Sleeping Engagement

V. When Men Gossip

Well, I have, a voice in his head spoke.

"And in addition, Margaret has no interest in marriage," Wakefield whispered.

Cole's eyes flew to Margaret whose back was now facing him. Her black head angled toward Humphrey as the man talked. "She doesn't?"

"Yes," Wakefield replied, taking a drink from a passing footman. "I've heard her say it twice, I believe. Her brothers, too. They think she's too strong-willed to allow herself be shackled. But my mother told me a different story." The man paused to sip his drink, and Cole waited with anticipation. "They say she had her heart broken. Gossip around Wickhurst says her brothers had already murdered the bastard."

Cole stiffened.

"I heard another story that she refused to eat for nearly a month when he left. One of their maids told one of ours that she was almost without life—a living corpse, they said. Of course, merely hearsays, but it could be true as well. Her brothers would not discuss the matter. Not that I would dare ask, of course," Wakefield added. Then he inched closer. "If the story is indeed true, one can merely wonder what that anonymous bastard had done to cause an Everard such grief. Margaret is by far the strongest of mind in a skirt I have ever encountered. It would take a monster to make her haunt her own household with her grief. I am no saint, but I would never dare hurt a woman in such brutal a manner. Whoever that fool was must be one big bloody bastard indeed." Wakefield finished his statement with one big gulp of brandy.

Cole could not find his voice. His throat seemed to have closed up on him. His eyes were glued on Margaret, watching every tiny movement she made.

...she was almost without life—a living corpse, they said...

His jaw twitched.

"What say you, Devitt? Is there a law by the Men of Courts to hang a man who breaks a maiden's heart?" Wakefield asked in jest.

Cole scowled, his ever-perfect composure at a breaking point.

"Ah, here she comes." Wakefield's words did not register fast enough in his rattled brain, and it was too late to walk away. Margaret had already reached them, her eyes not directly looking at him but at Wakefield.

"William, I assume you are staying?" she asked.

It was the first time Cole had noticed that her voice had changed over the years. He had always loved the cheerfulness in her tone in the past, but now it was nothing but direct and stern, almost cold.

"Of course, but I would escort you back to the ball should you wish to leave now." Cole vaguely heard Wakefield's reply. He was lost in her gaze even when they were not directed at him. Her eyes looked distant. The glimmer that had once always resided in them was gone.

Bastard, he said to himself. Did he think Margaret would have simply accepted what he did those years ago and went back to spending her time in the gardens with her books like she used to? Did he really believe it when he thought she would simply join the next season and find another man? Did he truly think he was the only one who changed through the years? That his was the only suffering?

"There is no need," Margaret said to Wakefield. Then she faced him, shoulders squared, a smile that did not reach her eyes pasted on her lips. "I would like Lord Ashmore to do the honor."

Cole almost sputtered. He blinked a few times as his brain processed what she just said. Margaret's beautiful face assessed him, looking expectant. He was no longer staring at a young, mischievous, and naïve Everard. He was facing a woman who knew pain and grief, and survived alone.

"I believe the lady has asked you to escort her to the ball, Devitt," Wakefield said the words his mind was denying him.

Cole cleared his throat. He turned his head to stare at the old man he had been playing cards with moments before Wakefield interrupted them. Unfortunately, he was snoring in his seat.