearance yet, but it was only a matter of time. No doubt he was laying a foundation of ardency to their relationship so that when he truly did come to compromise her, it would not paint him in such a villainous light. And with her prim and proper chaperone as his ally, he would have all the access to her that he needed.
Where were her parents, and how could they go this long without hearing from her and not knowing something was wrong?
And what about Rafe? Had he left her to her fate? Or was he finding a way to fix all of this?
A low rumbling of thunder met her ears and she looked over at the window, hearing the rain beginning to patter on the glass lightly.
She opened the window a little, breathing in the fresh air of the storm, feeling the rain on her face. Each drop on her cheeks reminded her of Rafe, how he had imagined her out in the rain and letting it fall upon her face and hair, tracing each and every feature. She exhaled shakily, the sudden warmth filling her body contrasting sharply with the cold raindrops on her cheeks.
Someday, she would watch a storm roll in with his arms around her, pressed against his warm, strong chest, inhaling his scent. He would press feather-light kisses upon her skin, murmuring words of love and tenderness that would fill her soul with wanting, and then, just when she couldn’t bear it, he would pull her out into the rain and dance with her, just as they had that night around the fire.
Margaret moaned softly with longing for that vision, and opened her eyes to the night sky.
A flash of lightning lit the world around her and she looked down, then gasped.
A man in dark clothing was sneaking around the side of her house, treading with familiarity and ease. She covered her mouth to keep from making too much noise, but gasped again when he found the side door and opened it, slipping into the house without a single creak or misstep.
Someone had left the door open for him, and he knew the layout of the house well enough to know where it was.
And now he was inside. With her. And Helen.
Margaret didn’t hesitate. She screamed for help as loud as she could out of the window, her cries getting lost in the sounds of the storm. She raced to her bedroom door and pounded on it. “Horace! Martin! Somebody, help!”
Her guards, who had always responded to her before, even if it was not an answer she had wanted, were silent.
Or gone.
Margaret clapped her hands over her eyes, whimpering loudly as panic and fear warred within her. She turned to the window once more and opened it more widely. “Help!” she shrieked as loudly as she could. “Help! Help, oh somebody, help!”
“Margaret?”
She gasped and looked down to find Rafe jogging into view, the shadows of the night and of his stubble giving him a dark, mysterious look. He was damp with rain, in dirty clothing, and he was the most glorious sight she had ever seen.
“Rafe,” she choked out, her throat clogging with emotion. Her eyes burned and she covered her mouth.
“What is it?” he called, his voice barely audible above the rain. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”
She shook her head quickly. “There’s a man!”
He stiffened. “Where?” he asked, his voice suddenly harsh.
“In the house! He entered only a few minutes ago, and something is terribly wrong!”
Rafe stepped closer to the house, and even from her place, she could see the firm set of his jaw. “Did he break in?”
She shook her head frantically. “No! He opened the door and walked right in! Rafe, there are only maids in this house, hardly any men, and my cousin!”
“I’m coming up!”
“No, don’t! The door is locked from the outside, and it will take too much time to break it down!”
He scowled, putting his hands on his hips. “How else do I get in, then?”
She leaned out and pointed to the door. “The side door. It is how he entered, so it ought to be open still. Take the corridor to the right. It looks small and poorly lit, but it will get you to the main of the house faster.”
He nodded and turned to go, then looked back up at her as he jogged towards it. “Don’t go anywhere.”
She frowned at his retreating back. “Where exactly would I go?” she mused aloud. “I just said my door is locked from the outside, and I am prevented from escaping out the window by the terrifyingly long drop to the ground.”
She glanced down the wall, and saw that, to her surprise, it would not be so very difficult to manage. It would take some considerable effort, and she would be in danger of serious injury, but when faced with the alternatives of dying or being ruined, it was far preferable.
She paced around the room, waiting for some sign, some sound to indicate that Rafe was successful, or at least doing something. But there was nothing but the eerily silent house and her frantically pounding heart.
Margaret glanced at the window, then back at the door, then at the window again. She exhaled sharply. “Surely he meant only not to go far…”
She threw her bedcovers off and tugged the sheets, recreating the sheet rope she’d constructed days before. She tied it onto her bedpost and hoisted herself out of the window, letting her wrap drop to the floor. She tossed the rest of the rope down to the ground and began easing her way down the wall, holding her breath as her slippers slid a little on the wet stone.
