Willoughby's Return_ A Tale of Almost Irresistible Temptation - Jane Odiwe [107]
“Did you help Antoinette run away?” asked Margaret, certain of the answer.
“I did, and was prepared to take the blame also, but she would not hear of it. Fearing the wrath of both our parents and more particularly of my mother, she insisted that I should not give myself up to their questions. Nevertheless, I have still endured a dreadful interrogation, but I am happy that the lovers are far away.”
“Will you tell me where they are gone?” Margaret knew she shouldn’t ask, but she thought she had an idea that they might have undertaken a long journey.
“Can I trust you, Margaret?” Henry looked into her eyes. Margaret held his gaze steadily, so earnestly did she wish him to divulge his secrets. “You can trust me with your life,” she answered truthfully.
“I believe I can. They have gone to France where Jean has many friends and relatives to help them. Perhaps it might be seen as a dangerous step, but Jean is adamant that his claims to his land may yet be fulfilled and his home recovered. I do not know if they will stay, but Antoinette did not want to risk remaining here. After all, she might have had to marry me!”
“Did she consider that to be such a bad thing? Antoinette is a very good actress, I think. I was completely fooled. She looked as if she adored you.”
“And may I ask, Miss Dashwood, what you thought about that?”
Henry's eyes were staring into hers again. Margaret fixed him with a bold glance. “I must admit that I did not like it.”
“And I must admit that I was ready to run Charles Carey through with a sword!”
“Oh, Henry!”
“Will you forgive me, Margaret?”
“Of course I will, Henry.”
The coach had come to a standstill under the trees in a deserted spot at the edge of the park. Margaret felt the impropriety but could not have cared. To be sitting so intimately with Henry gazing at her with adoration was all she could wish. He sat forward on the edge of his seat and put out his hand to take hers.
“I love you, Margaret,” he said softly. “I have since the moment I met you and never did stop loving you, though I am certain that is not how it must have appeared. The risk was too great. Not that I couldn’t confide in you, but I had to convince others that there was no hint of any relationship between us. I had to make you hate me and make my mother and the Comtesse believe that I loved Antoinette in order for our plan to succeed.”
“I understand, truly,” Margaret whispered, delighting in the touch of his fingers entwined with her own. “But in any case, I could never have hated you, Henry, whatever happened. I love you too much.”
Suddenly, the sound of dripping water pattering down upon the carriage hood rose with a crescendo, drumming with the rhythm of a sharp shower of rain. Water ran in great rivulets down the panes of glass at the windows, making it impossible to see out. Margaret felt cocooned in a little world of her own, marooned with the only man she ever felt she would love. Henry stroked her gloved fingers, raising them to his mouth. He turned her palm over, brushing the soft flesh of her wrist just above the edge of her glove with his lips.
“Margaret, forgive me,” he said, clasping her hand to his cheek with great affection, “I must ask you something of importance, but I have to tell you that I am so afraid of your answer that I do not wish to ask it of you.”
“Oh, Henry, am I so fearsome?” Margaret declared, thrilled by the sensation of her hand against his face, “Please ask me anything at all!”
Henry shook his head. “No, I do not think you fearsome, Miss Dashwood. On the contrary, you are the most delightful person I ever met and that is why I am wary of speaking to you on a matter which will decide my future forever.”
Margaret attempted to cover her