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Frustration reared up, that her grandmother would be angry over such a thing, or even question her on her decision to go back there. She very nearly lost her patience—until she saw the tight press of her grandmother’s lips, the flare of concern quickly suppressed in her sharp brown eyes.
Gran was worried about her.
Affection for this woman, who had helped raise her, who had been there for her through so many horrible instances of her life, who had never wavered in her support of her, filled Margery to the brim. Her frustration gone in an instant, she leaned forward and placed her hand over her grandmother’s gnarled one. “I’m fine. Truly.”
Finally a crack in the ever-present tough veneer. Gran swallowed hard, her chin wobbling ever so slightly. “You’re certain?”
“I am.”
The woman seemed to deflate with relief. “I’m glad of it.” She let out a deep breath. But soon her gaze was back on Margery, the worry returned. “Why did you go? Did you—did you visit your father?”
Once more Margery’s chest swelled. Gran had not wavered in her determination to support Margery and Aaron all those years ago, taking their side against her own son in the process. And yet, though she never complained about it, Margery knew it pained the woman. She might have appeared unfazed by anything, but the woman loved her family fiercely.
“I didn’t mean to,” Margery admitted. “But it seems Mr. Kitteridge knew better than I in what I needed and made certain a meeting took place, whether I wished it or not.” She gave her grandmother a sly look. “He sounds like someone else I know.”
Her grandmother’s eyes opened wide in feigned innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?” Margery pursed her lips in humor. But it was short-lived. She smiled sadly at her grandmother. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out with the duke and me as you must have wished.”
She fully expected Gran to deny any intention to match the duke with anyone, much less Margery, who had declared loudly and determinedly since Aaron’s death that she would never marry again. But the woman gave her a sheepish shrug. “You can’t blame me for trying, can you?”
Margery chuckled. “No, I suppose not.”
Suddenly her grandmother looked frighteningly shrewd. “Although, it isn’t too late, is it?”
Margery gaped at her. “But the man has left; he’s gone to London. And I can assure you, he would not have me even if he were here.”
Too late she realized she had revealed too much to her incredibly cunning grandmother. The woman looked positively victorious.
“The stubborn ones are always the most satisfying to pair up,” she declared with glee.
“We are not paired up!” Margery cried. “And we never shall be.”
“But you wish to,” Gran crowed.
“No—”
“Don’t deny it, girl. I see it in your eyes. You think your grandmother is stupid, but I’m not so old I can’t see you’ve formed a tendre for him.”
Margery groaned and dropped her face into her hands. There was nothing more dangerous—or maddening—than her grandmother when she sensed a victory could be close at hand. No matter how untrue it might be. “What does it matter?” she muttered.
“It matters a great deal.” There was a pause. And then, her grandmother’s voice incredibly gentle, “You deserve to live a happy life, child. Don’t let it slip through your fingers if you find yourself lucky enough to have the chance again.”
It was so close to what Mr. Kitteridge had said to her that Margery’s breath caught in her throat.
But even if she were to go against everything she had held on to for four years, determined to honor Aaron’s memory and never take another husband—goodness knew she had already decimated the other half of her promise to herself by falling in love again—could she reconcile herself to loving Daniel and making a life with him knowing what she did about his part in Aaron’s death?
Daniel’s face floated in her mind, and the myriad emotions that had crossed it: tenderly smiling; filled with desire; tight with despair. He was a good man, an honorable man. She knew that deep down in her soul. Fate had been cruel when it had put Aaron in the path of Daniel’s bullet. But it was not Daniel’s fault. Could Fate have brought the two of them together on purpose, a kind of apology for the devastation that one moment had caused? A way for them to find healing, in each other?
Gran, seeming to have seen something telling in her face, lowered Freya to the floor and stood. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts then,” she said. “And, maybe, to pack for a trip to London?”
Her tone, infinitely smug, should have rankled Margery to no end. Instead she found herself smiling as she rose. “Thank you, Gran,” she said, kissing the woman on the cheek.
Gran, her eyes suspiciously moist, patted her cheek before making her way from the room. Leaving Margery alone with her thoughts.
She loved Daniel. So very much. She had already seen that her love for him did not lessen her love for Aaron. Could Daniel love her as deeply as she loved him? And could that love perhaps be just the thing that both of them needed?
She was hurrying to her small bag, still packed from her trip to Dewbury, before she knew what she was about. Excitement strummed through her. She didn’t know if what she was doing was wise. It could be quite possibly the worst thing she had ever considered, hying off to London after Daniel, and beginning her journey just after nightfall, no less. He might turn her away, might proclaim he didn’t care for her in that way. Or it might lead to more heartache than they were currently suffering.
