Page 14 of Surrendering to a Lady's Touch

“I trust your counsel in all things,” Margaret went on.

But in her mind, she would still dream of John and imagine what it must be like to rest in his arms and feel protected.

Oh, but Margaret’s imagination was getting the best of her yet again! Surely, there was nothing wrong with indulging in the mind, was there? No one could see Margaret’s thoughts, and it seemed as though her imagination was now the only place that she took comfort in.

Jane removed her hand and stood. “We must prepare you for supper.”

“How can you even think of supper? I feel as though the picnic was moments ago.”

“Clearly, being trapped in this room has done something to your sense of time. It has been hours, and what’s more, if your father is already in his cups, then there’s a good chance that he’ll wish to sup early.”

Margaret frowned. How dreadful to have to sit through another meal with her father, knowing that he would be three sheets to the wind. Also, there was a good chance that he would press Margaret for more information about John.

That had been the tenor of their conversation in his study. He inquired after John and said that Margaret needed to retire to her room so that she didn’t get too much sunshine. The viscount shared that Lord Darkmoor wouldn’t care for freckles upon her face. Margaret thought this amusing at the time. And heartbreaking.

“Leave me for the time being. There is much on my mind.”

Jane placed her hands upon her hips. “I hope that when I leave you, you won’t sulk.”

“I shall not sulk.”

With that, Jane departed the room, and Margaret smiled to herself. She dropped down upon the bed, gazing up at the ceiling. Yes, perhaps for the better part of the late afternoon, she would think of John, how he smiled at her, how he expressed concern for her imminent doom. All of these things were heartening. But was what Jane said about his character true? Would he not return the next day? It would break Margaret’s heart ever so slightly if he did not arrive.

Sadly, once it was finally time to come down for supper, the viscount made his position all too clear. “I do not wish to see that man on my lawn again.”

“Father, it’s Jane’s brother. There is nothing to fear.”

“I have a bad feeling about him.” Viscount Bolton took a hearty sip of his wine.

Yes, he was already intoxicated. That much was clear. But why was it that her father had such ill feelings towards John when he had never met the fellow? Then again, knowing the effect that John had upon her, Margaret could see why her father felt a tinge of fear.

“Where is he staying?” the viscount asked.

“John Harrington?”

“The very same.”

“I believe that he has secured an inn in Farthington. At least, that was what Jane suggested.”

“Sometimes, I fear that you try to vex me as retaliation for what I am asking you to do.”

What Margaret wished to say was that her father was not asking her to do anything. On the contrary, he was commanding her in no uncertain terms. “I am not trying to vex you,” Margaret said softly. “I was merely enjoying the company of someone I’ve only met briefly.”

“And why has he appeared out of nowhere?”

“Father, what is the meaning behind all of these questions?”

“I had a dreadful premonition.”

Margaret put down her soup spoon and folded her hands in her lap. First Jane, and now the viscount. Soon the cook would be scolding her for wishing to spend time with John Harrington.

“Father, might we escape the premonitions and enjoy our supper?”

“Don’t be haughty with me.”

There was no sense in replying. Her father was clearly in one of his moods, and there was nothing that Margaret could do to amend it. So instead, she picked up her soup spoon yet again and willed herself to eat. It was a squash potage which was pleasing to the tastebuds, but as had become a familiar problem, Margaret didn’t have the stomach for it.

Oh, but she had a marvelous appetite that afternoon in John’s company. It was as though all of her cares disappeared when he looked at her. Alas, she was thinking about him again…although both her father and Jane were cross with her, Margaret would still delight in her own thoughts, and she’d direct her attention to wondering what John was doing at that very moment.

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