“What are you doing here?”
“I was bored.”
Sandy pulled the door wide so Margaret could step into his front room. His son, Tim, was nowhere in sight, but Tom had fallen asleep by the hearth. Sandy had been seated on a chair next to him, reading a book, and drinking a glass of wine.
It was such a homey scene that it brought a sting of tears to her eyes.
He laid a finger to his lips, urging her to silence, then he lifted Tom off the floor.
“Is it morning?” Tom drowsily asked.
“No, my young wolf. It’s time for bed. Let me tuck you in.” He glanced at Margaret and whispered, “Tim already went up. I’ll put him down too.”
He walked off, Tom dozing against his chest. As he exited, he nodded to the chair he’d just vacated, indicating she should sit down. She nodded that she would, and he continued on.
She helped herself to Sandy’s wine, listening as he walked around overhead. It was so quiet she could hear the soft murmur of their male voices, then he tiptoed down.
He marched over and delivered a stirring kiss, then he said, “You have a mansion full of guests. Why would you sneak over to my paltry house? Aren’t you supposed to be the hostess? You’ll be missed.”
“I thought you’d attend. I had to find out why you stayed away.”
He frowned as if it was the strangest comment ever. “Why would I have attended? I wasn’t invited.”
“Roxanne didn’t ask you?”
“No. Nor would I have expected her to.”
“Kit is there, bold as brass.”
“Well, Kit is . . . Kit. Why wouldn’t he be there?”
“And you, being a lowly employee, didn’t warrant an invitation?”
“I’m sure this will come as a huge surprise to your grand self, but I’ve never been to a party inside the manor. Not in thirty years.”
There was no rancor in his tone. He was simply stating a fact of his life.
“We sound like such snobs.”
He grinned. “You are snobs. All of you, but you seem to have climbed down off your high-horse a bit.”
“I’m trying anyway.”
His gaze roamed down her torso. Although she was a poverty-stricken widow, her outfit provided no signs of her penury. She was wearing a sapphire gown that enhanced the blond of her hair and the blue of her eyes. Her jewelry wasn’t real, but it was expensive enough to appear as if it was. She even had a tiara in her hair, the fake diamonds glittering in the firelight.
He made a circling motion with his hand, so she’d spin for him and he could see the whole ensemble. She felt like a silly, flirty adolescent again, and the sensation was thrilling and welcome.
“Very nice, Mrs. Howell. You could be an heiress.”
“Wouldn’t that be lovely? Were you aware that Mr. Howell died bankrupt? I was left so destitute that I had to borrow money from acquaintances in order to purchase my ticket to England. In case you were thinking I returned rich, I didn’t.”
“I wasn’t thinking that. I was thinking you staggered home poor, miserable, and looking as if you’d lost your last friend. And when we manage to steal a few minutes together, could we please not talk about your deceased husband? He was a fiend, and I don’t believe it’s healthy for you to dwell on your marriage. It merely dredges up the bad memories.”
“It’s what Miss James keeps advising, but I’ve never mentioned my lean history to anyone. It’s cathartic to tell you my secrets.”
He reached out and linked their fingers. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m upset that you weren’t at the party.”
“We’re from different worlds, Margaret. It was our problem when we were children, and nothing’s changed.”
“Could I have supper with you some night? You suggested it, remember? The three of you are so happy. Some of it might rub off on me.”
“I’ve decided supper isn’t a good idea. How would I explain your presence? You’re Mrs. Howell. You’re the Captain’s sister. You live in the manor, and we live here. I tend the horses.”
“So . . . ?” she retorted like the worst spoiled brat.
“Don’t pretend to be confused about it,” he told her. “There’s the issue too of me bringing a female into the house. My boys were very attached to their mother, and they took her death very hard. If you wedged yourself into our small family, they’d like you too much, and I can’t have them growing fond when you won’t stay around.”
“I don’t want our situation to be like this.”
“Unfortunately, my dear, we don’t get to choose the restrictions that rule us.”
When she’d observed the cozy tableau—Sandy drinking wine and watching over his sleepy son—she’d felt such a terrible yearning to step into the montage and become part of it. A vision had flared, of herself as Sandy’s wife and mother to his boys. In a bout of temporary insanity, she’d pictured herself fitting in with no trouble at all.
She was barren, so she’d never have any children of her own. Why couldn’t his sons be her sons? The image had been so clear, so perfect, but he had the most annoying way of yanking her back to reality.
“You could describe us as friends,” she said. “They’d understand that.”
“A man like me can never be friends with a woman like you, and I won’t have them assuming it’s possible to smash the barriers that separate us. They shouldn’t ever pine away over a female they can’t have—as I’ve pined away over you. It’s futile.”
“Did you really pine away?”
“For an entire decade, and that’s the one and only time I intend to ever admit it.”
She wished she could be angry with him. Or maybe she’d like to insist there were no barriers, but he was correct in every word he’d uttered.
She sighed. “What will happen to us?”
“I haven’t the vaguest notion.”
“I can’t act as if you’re not