“Steady, Margaret,” she muttered to herself. “Steady…”
She gripped the sheets tightly, wishing she had thought about this more thoroughly before actually climbing out of the window. It was wet and raining, and she would be absolutely drenched before she got anywhere. She ought to have waited for Rafe, he could have told her what to do, and all would have gone smoothly. But no, she had to be impulsive, and…
Her breath caught as she felt the sheet start to give above her, and she tried to move faster down the wall, only for her feet to slip more in her haste. She scraped her knees and hands against the walls, wincing at the abrasions. Suddenly she found herself clinging to the sheets with her feet in the air, and a rapidly loosening sheet above her.
There was no time for anything else. She lowered herself with her arms a few more feet, and then shrieked softly when the knot gave way completely, sending her and the sheets tumbling to the ground, which thankfully was now only a few feet away.
More bruised in pride than in body, Margaret got to her feet and ran to the side door, which opened with ease for its third guest, and she found herself engulfed in the darkness of the servants’ side hall. She felt her way along the wall, treading as lightly as she could in her sodden slippers and nightgown. She felt a gap in the wall and glanced down to see two of the maids cowering in a doorway.
“Miss!” one of them whimpered. “There are two strange men in the house! One came in after the other, and we hid ourselves!”
“Good,” Margaret said firmly. “Stay hidden. It’s going to be all right.”
“Where?” the other whispered.
Margaret almost sighed in exasperation. “Go down to the kitchens. It will be quite safe there.”
“Yes, Miss.”
She paused in her motion, and glanced at them. “How should I go to the guest rooms if I do not want to be seen?”
“Take the servants’ stair. It’s a few paces behind you to the left.”
Margaret nodded her thanks, and waved them away, waiting for them to move before she did so. She hurried on, taking the long and cramped servants’ stair up to the third floor, then rushing down to the room Helen was in. She entered the room without knocking and found Helen sitting on the bed in her wrap, awake and confused.
“Lord, Margaret,” she said faintly, looking her over. “Did you climb out of your window?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” Margaret retorted. She glanced down at herself, and found that her nightgown was filthy and in its current drenched state, left nothing to the imagination. She grabbed for one of Helen’s wraps nearby and donned it, cinching the sash tightly around her. “Come with me.”
Helen scrambled off of the bed. “What is going on?”
“Shh!” Margaret scolded, gesturing for silence, and for her cousin to follow.
They made their way down the stairs to the rest of the house, only to suddenly hear several thumps and crashes from her father’s study. Margaret started to run towards the noises, but Helen grabbed her arm.
“Margaret!” she hissed, her eyes wide and terrified. “Let’s go for help!”
Margaret tugged her arm free. “Help is in the study, and I am going after him.” She dashed down the carpeted hall and pushed open the slightly ajar door.
Chest heaving, Rafe stood over a fallen body, the identity of which was hidden by her father’s massive mahogany desk. He turned at the creak of the door and his eyes met hers, a fire in them.
“You’re safe,” he said simply.
“Yes,” Margaret managed, heart pounding and fingers tingling.
He exhaled a shaking breath. “I went to your room first, the moment I could figure out how to get there. The door was locked from the outside, no protection in sight, and you were gone. Do you have any idea what I…?” He shuddered slightly and shook his head, striding around the desk. “Dammit, Margaret…”
Rafe came to her, his hands sliding into her damp tresses and pulling her towards him, his lips crashing down on hers. She wrapped her arms around him tightly, pressing herself as close as she could, arching up onto her tiptoes and returning his breathless kiss with all of the frantic passion and need coursing through her. He tilted her head for a deeper, more intimate kiss, and her knees shook with the intensity. He held her tightly, almost painfully so, but she thrilled with the pressure, the pleasure, the relief…
He broke off, kissing her cheeks, her nose, her brow. “I can’t bear it, pet. I can’t…”
“H-how did you hear me?” she asked, lowering herself down to the ground, her fingers gripping his damp shirt.
He grinned swiftly and kissed her nose again. “Providence. Fate. And the fact that I’ve been walking nearby every night since you sent me away, hoping for just a glimpse of you.”
Margaret reared back as far as she could while he still held her face in his hands. “You were?”
