Reckless (Mockingbird Square 4)

At that moment he decided he was tired of her lecturing him. “Not at all. I am here to tidy up my great uncle’s affairs. I am his heir. It just so happens there is a possibility that the house may be turned into—”

Lady Strangeways wasn’t interested. She cut him off rudely. “But you know Miss Willoughby, do you not?”

So that was the crux of the matter. He hesitated a moment, stirring his coffee. The action gave him something to do and had the secondary advantage of forcing Lady Strangeways to wait.

“I do know Miss Willoughby. I also know her cousin, Mrs Maclean. She lives in Mockingbird Square and we are neighbours.”

“Oh, Olivia.” She waved a hand dismissively. “She was spoiled as a girl, always expecting the best of everything. Margaret is quite different.”

“Yes,” he said, “she is.”

A flash of triumph in those grey eyes, as if she had the answer to whatever question she had been seeking.

“Nic,” Sibylla murmured a warning but he ignored her.

“In Denwick, we do not approve of London gentlemen, Monkstead. We do not approve of their ways. Margaret’s father is very keen on his daughter marrying Louis Scott because she would make a perfect wife for him. And I happen to agree.”

“Does Margaret not have a say in all of this?” he asked with deceptive mildness, his gaze never leaving hers.

“Good Heavens, no. Why should she?” She was genuinely surprised by the question. “She’s a sensible girl, she’s young, and she must listen to those who are older and wiser. I will not have her head turned by persons who do not have her best interests at heart.”

“And you do? How fortunate for her,” he mocked.

“Nic,” Sibylla spoke more sharply this time. “Perhaps we should bid farewell to Lady Strangeways. You have matters to attend to and I—”

He wasn’t listening to her. He leaned forward and his voice was the voice he used when someone dear to him was threatened, because Margaret was dear to him. “When Miss Willoughby left London she was in full bloom. Bright, somewhat argumentative it is true, but she was alive. Now she is a shadow of her former self. I wonder why that is, Lady Strangeways? And I wonder why those who have her ‘best interests at heart’ would not do something about that.”

“Ah, here’s the truth!” she cried. “I knew it. As soon as I heard you were here I knew why you’d come. I knew it was for Margaret. I’ve wondered ever since she returned home why she was so depressed, moping about. I warned her father not to let her go to London but Olivia had to have her way, and now we see what has come of it. Well, I won’t have the vicar and his family upset, my lord. I warn you, I will not have it!”

She’d risen to her feet during her speech, and now she brushed past Sibylla’s chair to the door. A moment later she was gone, and they were alone again.

Sibylla looked at Dominic. For a moment they didn’t say a word and then he ran his hands violently, several times, through his hair, making it stand on end. “That woman,” he said through gritted teeth.

“She is a monster,” Sibylla agreed. “But should you have said those things to her? She was only fishing and you have given her a big fat salmon.”

“Possibly. I can’t seem to help myself where Margaret is concerned.”

Sibylla sighed. “Poor Margaret, to be trapped here among such creatures as that. I can see why you are so keen on rescuing her, Nic.”

“I am keen on rescuing her, but mostly for myself,” he retorted. “Lady Strangeways was right in that at least. I’m a selfish creature and I refuse to see my one chance of happiness pass me by just because Margaret is so determined to die miserable. Surely any disgrace is better than that?”

Sibylla snorted a laugh. “Do you know, brother, having met Lady Strangeways, I feel a strong compulsion to help you in your dastardly plot. In fact, I intend to do my very best to occupy the curate while you work your charms on Margaret.”

He looked up at her, his dark eyes warm in a face that he knew must look weary. He was feeling the strain of the situation and he was sure that Margaret was as well.

“Am I doing the right thing?” he asked, with uncharacteristic doubt. “Perhaps Lady Strangeways is right and I should go back to London.”

Sibylla shook her head at him. “If you found a kitten drowning, would you not save it? Even if it tried to escape or claw you? Of course you’re doing the right thing, Nic.”

“Margaret isn’t a kitten, I assure you, but she does have the damnedest urge to sacrifice herself for others.”

“Then save her,” his sister told him. “Do it, Dominic. Save her.”

8

Margaret stood solemnly by the graveside as Sir Cecil Throckmore was lowered into the ground. She wondered how the grave diggers had managed to create a hole deep enough in the frozen earth, but the cellar in the inn—where until now Sir Cecil’s body had been kept cool and safe—could not hold him forever.

The group around the grave was small but there was a larger straggle of onlookers in the churchyard, and even outside on the road. She suspected they were here to ogle Monkstead and his sister rather than pay their respects. It shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did. Sometimes she forgot just how astounded these people must be that a wealthy and fashionable London earl was staying in a little village like Denwick.