Esther had made up her gooey concoction despite Margaret’s objections and dabbed it on Margaret’s face, leaving only her eyes and nostrils and mouth clean of the remedy. Although Margaret’s hair had been tied back, a few strands had escaped and were sticking to her face as well.
“Let me fetch some lard for it. Hold your hand in the basin of water to bring down the swelling until I return.”
Margaret could only nod and do as the maid instructed. The evening had gone on forever and all she’d wanted to do was escape to her room. Only now that she’d escaped, all sorts of discontent assaulted her. The ring was growing increasingly painful.
Hopefully, cold water and lard would help. She forced her breathing to slow. One did not panic simply because she could not remove a piece of jewelry, did one?
As she leaned against the table where the basin sat, her hand slipped and overturned the entire bowl of water, drenching her night rail.
It was the perfect end to a perfectly atrocious evening.
There was a knock on the door. “Come in!” she called out, thinking it would be a maid from the kitchen. She could not even remove her gown without assistance because of the mess on her face.
When she turned to take the lard from the maid, she gasped. It was not the maid.
“Wh-what are you doing here?”
Sebastian stood, unblinking, looking nearly as shocked as she felt.
And then she realized; the concoction on her face!
He closed the door, remaining inside. But quickly turned his back to afford her some privacy. “Forgive me, Maggie. I meant to give this to you earlier—for your birthday.”
Just as she was about to order him out, she realized he was handing her a package, reaching out behind him as he faced the door.
“What is it?”
“Take it and see,” he answered, his back to her still.
Soaking wet, still dripping, in fact, and feeling like some creature who might have crawled out of a muddied lagoon, she stepped forward and took it from him.
“I forgot to bring it down for the party earlier,” he explained.
“I did not expect any gifts for my birthday.” Penelope had gone too far. But she opened the paper that had been loosely wrapped around it.
It was a book—a well-worn book.
“I’ve read it dozens of times. I wanted you to have it.”
If he’d brought it with him, all the way from London, by horseback, it was not a meaningless item. The title came as no surprise.
“Johann David Wyss,” she murmured.
“Have you read it?”
She shook her head. “I’ve read Robinson Caruso but not this one.” It was the later version, titled The Swiss Family Robinson. It had only recently been published.
“I thought you would enjoy it. I wanted you to know that women can travel too. You are not destined to forgo all of your adventures, merely because you are a girl.”
A girl.
She laughed. She was hardly a girl any longer. Nonetheless, she opened it and flipped through the dog-eared pages.
“My apologies for its condition.”
But she was shaking her head. “It is a prized possession. I cannot accept it.” It was inappropriate for her to accept a gift from a gentleman who was not her husband or brother or father, in any case.
“Consider it a loan, then,” he persisted.
She would read it because he wanted her to. Reading was one experience that she could share with him.
“I will do my best to finish it before the end of the party,” she promised.
He had turned around without her being aware of it and was smiling. His eyes sparkled with humor. “I wonder why you didn’t wear this concoction when you climbed into my bed.”
Oh, good Lord! But it was too late to hide her ridiculous appearance from him now.
She touched her fingertips to her cheeks. “It’s for the burning.”
He tilted his head and frowned. “I didn’t stop to think of how long we were in the sun. I kept you out too long.”
“I forbid you to take responsibility for my carelessness. It was a wonderful day. Please, do not apologize.” It had been a very lovely day, indeed. One of the most enjoyable she’d had in ages.
“It was,” he agreed and then he bowed and backed toward the door. “I’d best leave before your maid returns.” He winked. “Sweet dreams, Maggie. I know mine will be sweeter for knowing you.”
And then he was gone.
When Margaret turned to stare at herself in the vanity, her eyes flew open wide. The water on her gown had made it all but transparent. She might as well have been naked. She could easily make out the dusky pink tips of her breasts and—Good God!—the dark triangle between her thighs.
If her cheeks weren’t already flushed from the sun and covered with honey and oil, she was certain they’d be beet red.
It seemed she was to have no secrets from this man!
12
Choose Wisely
A few miles up and over the hill behind Land’s End, Margaret’s father had ordered a brook damned off in order to create a lake. Depending on how much rain fell in a given year, it was used to mitigate floods but also to hold water for later distribution to the lower fields. In addition to its practical purposes, the small reservoir made for a pleasing scene and was occasionally used for swimming.
Nearby, a tidy storage building housed three small boats for rowing.
Penelope had had them all brought out, repaired and cleaned for the day’s events. In between pleasure trips, across and back, there would be a rowing tournament, and it went without saying that an informal picnic would be served as well.
Servants had been working all morning to transport the prepared cold cuts, cheeses, fruit, and loaves of bread as well as wine to the location.
The most enthusiastic hiked up to the location but most traveled to the lake’s edge in coaches and a few of the gentlemen rode atop mounts.
Margaret sat beside George that morning in an open barouche with Lady Sheffield on her other side and Mr. and Mrs. Spencer and Miss Crouch sitting on the opposite bench.
“Lady Danbury assures me that boats will be available for romantic excursions around the perimeter of the lake. You will allow me to row you, won’t you, my dear?” George surprised her by asking.
He might have sensed that she was not overly pleased with him, with his decision to make the announcement without her permission. She’d not had an opportunity to speak with him alone.
“I’d like that very much, George.” She called him by his given name despite the presence of others.
She was not overly concerned with pleasing him this morning. Her finger still pained her from where she and Esther had fought unsuccessfully with the ring until finally giving up when Margaret could endure the discomfort no longer. Even this morning, the skin around the blasted thing was an angry red from their efforts.
She quite looked forward to speaking with him privately.
“And you will row me, Mr. Spencer?” Mrs. Spencer appealed to her husband, who, of course, agreed immediately.
“Perhaps Lord Rockingham will take you out on the water, Miss Crouch,” Mrs. Spencer suggested to the other girl.
George laughed beside her. “That boy. I wouldn’t take his attention too seriously. I’m surprised he hasn’t departed already, what with his feet itching for adventure. I wouldn’t dare hazard a guess as to how many broken hearts he’s left in his wake.”