Page 19 of Marriage Most Scandalous
“No, not mine, but you get the point. I could have fallen in love with him and married him, despite all the reasons I shouldn’t. Besides, we haven’t yet determined whether we will need to pretend we’re married, but if we do, it’s for a good cause, Edna. Let’s not forget why I went in search of him in the first place.”
Edna had agreed in the end, though grudgingly, and went off to let Oliver know what to expect. Margaret had a few doubts of her own that night, though, especially after recalling Sebastian’s warning about his touching and kissing her. She’d let him know she wouldn’t tolerate anything of the sort, but—he was a different man these days from the one she’d admired in her youth. He was a mercenary, a man willing to do whatever was necessary to get the job done, so would he abide by any restrictions she set?
She went to sleep with her doubts but woke up with a new resolve, that she, too, could do whatever was necessary to remove Douglas from danger. And if that meant pretending to be Sebastian Townshend’s wife, so be it.
She found him on the deck that morning, staring pensively at the English coastline, which was now in view. She’d been gone only four months but had missed her home terribly. How much worse it must have been for him, being away for so many years. Or maybe, as he’d claimed, he just didn’t care anymore. Not bloody likely.
The tiers of his greatcoat were flapping in the wind. On any other man the coat might look dashing. On Sebastian it somehow added to his menace. And yet the man was so damned handsome he took her breath away. This attraction that seemed to be growing stronger each time she saw him was going to be a problem. She was sure it harked back to her old fascination with him, but still ...
She joined him at the rail, though she hesitated to interrupt his introspection, he looked so bleak. So she was surprised when he said, “Henry Raven.”
“I beg your pardon?” “The name I will use while at your house,” he said.
She started to laugh. “I’m sorry, but you just don’t look like a Henry. Couldn’t you come up with something more suitable?”
“Like what? Black Bart?” She couldn’t hold back her laughter, which prompted him to add, “You know bloody well Henry is about as noble a name as you can get.”
“For a king. Very well, Henry, if you insist. I’ll let Edna and Oliver know. I’ve already warned them we might have to pretend to be married.”
“I can imagine that went over well,” he said dryly.
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Edna was quite scandalized. But I convinced her it would be for a good cause, if we find it necessary to go that route, which hasn’t been decided yet.”
He agreed. “If I find out what I need to know before anyone even knows I’m home, nothing else will be required of you.”
“Fair enough.”
It was midmorning before they docked and the passengers and animals were let ashore. Sebastian’s stallion was especially troublesome in the unloading. John’s gelding was placid as usual. But the stallion settled down once he was on solid ground again.
Sebastian didn’t. He was struck with melancholy the moment his feet touched English soil. God, he’d missed his country of birth, missed it much more than he’d realized. The bitterness that he lived with, that had been buried so deeply it was simply a part of him, rose up now like black bile to choke his emotions.
He never should have left. Just because his father had disowned him and told him to never darken England’s shores again didn’t mean he actually had to go. He’d already defied his father in showing up for that duel. What was one more defiance after that? But his guilt had been horrendous. And it was still present even after all these years, tearing at his gut, ripping at his mind and heart just as badly now as it had back then.
Chapter 10
MARGARET LOVED HER HOME. Three stories of white oak surrounded by flowers—her flowers. She’d planted every one of them. Every springtime, she was like a mother hen waiting for them to bloom.
While the Townshends’ home Edgewood was a splendid estate and she’d been offered a permanent home there, it was only because she’d taken to Douglas and Abigail Townshend that she’d felt comfortable there at all. Without a doubt, she still preferred her own home. It was hers. The staff was hers. The history of the house was hers. And it was every bit as splendid as Edgewood.
And goodness, she was glad to be home. Her staff had missed her, too. A few of them ran out the front door to greet her. Her cook, Gussie, was even tearful.
“Finally I won’t feel guilty anymore about making my most superb dishes while you aren’t here to enjoy them,” Gussie told her, then scolded lightly, “You were gone much too long, Lady Margaret.”
“It was necessary, to accomplish all I set out to do,” Margaret rejoined. “I assume the wine shipment arrived without any trouble?”
“Indeed. I’ll even open a bottle tonight to celebrate your homecoming.”
No sooner did Gussie go back in the house than Margaret’s groom arrived and breathlessly exclaimed, “Thank God, m’lady. Now that beast of yours might behave again.”
She was amused. The man was fond of referring to her mare as a beast. She couldn’t imagine why. Sweet Tooth was as sweet as her name—when Margaret was around.
“I’ll be back to my usual agenda tomorrow,” Margaret informed him, “but I’ll visit her this afternoon.”
“Thank you, m’lady. And she’ll be saddled and waiting for you in the morning.”
It took a while to speak to each servant. She ignored none of them. And they’d all come out to greet her before she even got in the door. Florence, her housekeeper, was the last to arrive. She was the newest member of the staff, though she’d grown up at White Oaks, too. She’d taken over the housekeeper position five years ago when her mother retired from it. And like Edna, she treated Margaret with a greater familiarity than the rest of the staff. They’d actually played together as children.
While each of the servants had glanced curiously at the two men and the boy accompanying her, some more than once, only Florence asked, “Shall I prepare extra settings at the table tonight? Or rooms?”
