Page 83 of Not a Fine Gentleman

Chapter 23

Inside her bedchambers, Margaret let out a contented sigh. For the first time since her return to London, she’d slept well. Connor was right; it had been difficult to put the murderer’s disfigured face out of her mind when Jared and Christian had taken her to view the body, but seeing with her own eyes that the murderer was dead had put her fears to rest.

Humming absently, her attentive maid, Taylor, arranged her hair and put her favorite mother-of-pearl combs in among the soft waves. The return of her personal items had given Margaret a strange sense of familiarity despite all the unanswered questions.

After Taylor helped her into her black mourning gown, Margaret went downstairs to eat breakfast but found the room empty at such an unusually late hour. After hurrying through a simple meal, she wandered into the sun-drenched drawing room closed off to feel like a parlor. She found the entire family, except Grant and Christian, gathered together as if they were waiting out a storm, or a siege.

“Would anyone care to take a turn about the park across the street with me?” she asked.

They exchanged long looks. Finally, Cole spoke. “I don’t think that’s wise. Considering all that’s happened, we need to remain indoors together—you, especially.”

She let out a disbelieving huff of laughter. “I realize that whoever hired the killer remains at large, but surely he no longer views me as a threat, since I don’t know his identity.”

Every inch the earl Father had been, Cole shook his head with finality. “He might think you know more than you do. We aren’t going to find out. We stay together, indoors as much as possible, until the mastermind is apprehended. Or dead.”

Rachel gave her a beseeching look. “Please, for once in your life, resist your natural stubbornness and stay with us. Don’t you think you’ve worried us enough?”

That took the wind out of Margaret’s proverbial sails.

Alicia patted the seat next to her. “Come, I’ve just finished the latest book by that new author who uses the nom de plume A Lady of Substance. It’s killing me not knowing who she is. Do you want to read it?”

Margaret sighed and took the book. But her attention strayed. Her family was right. She hadn’t been acting rationally in weeks. Running off alone, sneaking out of the house, and finally taking a carriage on a misleading rescue had put her in unnecessary danger and had frightened her family. She would be furious if any of them had done such things.

For several hours, she amused herself with the novel, then the harp, then sketching scenes of various people she’d met on her travels with Connor—her fellow passengers, the pawnshop owner who had her bracelet, Sal who’d tried to free her from Connor. Eventually, she drew Connor, his face, his eyes, his hands. Quickly, before anyone saw her latest sketches and drew conclusions she’d rather not explore, she turned the pages of her sketchbook and started new drawings including the chef, Monsieur Beaufort, which, of course, drew her thoughts back to Connor.

Tossing aside her sketchbook, she stood. “I cannot abide being little more than a prisoner in my childhood home.”

Rachel set down her pen and swiveled in her chair to face Margaret. “Surely you understand now how vital it is that you remain here where you’re safe.”

From a corner, Jared jested, “I can find a pair of shackles if you want to really feel like a prisoner.” He grinned at her and resumed his task of sharpening a knife—one in a long line of blades laid out on a table. His sword leaned against the chair.

His wife, Elise, gently scolded, “Jared.”

Tucked up under Elise’s arm, her son, Colin, looked up from his storybook. “What are shackles?”

Elise explained, “They use them in prisons to ensure the criminals don’t escape.” She glanced at Jared, and they exchanged a look, probably recalling the time Jared had been imprisoned for piracy and condemned to die.

Margaret shivered.

“Don’t cages keep criminals inside?” Colin persisted.

Elise swallowed. “The cages are called prison cells, and yes, they do, but sometimes they put shackles on prisoners, too.”

Cole’s eyes took on a thoughtful, faraway look.

Seated at a small table, Alicia set down her pen and stretched. “There. Finished with the invitations. I do hope everyone can attend our dinner party.”

Next to her, Jocelyn sanded her last note. “Don’t you think this is rather a large guest list for a small, informal gathering?”

“I want to show our family’s support for Margaret publicly,” Alicia said.

Grant, Christian, and Connor Jackson strode into the room wearing equally grim expressions and filling the room with their energy. Or perhaps it was Connor who filled Margaret with energy.

Margaret’s thoughts took a fanciful turn as she took a good look at Connor. A really good look. In fact, she could not have looked away from Connor at that moment if she’d tried. What went on inside that mind of his? He stood so strong and brave and honorable. Of a height and breadth that could have belonged to a prizefighter, he probably gave any criminal a scare just by his approach. She admired the sheen of his hair, a tiny wisp that curled over his ear, his strong, handsome features, that mouth that begged to be kissed.

Her lips tingled. How long since she’d been kissed! It seemed a faded dream. A lifetime ago. She’d kissed other men before Hennessy, but he had done a better job than most. It was a pity that he had been so skilled at something he could do with absolutely no heart.

If she ever shared such a private moment with another man, she’d choose one who truly loved her. Until then, she’d live alone and untouched.