Unveiled (Turner #1)(99)

Margaret shut her eyes. Richard was gentle. Richard had been quite kind to her in the past. But every time he’d had to choose between his own skin and Margaret’s well-being—it had been Margaret he had sacrificed. He hadn’t given his loyalty to Margaret, the way Margaret had delivered hers to him.

Behind them, her father stirred. In the months since his apoplectic fit, he’d improved. Which was to say, that tiny hint of vulnerability that she’d seen in him that long-ago night had disappeared, replaced by this irascibility.

“There you are,” her father said, meeting Richard’s eyes. “And how did the meeting go? Do I have a man for a son?”

Richard’s gaze slid to Margaret and then back to his father. “You do,” he said quietly. “I’ll inherit everything.”

Margaret waited for her father to come up with some cutting rejoinder, some harsh remark. But instead, her father’s gaze rested on Richard. “That’s good,” he said. And then, more softly: “That’s my boy.”

Margaret’s vision swam in front of her. Her brother stood, paused before her, his hand raised in benediction. He wiped at his eyes suspiciously and then he shook his head and turned away. “Yes,” he said quietly, standing at the door. “I suppose I am.”

The door closed behind him.

“What, Anna? You’re not sulking, are you?”

Loyalty was a curious thing, Margaret realized. She’d placed it in the care of someone who did not return the favor. She stood up and set her towel in front of her. As she did, her gaze fell on her father’s signet. The heavy, carved sapphire twinkled up at her.

She reached for it. The gold was warm in her hands, heavy. Not so heavy as it had once been; the band had been resized for an invalid’s hand.

Or perhaps a woman’s.

It slid neatly over her knuckle, clasping her finger. The sword in the sapphire winked up at her.

I think if they could find a way to disinherit me, after the trick I played… Somewhere out there, Lord Lacy-Follett and his companions were still discussing the matter. With no intervention, they would settle on supporting Richard.

Perhaps they could still find a way not to do so.

“What are you doing?” her father asked.

“Putting on your ring.” It felt well there. Right. Warm.

“Richard’s ring,” her father corrected. “We’ll have to get it adjusted to fit him.”

She had never wanted to be like her father, betraying her family. But from here on out, she was going to have faith in someone who deserved it. The man who had stood by her, who had never hurt her. Who had told her, from the very first, that she mattered, and demonstrated it by his choices.

“Richard is my son now,” her father was saying.

Margaret leaned over him. “No,” she said, her voice harsh. “No, he is not.”

“He will be, when—”

“By your definition, I am the only son you will ever have.”

He blinked at her. “I beg your pardon?”

She hadn’t known she was going to say it, but the words seemed right coming out of her mouth. “I am going to Saxton House to present my case. I am going to marry Ash Turner. If what Richard said is correct, the lords there are looking for any reason to abandon him. A continuation through the female line is not traditional, but the excuse will suffice. So understand this: I will choose the next Duke of Parford. I will inherit the estate. I will have the entailed property.” Margaret’s hand clenched into a fist.

“I can’t believe I am hearing this.” Her father stared up at her in dim incomprehension. “What would your mother say, if she could see you now?”

What would her mother say?

Her mother had carefully tended the estate, training servants, choosing decorations, caring for the gardens. She’d built a home to pass on to her children. It had killed her to believe that Parford Manor would go to a stranger. But then, with Margaret married to Ash…it wouldn’t.

Margaret’s hands balled into fists. “I believe,” she said softly, “that if she could speak at this moment—if she knew that I would inherit her house—I believe that she would be cheering.”

Her father stared at her in stupefaction. She had waited all this time for some sign that the man she remembered was still inside her father. But maybe that part of him had vanished, along with his strength and ability to stand. Maybe he’d lost the piece of himself that cared for her. Maybe she would never see it again—at least not now.

Margaret leaned forwards to kiss him on the forehead. “Someday,” she said quietly, “when you truly understand everything that’s happened, you’ll be cheering, too.”

And then, still wearing the ring, she turned and walked from the room.

HOME. IT SEEMED A STRANGE place for Ash to return to, after everything that had transpired that afternoon. After he’d left Saxton House earlier, he’d not wanted to return here. But when he stepped inside, Mark was waiting for him in the entry. Ash had felt so bruised, he’d not wanted to believe that time would continue to pass.

But Mark smiled at him, all light and innocence. Ash felt a last bitter tinge. Seeing his brother only drove home how much he had really lost.

“You would be proud,” he finally said. “I realized that I didn’t have to do any of this. I didn’t.”