Margaret found no reason to further her stay in the gaming hall. The young man whose name she wanted to know had suddenly left without notice, sly as a thief. That, in itself, was suspicious enough.
"I cannot stay for long, my lord," she reminded Lord Humphrey, her mind already on Tori. She should return. It might be good for her friend to be stuck in a room with Lord Wittlock, but a longer stay might attract a scandal.
"Of course, dear," her father's old friend said. "Spare me a few minutes, yes?"
She smiled and nodded, growing conscious by the second.
Humphrey talked more about her late father, their mining business, and the latest happenings in Wickhurst, most particularly Benedict's recent marriage. Humphrey was careful not to talk about the tragic mining accident ten years ago. Benedict and their father were trapped in the mines for days, and emerged with just one of them alive. Their tragedies did not end that day, however. For Benedict, for Margaret, and even for Cole.
From the corner of her eye, she saw him talking to Wakefield.
She did not know how much Wakefield knew about Cole, or if Levi had bothered to share the history with the man.
Turning her attention back on Lord Humphrey, Margaret decided she'd leave in five minutes. There was nothing for her here. If he had plans, Cole would not be stupid to do it here.
***
He was itching to get away because a part of him could not stand to be in the same room as Margaret Everard.
Why was she here in the first place? Had no one ever told her that it was not proper to be the only lady in a room full of men? And to have entered with Wakefield! The man wore scandal as his second name!
Was William Hayward, the Lord of Wakefield, courting her?
"I do admit, Devitt—I can address you informally, yes?" Without waiting for a reply, he continued, saying, "As I was saying—It was rather brave, if not gallant of you to decide not to pursue Lady Agatha's case," Wakefield was saying.
"There was no case to begin with," he dismissively said, stealing a look at Margaret as she talked with Humphrey. She was taking off her gloves.
"I see," Wakefield nodded. The man was too handsome for his own good, Cole thought to himself. He was a charming dandy.
Which makes him irresistible to most women, he thought.
Including Margaret Everard herself, a voice in his head added, leaving a bitter taste at the back of his throat as he swallowed the rest of his drink.
"Do you think it wise to escort Lady Margaret in this room?" he could not help but ask. He needed to know.
Wakefield's brows rose in surprise. "Lady Margaret is no stranger to me," the man said.
"But she is a stranger to most men here," he gritted out.
"Ah," Wakefield's eyes lit with understanding. "She is old enough to decide where she wishes to be. I would not be the man to stop her."
He cocked a brow. "Are you not?"
Wakefield's eyes glimmered with laughter before he gave it voice and chuckled. And that chuckle turned to a fit of laughter in a matter of seconds, causing some people in the room to turn their heads, including Margaret herself. Their eyes accidentally met and he saw a hint of a small smile on her lips before she turned away. Was that intended for him?
"Surely, you must be jesting," Wakefield said when he finally caught his breath. "I have no interest or intentions toward Margaret other than friendship," he explained in a lower voice. "I do not dally with sisters of my friends. Remove every female Everard off the list. I would not wish to meet all Everard men—five of them—in the middle of a rocky field with a gun. My life is too precious to waste for a duel."
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.
"Why, my lord?" Margaret asked, voice teasing and taunting at the same time, "Are you afraid to be alone with me?"
His brows cocked high. "Afraid?"
"Afraid?" Wakefield, the ignorant fool, repeated his question.
Margaret's lips curved into a secretive smile; eyes still locked with his brown ones. "Lord Ashmore may still believe that I do harbor... resentments," she said, stealing Wakefield a look before jumping back into his eyes. "Because of our history, of course" she added. "Or mayhap, my lord, you have regrets?" she added with a taunting laugh.
Wakefield sputtered in his drink. He turned to face Cole, eyes wide with realization and disbelief. "Heavens smite me now!"
Cole's jaw tightened, his gaze in a battle with Margaret's. Before he could give Wakefield a reply, or warn the bastard to mind his own bloody business, Margaret chuckled and her hands flew to grab his arm. In a single step she managed to stand beside him, her hand at the crook of his arm. "I was merely jesting, my lord," she said, giving his chest a tiny pat with the hand that had been holding her gloves before she turned to Wakefield. "It does not become your handsome face to look so outraged, William. Enjoy the rest of the evening."
Cole did not wait for Margaret to lead him toward the door. He did so himself, stiffly and with cold determination. She waved at the other gentlemen in the room, including the horrified and shocked Wakefield, until they finally exited the door into the corridor.
With no witnesses in sight, Cole stopped and ripped her hand off his arm. He took two hasty steps away from her before he faced her. "What are you doing?" he demanded.
Margaret's smile did not waver. Gloves in hand, she looked magnificent in the middle of the corridor. No, she looked regal in that red gown. Her black hair was expertly done, ringlets falling on one side of her face. For a moment he envied those strands as they brushed against her skin.