He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. “I told you I don’t want to spend another day not seeing you. And I had to make sure you were safe. I had to protect you, even if you didn’t want me anymore.” He cupped her cheeks and stroked them softly. “I meant what I said. I love you.”
All of the breath vanished from Margaret’s lungs and she stared at Rafe in wonder. She pulled on his shirt and drew his mouth to hers, melting against him. His arms moved and encircled her, pulling her close, and she thought, very faintly, that she could die quite happily thusly. After he’d kissed her senseless, of course.
“Lord, Margaret…”
Margaret broke from Rafe’s lips with a gasp and whirled, Rafe’s arms still around her, and they pulled her against his body protectively.
Helen stood in the door with a raised brow and a curious half smile. “Help is in the study, you said. Clever girl.”
Rafe chuckled and stepped away from Margaret, but only just. He bowed perfectly. “Miss Dalton, I presume.”
“And you would be the man who sent me that rather cryptic note this week.” She gave him a coy hint of a curtsey. “Much obliged.” She glanced down the hall, and her playfulness faded. “Ritson is coming, and she is in a frenzy.” Helen folded her arms and moved around the desk to look at the fallen man, wrinkling her nose up. “Oh, lord, it’s a Rom. I thought they hated city life.”
“They do,” Rafe and Margaret said together.
Helen leaned down, then looked at Rafe in shock. “He is out cold.”
“He ought to be,” Rafe muttered darkly. “He had a good thrashing coming, and I was only too delighted to comply.”
“Lord, Margaret,” Helen murmured, smiling a little. “Find one for me, will you?”
Ignoring her, Rafe pulled Margaret to the side of the room. He glanced out of the door, then took her hands and squeezed tightly. “Margaret, listen to me,” he said earnestly. “There is something I need to tell you.”
Margaret opened her mouth to reply, but then a horrible screeching sound rent the air, and Miss Ritson, in all her terrifying fury, appeared in the doorway. “Thieves! Ruffians! They are after the master’s fortune!”
“What?” Margaret cried, trying to stand between Rafe and her chaperone. “No!”
“Help!” Miss Ritson called, trying to sound concerned while she appeared irate. “Help! Seize him! Protect our sweet lambs!”
Horace and Martin entered, looking large and menacing, and they took Rafe easily, as he did not resist.
“No!” Margaret screamed, tugging at Martin’s arms. “No, it wasn’t him!”
“Miss Ritson.” Helen tried to interject, her voice calmer.
“Miss Dalton, I don’t know how I will face your parents after this horrible incident,” Miss Ritson overrode, dripping an apology in every word. She turned to Margaret and moved to embrace her, which sent Margaret careening back into the bookshelf with a painful lurch. “My dear Margaret, you are safe!”
The footmen hauled Rafe out of the room, but he dragged his feet, keeping his eyes on her.
“You can’t take him!” Margaret cried, trying to move past her.
Miss Ritson shook her head, her expression furious. “I’ve already sent for the magistrate, and he will be here shortly to take them both away.”
“You knew he was coming!” Margaret accused, pointing at the fallen Rom. “You called the magistrate for him before he could do anything!”
“Such lies and falsehoods!” Miss Ritson scolded. “You poor, poor dear. The thief has been apprehended, and his accomplice there must have had a stroke of conscience that irritated him.” She leaned closer and gripped Margaret’s arm. “Did he take you from your room?”
“No,” Margaret snapped, trying to wrench away.
The grip tightened. “Say that he did. Or would you like your parents to know that you aided in an attempted robbery?”
Margaret glowered. “I did no such…”
“What is all this?”
Margaret gasped as her father’s voice met her ears and Miss Ritson’s eyes widened. Margaret dashed around her and flung herself into her father’s open arms, heedless of the damp greatcoat. Her mother tittered about Margaret’s nightgown, and Miss Ritson started in on the story of the break in and the dangers they had been in, as the footmen returned for the unconscious Rom. Margaret recognized him at once as the one she had seen with Sir Vincent, and she shivered at the memory.
Her father patted her softly, then turned to listen to Miss Ritson’s story, with Helen standing in the background, looking rather amused by the new tale.
