It was his valet, Eli, who rushed to Cole in panic, informing him of his mother's arrival.
He cursed under his breath and crumpled the paper in his hand. Throwing it in the fire, he rushed out of the study to follow his valet, Hugh striding right beside him. Eli skidded to a stop outside the open doorway of the study and so did Hugh.
Cole pushed his way between the two servants. He quickly assessed the situation and his eyes landed on Margaret, her face void of emotions, as if she was not there. As if she had retreated into a different place. And her right cheek was scarlet.
A surge of wrath ran to the tips of Cole's fingers.
The first and last time he ever saw that look, it was because of him. It haunted him to this day. Now, to see her in the same way because of his mother equaled the rage he felt toward himself.
"Remove yourself from here, you despicable witch! How dare you come here and—"
"Stop." One word, but it was loud and clear, laced with severe fury, enough to make his mother pause with a start and sharply turn. The surprise turned into a look of betrayal. Before the woman could summon tears to her advantage, Cole spoke again. "Lady Margaret is here upon my invitation," he bit out, glaring at his mother as he strode into the room. Ida Devitt opened her mouth, and it remained open as Cole walked past her and straight to Margaret.
He saw Margaret's gaze falter as she blinked at him. But she was not showing enough. He wanted her to scowl—to be angry. Yet she just stood there. Something inside him, right in his chest, wrenched. He gritted his teeth as he lightly palmed her reddened cheek. She turned her face away, jaw twitching. He let her, lowering his hand.
"Are you hurt?" he asked.
"I came here to tell you something important," she said instead, eyes not meetings his.
"Margaret," he said, tone serious.
"I'm fine," she nearly hissed. In a blink, she summoned a smile. "I will just—This is not the perfect time, is it?"
He frowned down at her. She was trying her best to seem unperturbed. The words at the back of his mind were suddenly useless and lacking at the moment, so he simply tucked the stray dark hair behind her ear, took her hand in his, and led her to the doorway without sparing his mother a glance.
"Cole!" his mother called after him.
He slammed the door behind them and led Margaret to the hallway.
"I can return at a better time—" she started to say but he stopped her, turning to Hugh who had followed them.
"Escort Lady Margaret back to her carriage." He turned to Margaret and paused. And he just looked at her, wishing he could say more. Could do more. With a sigh, he said, "I will find you later."
Her lips hardened into a smile. Nodding stiffly, she started to walk away.
"Meg," he called. She stopped with an innocent small smile on her lips, brows arched in question, almost hopeful. "I'm sorry."
Her smile faltered slightly. "I'm fine, my lord."
As soon as she was gone, he turned to Eli. "See to it that she arrives home safely. Go, take my horse." He then stalked back to the direction of his study where he found his mother still standing where he had left her.
At his entry, Ida Devitt glared at him with tears in her eyes. He had seen her at her worst acting, of course, and this one did make him cringe as much.
"How dare you have that woman here!" she hissed. "You're not honoring your sister's memory welcoming that wench into your household! I come here after not having received any replies from you only to find the reason for it. You have been committing a sin against your sister's memory by bedding her! I would rather have a scullery maid be your mistress than that Everard woman. She and her family deserve to burn in hell for what they have done to us."
It was a miracle that Cole was even able to hold himself in one place, to stay intact and not burst. But every fiber of his being was threatening to do so. Just once. Just this one time. But he would not give his mother the luxury of a childish display. Rather, he wanted her to finally realize that she was no longer facing an ignorant son.
He stepped toward her. One, two. Three steps. His gaze held hers as his icy voice sliced through the space between them. "I've always wondered how long you're going to pretend that what happened to Leah was not your fault."
His mother stiffened but quickly recovered. "Whatever do you mean? Your sister killed herself because of Benedict Everard."
Cole smiled and stepped closer, and whatever his mother saw on his face made her step back in alarm. He followed with another step and whispered under his breath, "I know what you did to my sister."
Ida Devitt shook her head. Whatever it was he was trying to say, she was ready to deny it. "You're talking nonsense."
Cole nodded. "The only reason you're still free is because I will it. The very fact that I still allow you to remain free of my sister's murder plagues me." Her eyes shook as he spoke, her head shaking, her words failing her. "And God help me if you remove yourself from my house, I'll ruin us both now and for all."
"I—I never did anything—"
"Yes, I know," he said, stepping closer so he was whispering in her ear. He could feel her shaking, and he did not care. She should be frightened. She should live in as much fear as Leah did before her death. "I know you did nothing. You just let things happen, didn't you, Mother? You let them take her. Father wasn't able to live with the guilt and killed himself. You, on the other hand, blame it on others and I'm sick of it." Without giving her a chance, Cole stepped back and ordered, "Go back to Tiny Town. I don't want to see you here."
