Unveiled (Turner #1)(79)
Richard sighed heavily, and turned away from the landscape that flitted by the carriage window.
“Are you going to rip up at me?” Her voice sounded stilted and formal. After their hours of silence, it also seemed unexpectedly loud. “Because if you are, I should prefer that you get it over with.”
Richard cocked his head and squinted at her. Margaret held her spine straight and met his gaze. She wasn’t going to let him cow her. If she was in the wrong, it was only because there was no right choice to be had. It took her a few moments to realize that he was squinting not in an attempt to intimidate her, but because his eyes had been dazzled by the sunlight reflecting off the lake outside.
“Do you see me as such a monster, then?” he finally asked.
She had no response. Had he been Edmund, he would have heaped aspersions on her head. But Richard was quieter than their middle brother—quieter and, she’d always thought, kinder. More understanding.
He sighed. “No, Margaret. I’m not going to remonstrate with you. I should think you’ve had enough of that.” He shook his head. “Tell me—was Father as horrid the entire time I was away as he was this morning?”
“At least he’s speaking now.” Margaret shook her head. It had almost been a relief, when the first words out of his mouth had been to call Richard a girlish idiot. “He’s been worse. Far worse.”
“Egad.” Richard sounded tired. “Well. Edmund and I got ourselves as far away from him as we dared. And we gave not the first thought to what it meant for you to be left behind. It destroys me to say it, but that Turner fellow was right. We haven’t done well by you.” He turned his head to look at her thoughtfully.
That Turner fellow had another name, and Margaret could not but think it—Ash—without conjuring up his face in her mind. That cleft chin, those solid cheekbones. And best of all, that hint of a lazy smile that took over his face as he looked at her and called her a magnificent creature…
Her brother mistook her silence. “Did he hurt you badly, then?”
Margaret shook her head. “He didn’t hurt me. He didn’t hurt me at all.”
“He’s such a big, uncivilized brute of a man. And you’ve looked pale and wan these past hours. You’re a lady, Margaret—or, at least, a gentlewoman. And Turner always struck me as crude and…and earthy.”
“Earthy?”
Richard gestured uncomfortably. “Not used to speaking with ladies, or making accommodations for their more genteel requirements.”
“Ah. Yes. I suppose at first he seemed a little uncouth to me.” Her brother didn’t need to know precisely how uncouth. Had Ash really propositioned her within minutes of meeting her? At the time, she’d been outraged. Now, it just sounded like…like something Ash would do. Once he knew what he wanted, he was not apt to delay sharing his conclusion with others.
“You’re not happy, that’s for damned sure. I do wonder.”
“Richard…” She paused and looked across to her brother. He was still the same man who had fished her out of the fountain all those years ago. A little abstracted, yes, but kind. Quiet. He was listening to her. He didn’t want her hurt. And if sometimes her welfare failed to appear first on his list of concerns, it was natural absent-mindedness.
“Richard,” she finally confessed, “he told me I mattered.”
“That you what?”
“That I mattered. That I was important. After I was declared a bastard, nobody paid me any mind. But Ash Turner told me I mattered.”
Richard’s eyebrows drew down in confusion. “I understand,” he said, in direct contradiction to the puzzled quirk of his lips. “These past few months must have been difficult. But Margaret, after Parliament approves our Act of Legitimation, his opinion will be immaterial. That is why it is important—no, vital—that you and Edmund and I present a united front. I have no fear that the House of Commons will pass the bill when it’s presented to them. But the Lords, now…” He trailed off, tapping his lips. “It’s anyone’s guess what they will decide, and so far they are split down the middle, between those who want me legitimized, because I am innocent in this affair, and those who want me to remain a bastard, because our father so thoroughly scandalized them. The question of my legitimacy truly will come down to the votes of a bare handful.”
Margaret stared at him. “The question of our legitimacy, you mean.”
“Yes. Of course that’s what I mean.” He smiled at her and reached across the carriage to pat her hand. “You’ll see. Once we have been legitimized, everyone will know you matter once more. You won’t need Turner at all.”
Richard simply didn’t understand. Her own father had called her useless. Before she’d met Ash, she’d begun to feel flattened to the point of nonexistence.
But the sort of honor Richard was talking about was flattery, not truth. It wasn’t real. Honor that was given to you because of how you were born—that was just a delusion. She wasn’t going to rely on Parliament—or the people around her—to provide an assessment of herself. They were fickle and untrustworthy.
She shook her head mutely and looked out the window. Ash will not be the only one to value me for myself, she vowed. There will be others—Parliament or no Parliament.