"I was merely teasing," she said with a wave of her hand, a gesture he knew too well, as much as he was familiar with how she would brush her hair off her face if it was down. She frowned at him. "Did I take you away from someone? Please, forgive me. You must have come where with company."
Ignoring her statement, he turned on his heels. "I should lead you back to the ball."
He walked and she followed, walking beside him.
"I'm sorry," she said.
He remained silent because he could hardly control his own breathing. They were nearing the entrance to the ballroom. He could breathe again then, he thought. He hastened his steps.
"I should not to have irked you so. I'm sorry."
"Stop saying it," he snapped. When he realized his tone, he stopped walking to collect himself, and she did the same, the two of them standing outside the threshold of the ballroom. The music and chatters from inside were not helping to appease the chaos inside him.
Cole briefly closed his eyes. When he opened them, he turned his head to the side to look down at her. She did not look as offended at his outburst as he had imagined.
She just looks painfully beautiful.
Gritting his teeth, he said, "Do not ever say you're sorry," he said, stepping away. "Not to me, Meg." Her emerald eyes flew to his, and for the first time he saw the vulnerability in their depths.
Cole tore his eyes off her and stepped into ballroom, leaving her alone outside the doorway.
***
Margaret could not sleep. She lay in her bed, thinking of Cole Devitt.
She praised herself for such great display earlier.
Her heart had not calmed down until she found Levi and Tori. And now, she could not erase the look on his face before he left her in the entrance of the ballroom.
He called her Meg.
Who would have thought that hearing it from his lips could cause her heart to twist and clench, destroy itself, only to struggle to beat again?
She shook the sound of his voice from her thoughts and rolled to her side to stare at the gold brooch in her hand. For a moment she wondered if he'd ever notice it was missing; and if he did, he'd remember her hand tapping his chest earlier.
The bird with its widespread wings glinted against the faint light from the windows. The exact same one had been found under Osmond Trilby's bed.
"Did you do it?" she whispered in the darkness.
***
Cole was making his way to one of the breakfast rooms when his mother stopped him in the middle of the corridor. His valet had just informed him that he had lost a brooch, but he cared little about it. After drinking himself to oblivion last night, the bloody thing could have fallen off somewhere. And since waking up with the worst headache, he was ready to leave this place and return to Wickhurst.
"Where have you been?" Ida Devitt demanded.
"My bedchamber," he replied. He made a move to walk away but his mother stopped him by his arm.
"I saw you talking to that woman last night outside the ballroom," she said under her breath, her voice cold and reprimanding. "Have you forgotten?" she asked before Cole could brush the topic off. "Her brother killed your sister."
Cole's jaw went tight. "How could I forget, Mother? You never cease to remind me."
Her hand tightened around his arm. "You dally with the sister of the man who not only took Leah from us, but my grandchild as well. I have to remind you every chance I can because you seem to constantly forget." Stepping closer, hand shaking, she added, "You wanted to kill Benedict Everard in that duel, but you didn't because of her, did you? She begged you and you forgot to fight for your sister's honor."
He gently pulled free from his mother's grip and righted his sleeve. "I did not kill Everard because of her." He stared into his mother's brown eyes and wondered how long she would keep up with the act of a victim. "I did not because I could not."
"You are as weak as your father," she hissed.
"Perhaps."
Her mother scoffed and stepped away. "You believed their wretched story just like he did. Believed that Benedict Everard planned to propose to her but was stuck in that mine."
"They had their father's corpse to prove the fact," he said through his teeth.
"We lost my daughter—your sister. We lost her child!" she hissed.
"And they lost their father!" His voice rose, the strain of his current dilemma and the encounter with Margaret last night adding to this moment.
His mother shook her head. "I'm glad I stopped you from going back to her when you saddled your horses merely a day after returning from that duel. They've poisoned your mind. She had bewitched you like that governess of theirs did to that beast, Benedict. I saved you from your own foolishness. Should I have not begged you to stay, they would have already ruined your life." Ida Devitt haughtily lifted her chin. "You have me to save you from your foolishness even until now. I forbid you to go near that woman."
He could have said more, but this was not the place or time for a confrontation. Instead, he just smiled. "Are you done?"
Her eyes widened in horror. "Did you hear me? I forbid you to be near the Everards."
"I heard you quite perfectly." He started to walk away and paused. "I do not ever wish to discuss this matter ever again. It is getting rather old and tedious. Should you raise the topic one more time, I'd make my way to Margaret Everard and haul her to Tiny Town," he said over his shoulder.
"You dare!"
"I dare, Mother." He took one step and paused once again. "Do not worry about Margaret Everard. I would dare not subject the poor woman to another suffering. And do not," he said, turning to face his mother, eyes boring into hers, "go near her. Spare her of us as you have spared me of them."
She scoffed and glared as if she no longer recognized him. And he felt the same. In the past two years, he was no longer certain if he knew her at all.
Ida Devitt knew why Leah died. Or how she died. And for that, Cole could never forgive her.