A Lady Most Lovely (36 page)

A
t last Lizzie was asleep.

Margaret put down the book she had been reading to her, setting it gently on the small table next to the bed. She stood and stretched, careful not to allow her skirts to rustle too much, wishing most of all not to awaken Lizzie. Reading to her every afternoon had proven to be the best way to calm Lizzie’s restless agitation. Margaret was glad to see her drop off at last into a doze. The room was far too hot, and Margaret was desperate to step outside for some cool air. She could not understand why it was necessary to keep the room so stuffy, with the windows tightly shut and the fire burning hot. But she knew little about these things, and she supposed the doctor knew best.

Carefully she slipped out the door and down the hall. Lizzie was likely to stay asleep for an hour or more. There would be time for Margaret to step outside and breathe. The day was fine, if cold, but Margaret would welcome its bracing effects.

As she reached the first floor, she was surprised to hear Lady Thornborough’s voice coming through the open door to Geoffrey’s study. “You mean you haven’t told her yet?”

Margaret paused, wondering why Lady Thornborough had not come upstairs to visit her granddaughter straightaway. That had been her usual pattern on her daily visits here. In the brief time Margaret had known Lady Thornborough, she’d been rather put off by that lady’s crusty and somewhat imperious manner. Margaret was debating whether to slip quietly outside and avoid seeing her when she heard Tom say, “I haven’t yet gotten permission from Lizzie to tell her about it.”

Who were they talking about? Was it her? She slipped back against the wall so she would not be seen. There were no servants about, so she could listen without detection.

“You don’t mean to say Lizzie knows about this,” Lady Thornborough said, sounding affronted. “In her condition—”

“Lizzie does
not
know,” Geoffrey broke in. “We are all in agreement that she does not need any more cares thrust upon her at this time.”

“But, Mr. Poole,” Lady Thornborough said, “I don’t understand why you have not told your wife. After all, she is part of this family now.”

Margaret had to admit this remark made her like the old lady a little bit better. By the same token, it made her angry at Tom. There was something he was keeping from her. But what? And why?

“The secret is not mine to tell,” Tom insisted. “I promised Lizzie that I would never speak of those events
to anyone. I do not intend to break that promise until I have gotten her permission to do so. Until then, we must wait.”

Tom said this with the adamant air of one who has gone over a problem many times and always arrived at the same conclusion. Margaret was all too aware by now that Tom was stubborn enough not to budge once he’d made up his mind on something.

“Aren’t you afraid Margaret will get wind of this some other way and end up telling Lizzie about it by mistake?”

“I have the situation under control,” Tom insisted. “Spencer is not going to do anything that will jeopardize his position.”

Spencer! Shock rattled through Margaret and she leaned against the wall for support.

“I’ve told him that drawing up the proper documents will take some time, as will bringing Margaret around. He doesn’t like it, but he has accepted it. He wants that land too badly.”

Nothing in this conversation made sense to her, except for one thing: Tom was talking to Spencer. About her land.

“I still don’t like it,” Lady Thornborough was saying. “What you are doing is dangerous. If things turn out badly, the scandal could be ten times greater. You must be careful.”

Margaret heard the tread of someone coming up the stairs from the kitchen. Probably a maid bringing tea. Margaret had no wish to be found eavesdropping by one of the servants. She hurriedly straightened, took a deep breath to calm her nerves, and walked briskly into
the study. “Good afternoon, everyone,” she said. “What must we be careful about?”

She didn’t really think that plunging in so rudely would get them to dislodge the information, since they had just agreed on secrecy. But it was worth a try. She stood waiting, her heart pounding during the uncomfortable pause while Tom and the others exchanged glances. Then Lady Thornborough said, “Hello, dear. We were just discussing Lizzie, and how we must be careful about these final days of her lying-in.”

“Were you?” Margaret said crisply.

“Yes. I was just saying that it’s a common practice to bring in a nurse at this time,” Lady Thornborough continued, ignoring Margaret’s undisguised disbelief. “I have persuaded Lord Somerville that my servant Martha is the best person for the job. Her grandmother was a midwife, and she herself has attended many births.”

“Exactly,” Geoffrey said, taking Lady Thornborough’s story and running with it. “I agree that it is an excellent idea. How is she, Margaret?”

“She is sleeping. I came downstairs for some fresh air.” She wasn’t getting it here, however.

“You will be glad for Martha’s help,” Tom told her, picking up the charade. “We’ve asked too much from you. You are looking tired, and we mustn’t take advantage of your good nature.”

Margaret could only stare at him, having no words. How on earth was she going to get to the bottom of this? She opened her mouth to speak, but Tom gave her hand a squeeze and dropped a quick kiss on her cheek. “Oh, look,” he said as the maid and a footman entered with heavily laden trays. “Here’s tea.”

*

“Are you absolutely certain everything is safe?”

Margaret sat in Mr. Hawthorne’s office at Lincoln’s Inn Fields. She had come here as soon as she could arrange it, still worried by the conversation she had overheard at the Somervilles’.

“There is nothing untoward going on, I can assure you,” Hawthorne said. “If, as you say, Mr. Poole intends a land transfer of some kind, you know he cannot proceed without coming to me first.”

“And you would tell me if he had, wouldn’t you?” Margaret watched him carefully as she asked, searching for even the slightest indication that her solicitor was lying to her.

He only looked saddened by her question. “How can you even suggest I would do otherwise?”

“Because the laws of our nation have never been in favor of women,” Margaret pointed out. “As my husband, Tom might be able to find some way to circumvent my wishes. He might find a way to break the stipulations of the trust.”