Margaret took the opportunity to run to the front door and wrench it open, just in time to see Rafe being loaded into the magistrate’s carriage, still not fighting anyone off. She shook her head and started to run out into the storm, but his eyes met hers, and he shook his head slowly.
She stopped on the stair and bit her lip, longing for one more touch of his lips, one more brush of his fingers, one more… something.
Rafe smiled a little as shackles were clamped around his hands. “It’s all right,” he mouthed.
It wouldn’t be all right. He’d saved her, and now he was being blamed for the crime he had prevented. They would be separated, and that was most certainly not all right.
“I love you,” she replied in kind, covering her heart with one hand, curling it tightly against her skin. The silent words spread between them, and she felt herself soaring with them, despite the agony that was pulsing through her with every beat of her heart.
His smile grew into a wild grin and he winked.
Then he was fully loaded into the carriage, and the footmen brushed passed her with the Rom, who was also loaded in, and then the carriage rolled away just as a sob escaped Margaret’s throat.
“Margaret, what happened here?” her mother’s voice chirped from inside the house.
Margaret shook her head, closed her eyes on tears, and ran back into the house, up the stairs, and into her room, flinging herself onto the bed and sobbing loudly into the pile of bedcovers. The sound was smothered, but it echoed within her, and she wished, just once, to feel nothing.
It was several minutes later when her father knocked on her door, saying her name softly.
Not used to anyone asking for permission to enter, Margaret turned and stared at the door curiously. “Come in?”
He entered the room and looked much more himself, without greatcoat or coat, cravat limp, and his greying hair rumpled. He smiled fondly, his round face transforming. “Margaret, love, I’ve been speaking with your cousin, and she has told me a very interesting tale. Have you been locked in your room all this week and beyond?”
The strain of the last few weeks finally settled upon her and she felt unbearably weary. “Yes.”
His brows lowered and he came over to the bed. “Because you ran away.”
She nodded repeatedly. “Yes.”
“Because Miss Ritson wanted you to marry this Sir Vincent person.”
Margaret’s eyes filled with tears. She wouldn’t have to marry Sir Vincent anymore. She wouldn’t be forced to do anything anymore. “Yes,” she said again, her tears finding their way into the tiny word.
Her father sighed and took her hand. “I think you had better tell me why.”
She did so, slowly and carefully, reliving the last few weeks for his benefit. She left out everything romantic about Rafe, everything that she would never want to tell her father, but all of the pertinent details remained. Her father remained very calm through the telling, only the growing furrows in his brow indicating his displeasure.
When she was done, he shook his head slowly. “And the man they took away just now. Your cousin said he saved you.”
Margaret straightened, nodding. “Yes, he did. You’ve seen him, Father, he is often down by the grocers and is always so polite and considerate to Mama and me. He heard me calling for help and came to my rescue.”
“Yes, I thought so,” her father replied with a nod, his mouth curving in satisfaction. “We must repay him for his kindness. Do you know his name?”
She hesitated, wondering what she could say, how the magistrate would know him. “I believe he is called the Gent, Father.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “How very apt a name. I shall call on the magistrate at once and have him released and rewarded. And you need not worry, my dear. You don’t have to marry Sir Vincent. Your mother and I shall find a proper European for you. We have a number in mind already, it was a most productive trip.”
Margaret sighed heavily, discouragement and relief filling her. “And Miss Ritson?”
Her father snorted. “She will be dismissed, of course. We never would have hired her if we had known she would behave so cruelly.”
He rose from the bed, and stroked Margaret’s cheek as he had when she was a little girl. “Don’t worry, duckie. I will take care of everything.”
Margaret managed a smile for him, then tilted her head. “I did not expect you back. What happened?”
“Oh, we had word from Helen several days ago,” he told her with a wave of his hand. “She said things were not at all well and we would do best by returning to you. I’ve always found Helen a touch dramatic, so we did not hasten back. I am sorry for it now, but you seem well enough.”
He kissed her cheek and tapped her chin, then left the room.
One of the maids came up to help Margaret reset her room and change into fresh nightclothes, and then Margaret sat before her window, staring out into the night, the storm now passed.
She would have to find Rafe after he was released. She had to tell him that she would be leaving after all, forced to marry a foreigner. But at least he would be free. If she had to do it so he could be free, she would.
It might break her heart, but for him, she could do so.
It was her turn to save him now.