An Unwilling Husband (35 page)

“You must be ecstatic at the attention of Mr. Faraday,” exclaimed the blond, petite and bubbly Miss Devocourt. “He is undoubtedly the wealthiest and most fetching man at the party. Though only because my Simon couldn’t make it tonight. He has important business meetings he just couldn’t get out of,” she said with a pout, though she looked quite proud.

“Oh, no, I’m married,” Maggie said. “My husband was also unable to attend as he is out of town.”

“Oh,” Lady Redding said in confusion. A loaded look passed between her and Miss Devocourt. “And how far out of town is he, now?”

“Very far, I’m afraid. He is in Texas. I’m only in Boston for a visit because my aunt is ailing.”

“And does Mr. Faraday know this?” Elizabeth asked, a hint of excitement in her tone.

Maggie sighed. No help for it. “I assume so, as I’ve told him on several occasions.”

“Well, he seems quite taken with you despite your married status. You must have given him some clue you were available. You must be careful with that sort of thing. It is fair and common for a man to take a mistress. He has needs. A woman doing such is unacceptable, you know.” Elizabeth sidled closer to her. “It’s all right to flirt, but to get a man that interested in you is downright wanton.”

“Lovely,” she replied, and finished her champagne in one long gulp. “Lovely to have met you, but I must excuse myself.” She plopped the flute onto a servant’s tray and hurried off, refusing to look back.

Searching in desperation for the exit, she tried to navigate the crowded hall. Everywhere she turned, groups talked about mundane and unimportant things: politics, hats, marrying wealthy, the importance of money, the latest fashion. And everywhere, the cruel chatter of women who had found a victim to laugh at. Everything seemed so different. She couldn’t find it in her to stomach such conversations anymore. Her head spun as she tried to escape the masses.

These topics weren’t important! Didn’t they know? Didn’t the pampered wealthy have the slightest clue there were more pressing matters out there? The Plight of the Indian, running a business in country with no money, starvation, working blistered hands to the bone for little pay, marriages of love over convenience, rough country with little medicine, locusts, drought, livelihood dependent on storm clouds, happiness. Happiness? These people could never be truly happy, for none had known hard times. They could surely only know mediocrity in life because they hadn’t seen how hard things could get. It was so obvious! She felt reckless for an escape.

Just as she hurried to a wall and made her way to the hallway that would lead her to the front entrance, someone grabbed her by the arm, surprising her into stillness.

Robert examined her with concern. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. No. I’m feeling unwell and fear I must take my leave.”

“No, you are feeling bored. It has been written on your face all night. Dance with me.”

“You don’t understand. I really must leave. My apologies, and thank you for the invitation, but I must go,” she said.

“One dance, and then you may leave. I won’t stop you, but I beg you grant me one dance before you leave me here to navigate this party alone.” He stared at her, clearly unwilling to give an inch. “One dance.”

With a sigh of frustration, she bowed slightly. Her tongue would be less mannerly than he deserved.

“Great,” Faraday said, excitement tingeing his voice. “Come with me.”

He led her onto the dance floor, begged her remain there for a moment then jogged over to the quartet playing softly and talked to the violinist for a moment. The first notes to a waltz sounded and Robert guided her around the floor. Others joined with their partners in turn.

“I remembered how well you danced, and knew I must waltz with you before the evening was done,” Robert said, smiling.

She tried to look anywhere but at his face. “You have a very long memory.”

He pulled her closer. The proximity made her feel trapped and uncomfortable. She was still yet unrecovered from her earlier panic, and the dizziness came back with a vengeance as they twirled and danced in rhythm with the music. The floor was crowded and it added to her distress. Around and around they flew and the faces in the crowd blurred together as Robert droned on and on.

Blue eyes, so familiar, caught her attention. Garret. Had she seen him, in the doorway to the ballroom? Then when she tried to look for him, she was unable to find him. It had to be her imagination. Wishful thinking, perhaps, for how could a man so real be in a place so whimsical? Maggie searched again in vain as she slowed and then stopped. She ignored Robert’s questions and made her way through the moving bodies, to the unhappy exclamations of close physical encounters.

“Sorry, so sorry,” she mumbled as she made for where she thought Garret had been. She fought her way out of the oversized, overcrowded ball room. As her shoulders grazed body after body, she stumbled, and then ran when space allowed.

“Garret!” she yelled at the figure of a man walking away from the house.

As she fled down the stairs, the man stopped. He turned slowly but she already knew she was right. It was Garret. Her Garret. Dressed in his best and still looking every bit as if he didn’t belong. Unbridled happiness surged. He didn’t belong, and neither did she.

She flew into his arms, nearly knocking them both to the ground. Why she was crying, she didn’t know, only that she couldn’t stop. She clung to him, and the passersby staring as they headed to or from the party could go hang.

The solidity of his strong body, the smell of him, the safety she felt with his arms around her threatened to overwhelm her. She’d needed him so much in the last weeks and hadn’t realized how much until then. She didn’t care what happened between them before she left. Only that they were together again. It was everything; all that mattered.

“Maggie. Maggie,” Garret repeated quietly.

His deep voice rumbled against her tearstained cheek. Confusion blanketed her as he pushed her away gently.

The sadness in his voice was heart wrenching. “Maggie, people are staring.”

“Well hang them all and let them stare then! What do I care?” She smiled at him in encouragement. Everything would be all right.

“You should care,” he said. “These are your people.”