“I assure you that would be difficult, even with the bias of the law. Also, I would certainly alert you immediately if your land was in any danger.”

His demeanor and deference toward Margaret were exactly as they had always been, leading Margaret to believe his assurances. But there were still too many unanswered questions. “What do you suppose that conversation meant?” she asked.

He sat back in his chair, contemplating the question. “At this point, it’s difficult to say. But I shall look into the matter. Ask a few judiciously worded questions among
my colleagues. There is not much I can do for the next several days, however. All work is at a standstill until the duke’s funeral is over.”

Margaret could believe this. The Duke of Wellington’s funeral was to take place in two days, and the entire city was in upheaval from all the people who had come to town in order to pay their last respects. Even Hawthorne’s chambers had been difficult for Margaret to reach, as there were teams of workmen everywhere, erecting viewing stands and barricades along the five-mile route laid out for the duke’s elaborate funeral procession. She sighed. “I suppose you will also be attending the funeral?”

“Indeed I shall.” Hawthorne gave a tiny, sad smile and his eyes grew misty. “There has never been a man in England as great as the old duke. We will never see his kind again.”

“You served him well,” Margaret said. She did not know all the details, but she was aware that Hawthorne’s espionage activities had been instrumental in the effort to defeat Napoleon.

He acknowledged her compliment with a respectful nod. “That is another reason why you can have complete confidence that I will do all I can to prevent your lands from falling into the hands of anyone who did
not
serve our country well.”

He did not elaborate. He did not have to. Margaret was perfectly aware that he hated Spencer’s family for the very same reasons she did. “Mr. Hawthorne,” Margaret begged, “you must find out why my husband is in league with a traitor.”

“Is that what troubles you?” Hawthorne responded
with an enigmatic smile. “Madam, one thing I have learned over the years is that one must never rush to judgment before gleaning all the facts. That something untoward is happening seems to be undeniable. But consider this: it’s possible that Mr. Poole has not entered into these negotiations willingly. I believe you said his words were ‘I’ve told him that drawing up the proper documents will take some time…’ This could be true… or perhaps he is stalling.”

Margaret blinked. “Stalling?”

“Looking for a way out of Spencer’s grasp.”

“Tom… in Richard’s grasp? But why? That would be disastrous!”

Hawthorne held up his hands in a calming gesture. “I can only counsel you to be patient and to remember that in life there is always more than meets the eye.”

*

Margaret was still mulling over Hawthorne’s words the next day when Geoffrey said, “I’m afraid I shall be required to attend the duke’s funeral at Saint Paul’s.”

Margaret, Tom, and Geoffrey were seated together in Lizzie’s room, keeping her company for the afternoon. Geoffrey had made his announcement with an air of chagrin, prompting Lizzie to respond, “Why do you look so glum? It’s an honor to go, surely?”

“Yes, but I must leave very early in the morning and be gone for most of the day. I hate to be gone from you for so long.”

Lizzie gazed at him tenderly. “You needn’t be concerned on my account. I shall be fine.”

He did not look convinced. “I must also tell you that
James will be escorting Lady Thornborough to the Beauchamps’ home to watch the procession from their parlor windows. That will leave you with no one for company, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll be here,” Tom put in. “And so will Margaret.”

Lizzie looked at him in surprise. “Don’t you two wish to see the procession? I have heard it’s going to be very grand. There will be ten thousand people in the procession alone, and a million people coming out to watch it. The
Times
says there has never been anything like it.”

“I have great respect for the old gentleman, to be sure. But he will have plenty of people watching out for him today.” Tom reached out and took hold of his sister’s hand. “
You,
dear Lizzie, are far more important to us.” With his free arm he grasped Margaret around the waist. “Isn’t that right, Margaret?”

On the surface, this display signaled that they were all one happy family. It was true that Margaret was growing fond of her sister-in-law. But at the moment, Margaret could only see hypocrisy in Tom’s actions. How was Margaret truly a part of this family if they were keeping secrets from her?

I
t rained steadily through the night, and an icy wind howled around the chimneys and found its way through tiny cracks edging the windows. Tom lay awake, staring at the ceiling, as he had done night after night for weeks. His worries for his sister’s health were mounting, and so was the ache in his heart over all that was dividing him from the woman lying next to him.

Margaret had been acting cold and distant ever since she had walked in on his conversation with Geoffrey and Lady Thornborough. How much, if anything, had she overheard? Tom tried to tell himself that Margaret would surely have confronted him directly if she’d heard them talking about Spencer. He might even have preferred her to do so; at least that way he would know what she was thinking. But her reticence was harder to decipher. It placed Tom in a difficult position. He could not bring up the subject himself without the risk of admitting that he was keeping things from her.

Margaret lay unmoving, her eyes closed, and yet Tom
sensed she was awake. She did not have the deep, regular breathing of one who is sleeping. She turned her back toward him, indicating she had no desire to talk. Perhaps that was just as well. Tom wanted desperately to bare his soul to her, but he could not do it yet. He must have patience. Once Lizzie had gotten through childbirth and was fully recovered, Tom would be free to explain everything and somehow find a way to break through Margaret’s wall of doubt and suspicion.

So much hinged also on finding a way to end these dealings with Spencer. His demands had mounted, as Tom had suspected they would. Now he was making it clear that he was after Moreton Hall itself. Tom had been able to do little besides make up excuses and drag his feet while Inspector Field tried to find a way to give them the upper hand. So far, all had been unsuccessful. There seemed no way to prevent the day coming when Tom must either allow his sister’s reputation to be ruined or gain the undying hatred of his wife. Perhaps he already had the latter.