Sandy could forge ahead without Kit’s permission, but if he experienced difficulties later on, he’d be in trouble. Kit was an expert at wallowing in the triumphs, but blaming others for any calamities, so Sandy had to be extremely careful.
He was a widower, with two sons to raise. His position provided a good salary and a fine house, and he would never confront Kit and jeopardize his sons’ security.
He exited into the sunshine, and he stared across the park, relishing the smell of the green grass, the freshness of the summer sky. He let his fury at Kit float away. He was lucky and happy, and he had to remember he was.
He’d intended to stroll in the meadow and chat with his favorite horses, but as he rounded the corner of the building, he literally bumped into Margaret. They collided so hard that she staggered and nearly fell. He leapt to steady her.
“Oh, Sandy!” she said. “I was marching along, lost in thought, and I wasn’t paying attention. I’m sorry.”
“I wasn’t paying attention either. Are you all right?”
“I’m grand.”
She smiled a tight smile, as he quickly and furtively assessed her condition. With her blond hair and blue eyes, she was still beautiful, but she was much more slender than she’d been previously. According to the housemaids, regret and remorse were gnawing at her.
Sadness was written all over her face. It was so clear to him. He’d once known her better than anyone, definitely better than her awful, elderly husband, and she’d never been able to hide her emotions from him.
Since she’d returned to Ralston Place, he hadn’t talked to her. He’d constantly expected she would seek him out, but she hadn’t, and he’d convinced himself not to be aggrieved over the slight.
The members of the Ralston family were not a mystery to him. They were snobs, and they couldn’t help being pompous. Why wish for them to change their habits? It was like asking a cow not to moo.
When she’d decided to shackle herself to Bernard Howell, she’d been very blunt as to how she viewed Sandy. Although he’d loved her for years, he was a humble farmhand, and therefore, far beneath the sort of man she would choose as her husband.
She’d explained it kindly, but he’d often wondered if she’d ever realized how her remarks had devastated him. Probably not. In certain areas, she was blindly oblivious.
Back then, they’d been very young and stupid, and Esther Ralston had been such a shrew. Margaret hadn’t been strong enough to stand up to her. Sandy had been vain and proud, and he’d truly assumed that he and Margaret could have run away together and lived happily ever after.
It was humorous, at age thirty, to recall how naïve he’d been. She’d wed Howell and had traipsed off to Egypt with him. Sandy had wed a local girl, a farmer’s pragmatic, sensible daughter who’d been from his same reduced station in life.
They’d both moved on, but now, Howell was deceased. Esther too. Sandy’s wife had passed away—several years earlier. He and Margaret were widowed adults who were free to behave however they pleased. There was no one to complain if they were cordial.
On her first arriving, he’d believed they might rekindle their prior romance, but with her never bothering to knock on his door, he’d been forced to accept that she wasn’t reflecting on the past as he’d been.
She was still a Ralston daughter, and he was still a laborer who worked for her brother. He couldn’t wrap their disparate circumstances in a pretty bow.
They stared at each other, and he recognized that he ought to tender a polite comment to smooth over the awkwardness, but he didn’t. Previously, when he’d been much more imprudent, he might have kept the conversation going merely so he’d have an excuse to tarry by her side, but any fraternization could never be on his terms. They always had to be on hers, and he wasn’t willing to be roped into her world again.
There was no advantage to any association.
“How have you been?” she asked.
“Fine. And you?”
“I’ve been better. I’ve been home for awhile.”
Seven weeks, three days, twelve hours. “I know.”
“I apologize for not calling on you, but I couldn’t decide if I should or not.”
“There was no reason to bestir yourself.”
He sounded incredibly petulant, and she frowned. “I deserved that, I suppose.”
“I didn’t mean to seem surly. I’m glad you’re back. How long will you be visiting?”
“I’m not visiting. I’m staying—for good.”
She’d confirmed the rumors circulating. Apparently, Bernard Howell had left her so destitute in Egypt that she’d had to beg pennies from her fancy friends in order to book passage to England.
Sandy was trying not to gloat over what an idiot Howell had been. He, Sandy, wasn’t the brightest fellow in the kingdom, but he wouldn’t have treated his dog that shabbily.
“Well . . . I’m sure this is a perfect ending for you,” he said like a dolt.
“Jacob told me I could remain. I’ve been fretting over whether he’d let me or not.”
“Why wouldn’t he have let you?”
“He’s marrying, so I doubted his bride would be keen to have me on the premises.”
He chuckled; he couldn’t help it. “You always worried about the silliest topics.”
“Yes, and I haven’t changed a whit.” Suddenly, she asked, “What’s your opinion of Roxanne? You’ve had a bit of time to watch her, and you’re such an excellent judge of people. Will she make Jacob happy?”
He loathed Roxanne Ralston, and the man who shackled himself to her would wind up miserable for all eternity. She was petty, conceited, and impossible to please, but she was also exceedingly beautiful, but in an icy, aloof sort of way.
He couldn’t predict if that type of female would appeal to Jacob or not. Top-lofty families pursued strange motives in arranging their marriages, and Sandy was the very last person who would comment about it.
“I haven’t met her yet,” he lied, “so I haven’t reached any conclusions.”
She scoffed. “Which I don’t