Maggie shook her head in confusion. “These aren’t my people, you are my people. You and Lenny, and Cookie, and Burke, and Wells, everyone back in Rockdale.”

His eyes swam with emotion. “I saw you in there, Maggie. I watched you. You fit right in, talking to everyone. I saw you dancing with him.”

“Well, I didn’t want to, if you would just let me explain.”

“That’s just it. You don’t have to explain. This is where you belong.”

Before she could argue, Garret flagged down a servant and sent for her coach. As he advanced toward the front of the estate, she followed, holding onto his arm. “You are wrong. You are so wrong and don’t even know it. I don’t belong here, I hate it here. I am miserable, counting the minutes until I can come back home.”

“Then why haven’t you?” He rounded on her. “Why are you still here, if it makes you so miserable? I saw you in there. People here live like kings. Why would you ever come back to a dusty old cattle ranch in the middle of the wilderness when you can live like this?”

“Because you are there, you ridiculous man!”

“Well then you’ll just have to move on. I’ll let go. I could, if it meant you could be happy. The way you were dancing with that man in there,” he stopped and shook his head. “I saw the way he was lookin’ at you. I could let you go and you could be happy with him. Raise a family and never have to worry about fetching a doctor or feeding your babies, or falling off a damned horse and getting kidnapped or shot. You could be safe and comfortable.”

“But I don’t want to be safe and comfortable! I want to be with you.”

Garret rubbed the scruff on his face in agitation, the water in his eyes remaining unshed, but just barely. “Maggie. I can’t do that to you, don’t you understand? I love you and you’ll hate me.” There was leaving in his voice.

“Please, come with me to my aunt’s house. I’ll explain everything that has happened. All will be right. We can be together.”

The only reason she climbed into her carriage was because Garret seemed to follow behind her. When she’d settled, he shut the door behind her and stood near the window. His tall frame put him at eye level. “I love you, Maggie. Always will.”

“Garret, please!” she cried as the coach took off at a fast clip for the Hall estate. “Don’t do this!”

In desperation, she begged the driver to slow the team and turn around. He ignored her. The streets were nearly empty at such a late hour and the carriage never slowed enough for her to jump out.

* * * *

The days that followed were unforgiving and unbearable. Her heart had been torn from her chest, and instead of healing, the void only grew deeper with time.

Garret had boarded the first train to start his journey to Rockdale. She knew this because Berta had inquired after his whereabouts. The knowledge didn’t stop Maggie from looking for him around every corner, at each freshly opened door, every time she turned around. Silly, inconvenient wants.

Undeniably, Garret was far away, but the space between them seemed even farther than just the physical. It was as if he’d become unattainable, after she’d held his heart for one brilliant moment in time.

He had come for her, and the thought warmed her until she realized what her attendance at such a party must have looked like to him. Surely he’d expected to find her near her ailing aunt, and instead had discovered the Hall house, where an all-too-willing Jacques had been ready to show him to the party. Jacques had also driven her coach and refused to stop so she’d missed her chance to throw herself in Garret’s path and demand he listen to her explanation.

Jacques, Hall house’s drollest and most loyal servant, must have happily told her aunt of his doings and un-doings that night. Aunt Margaret boasted a smug smile and demeanor, adding fuel to Maggie’s already darkened disposition.

Aunt Margaret was fading. Today would likely be her last on this earth, and Maggie was a mass of feeling. She couldn’t seem to manage settling on one emotion, so on she tumbled from one surge of feeling to the next, which continued through the morning. Regret at the lack of a genuine relationship. Sadness at the woman’s bitter life. And her least favorite, for she hated that it even be included, was a small tingling of relief that no one would ever speak to her in such a manner again.

The doctor shook her gently awake in the dark before dawn. Aunt Margaret would pass soon and had asked for her. Maggie dressed hurriedly and plodded straight to Aunt Margaret’s room, where she sat for the next seven hours. Her aunt labored to breathe and the shallow rise and fall of her chest said she struggled for every inhalation. She didn’t rouse enough to speak, so Maggie filled the void with stories, both true and made-up. The time passed slowly and her voice grew raw from the one sided conversation. Eventually she stopped and fingered the button on the couch. Her aunt grew weaker still.

“I was engaged in London. Did your mother ever tell you that?” Aunt Margaret whispered, barely conscious.

“No. She never did,” Maggie replied, scooting the small couch closer to her aunt’s bed to better hear.

“I loved a man, and he, me. And you came along to ruin everything.”

“But what about Uncle William? You were happy with him.” It had been true. She’d seen their gentle way with each other.

“Yes, we were happy. But he wasn’t my true love. My fiancé wasn’t able to marry me because of our fall from Society. Within months of your mother’s scandal, my Michael was engaged to a woman with hair as bright red and offensive as yours. It was the first reason I hated you so.”

It was as close to an apology as she would get. Aunt Margaret fell silent and passed within the hour.

She had never looked so at peace. Perhaps sharing her secret had lifted a weight off the woman in her last moments.

The bustle of servants and friends paying their last respects seemed to quicken as Maggie sat alone on the couch. She let Aunt Margaret’s confession sink in. Let her passing blanket her. Uncle William had known what he was doing, finagling them into this situation with his will. He’d been attempting to give the warring women in his life some sort of closure with each other. Even if small and anti-climactic, any closure was all he had hoped for them.

Roy had taken Maggie’s decision in a husband from her by assuming he knew best what her true wants were. Uncle William had surely altered her views with his last wishes. What was it that had made both father figures in her life so confident they could change her stars for the better?