His mother's eyes were wide in horror, shaking in fear.
"I do not want you touching Margaret Everard again. Even the slightest brush of your clothes against hers, or the least sign of your shadow coming close to hers."
Cole turned and left the study.
***
Margaret was shaking by the time she reached her bedchamber, locking the door before she walked to her private study. Only then did she allow herself to drop to the floor and finally, the tears came hot and vengeful.
Ida Devitt's wrathful look haunted her even as she closed her eyes. With shaking hands, Margaret covered her face. The tears were that of unspent fury. She should have said something. She should have struck back. When would she and Benedict ever be free of the past? When would Cole?
Maybe never. As long as someone like Ida Devitt lived with the memory, the pain of the past would always linger, like iron claws eagerly waiting to be stepped on. There would never be a day when she they would not tread with fear, breathlessly anticipating the day it would snap.
After what seemed like hours, Margaret collected herself and walked to her table, swallowing hard. She had much to do.
"So much to do," she whispered as she scanned her table with a shaky breath. Opening the top drawer to her right, Margaret found what she was looking for.
She picked up the round brooch she stole from Cole at the Theobald party.
Her face hardened as she looked at it.
***
He did not come to find her when he said he would. Not in the next few days, anyway.
And while she tried to gather her thoughts about the case and the information Faye gave her, Margaret occupied her time with matters of the household. She went shopping with the twins, spent a few game of cards with her brothers, and even went to tea parties with her mother.
Five days since meeting Ida Devitt in Cole's study, her mother asked for her company to an opera. She readily said yes for a number of reasons. One, she liked the opera. Two, she needed time for herself. Calan Haverston would have to wait, she thought. Osmond Trilby would never come back to life. Whoever murdered him was being careful. And three, she needed to test if someone was still following her. She had not noticed anyone in recent days. Did they give up? Or did they simply become wiser?
The twins were not allowed to go. Their mother learned that Wakefield was attending the said opera and Lady Alice had openly expressed her disapproval of Ysabella's obsession over the poor rake.
The opera was attended by many of her mother's acquaintances and friends, people Margaret also knew. The dimly lit hall was abuzz with excitement for the new show that many considered to be phenomenal. Many had said that the singers were amongst the most sought-after personalities in the world of the stage. They were seated beside Lord and Lady Lettice, her mother's best friend, and her daughter-in-law, Lady Langworthy. Lord and Lady Theobald were seated not far away.
Langworthy was once her mother's beloved home, one she lost to her father's distant relative, who went on to become Lord Lettice when he inherited the bigger title. When he bore a son, he passed the Langworthy title to him. There was much history between her mother and Lady Lettice, the former Lady Langworthy. Margaret was aware of how her mother tried her best to keep Langworthy, and how it must have devastated her to see it go. Growing up, she heard the story from their father. How, if he had been any more of a fool, he would have lost the woman he loved to his best friend, Lord Lettice. But things worked out. Or as he once said, love worked out.
Even until now, as her mother's friends get together, Margaret would look at her mother and wonder how the woman felt, seeing everyone present except for her husband. In her younger years, Margaret was witness to how their friendship thrived. Without them, Lady Alice may have not come out stronger than she did when she lost Harold Everard.
Tearing her eyes from her mother and her friends, Margaret looked down their box at the empty stage below. For a moment, she was transported back to time. She was in the same box, her siblings all over the place, her mother and father seated in the middle with no care of the ruckus. Going to the opera was amongst their family's favorite things to do. Her brothers would try to sneak out in the middle of the show to venture into the different drawing rooms in the back, while their parents would try to act frustrated, and then actually be devastated whenever they got in trouble. Their mother would be in near hysterics, and their father would quietly scold the boys. After, he would take his wife's hand, give it a squeeze, and whisper something in her ear. It would always calm Lady Alice down. Once, Margaret asked the man what he whispered to his wife, and Harold Everard bent down to say, "I remind her of how she used to be." He winked after, taking her hand to say, "Did you enjoy the opera, my darling?"
Suddenly missing her father, Margaret swallowed back the tears. He was taken away from them too soon. He was half the comfort of the household, half the strength and half the joy. And when they lost him, they lost that other half.
Lady Alice's hand covered Margaret's and squeezed. Just like how her father would have done. She met her mother's gentle gaze and they shared a secret smile.
When the show was about to start, the entire hall went dark for a moment before the stage lit up, causing excited whispers all around. Her mother withdrew her hand and leaned closer to her friends to listen in on a whispered conversation.
Claps echoed as the show began, and when they were replaced by the singers and the silent awe of the audience, Margaret allowed herself to enjoy the show. No one was looking at her now, she thought, taking the time for herself. She focused on the performance, on the music and the story until a familiar voice whispered behind her.
"Come." She nearly yelped in surprise.
When she looked back, he was no longer there. Leaning toward her mother, Margaret made a quick excuse to go to the water closet.
"Do you wish me to accompany you?" her mother asked.
"No. Tell me what I missed?"
"Of course."
Her heart was beating fast before she even emerged out of their box and into the back corridor. Cole was already waiting, and he did not waste time. He grabbed her hand and led her away. If anyone was remotely curious and looked behind their boxes as they passed, they would not have recognized the man and woman rushing off somewhere far from the show itself. And although she could not see him clearly, she was certain it was him.
It was the smell, the way his hand gripped hers, and the sound of his footsteps. Margaret kept looking behind them, anxious to be seen.
They found a door that led to a closet under the stairs, entered it and blocked everyone and the noise outside. It was totally dark and silent, their breathing the only sound she could hear. She did not know how large the closet was, or what it contained. But it felt familiar. How many times had she also sneaked out of the opera, leaving her parents, to meet him inside a dark closet? She had lost count, really.
Unlike before, however, they were not here for a tryst.
"You should know this is very uncomfortable," she laughingly said, inching away from him. He towered over her, the space too small for the two of them. She shivered when she felt his breath brush the side of her neck.
"Did she hurt you?" were the first words he asked.
"No," she lied, clearing her throat, stepping to the side and jerking in alarm when a wooden rod fell against her.
He clucked his tongue and grabbed the thing out of the way, carefully leaning it against the side wall.
"Do not worry about her," he said, his voice a little farther than before.
"I do not care about your mother," she whispered, looking away even though she knew he could barely see her face. "Why are we here?" she asked, shaking her mind off the memories of his body pressing her against this very same closet door. Those days and nights when stolen moments could barely satiate the hunger.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know how else to deliver the message."
Margaret pressed further into the door, growing uncomfortable with each word. She scoffed at herself as she shook away the distant sounds of their breaths within the four corners of this tiny space. "This is stupid."
"What?" he asked.
In her mind, she could feel his hand, the strain of the fabric of her dress, the wet trail of his mouth down her neck. Now, standing fully clothed in the same place where she used to leave all sense of shame and propriety outside the door, she felt utterly stupid. And embarrassed to ever be thinking about those memories when, clearly, she was the only one reliving them.
Pitiful. That's what she was.
"It's drafty in here. Say what you need to say, my lord," she whispered.
He remained quite for a moment and she was guessing he was trying to read her in the dark. Well, she hoped he could read that she was uncomfortable here more than anywhere with him.
"The men following you are no longer in Wickhurst."
"They escaped?"
"Maybe."
She sighed. "You could not have captured them. If you did, they would know you and I are working together."
"That's not my concern."
"And what's your concern?"
She felt him step closer. "Anyone could still be following you. And this time, they may be more careful."
"I've already figured that out." She reached for the door handle. "Is that all? I don't want my mother to get curious."
He was standing too close now. "You said you have something to tell me."
"And I refuse to discuss it here," she sternly said. "I really have to go."
He let out a frustrated sigh. "Meet me outside your manor tonight."
"Can't I just go back to your villa? I'll be tired tonight."
His hand caught hers when she turned the handle. "Meg—"
"What?" she snapped, harshly pulling away from his touch.
"Why are you mad?"
"Because you dragged me here," she honestly said. "Of all places, Cole."
He must have realized what she meant and he nodded. "I'll be waiting outside your manor."
She nodded. "I'll see what I can do."
"Remember. It was you who wanted my help."
Margaret could not help but let out a soft, sarcastic chuckle. "Thank you for the reminder, my lord. How ungrateful of me. I'm sorry that you have to go to the trouble of finding me here and dragging me inside a closet."
When she reached for the door this time, he did not stop her. But as she was about to slip out, he said, "Wait."
He squeezed himself between her and the door and poked his head out. Margaret swallowed, her mind restless as his body brushed against hers. And when he turned, his face was just a hairsbreadth away. He was just tall enough that she felt the light touch of his lips against her forehead. And she almost tilted her head back, which she didn't, because she was not that foolish. "It's safe," he whispered above her.
Without a word, she slipped past him and the door. When she returned to their box, she was shaking. She could no longer find the show interesting, her mind already wandering to their meeting tonight.
Yes, the details Faye gave her were astounding and needed attention, but she also had questions for him. One of which was something she saw on his mother that day in his study.
Ida Devitt had been wearing an oval golden brooch with the Ashmore family crest almost identical to the ones Cole owned.