Page 13 of Indecent Desires of a Proper Lady
He could see the way she lovingly touched the canvas and how her hand fit into his when he told her that he would be there for her, if she ever needed him. All the images were so clear in his mind; he felt like he was still there. While lost in the scene in the drawing room, Philip felt a boot at the tip of his foot, and he fell on the ground hard, feeling the stubbed point of a fencing sword in the middle of his chest. The men in the room cheered loudly again, and a few of them were laughing.
Fettington, sweaty and red faced said with incredulity, “Winston, what has happened to you? You have never lost, and especially not to me!” He leaned down and grabbed Philip by the hand, pulling him up, “Something on your mind?”
Philip brushed the sweat from his forehead with his arm. “I suppose there is. I have no other excuse to lose to you, Fetty.” He clapped the man on the shoulder. “I am off now. Other things to attend to.”
One of the other men yelled out, “Such as licking your wounds!”
“I will be back tomorrow! Expect defeat gentlemen!” Philip called teasingly, grabbing his clothing from the footman on his way out. He tried to set himself to rights, tightening buttons and cravat before heading back into the busy street, ready to return home.
Not only did thoughts of Margaret plague his mind, but also thoughts of Charles and the debt that he was in. Something was suspicious about it, though, for he thought his friend was much more sensible than that. How could he have been in enough debt to cause the gaming hell or others to send him threatening messages?
Carriages were buzzing past him, and the cries of peddlers and merchants filled the street, but he was too focused. He wanted to help, but he wasn’t sure where to look. As he entered the hotel, and up the steps to his room, he thought that perhaps he could visit those he knew at the gaming hell, to see just what kind of debt Charles owed. He knew that those money collectors could be ruthless, but he had never seen that side, since he’d never been in enough debt to warrant any sort of problem. Well that could at least give him something to focus on, other than Margaret.
They had shared something special that day; he could feel it. His only current business was to purchase his commission before he said goodbye to his family and left for the Navy, but he wanted to stay longer. He could feel resolution building inside of him. Tomorrow, he would go back to see Margaret. The thought of leaving for the Navy and not seeing her again for another year or more was intolerable. Tomorrow, he could make her smile again, and it could give him something to look forward to.
Chapter Six
The next morning, Margaret spent her time after breakfast in the library, looking over her notebook. There were pages and pages of poems that she’d written over the years, more so in the last few months after her father’s death, and she wanted to blush with how many of them were about love and specifically Charles.
As she read over them, she relived each of her feelings again. Ever since she was young, she had painted Charles as the ideal man, everything she’d ever wanted, and yet he was always just one step away. One moment he was kissing her hand, the next moment he was practically ignoring her as he talked about business with her brother. Why had she spent so long in pining for him?
She kept flipping through the pages and a sadness grew on her, lying heavily in her chest. She wanted to write about something else, something not about Charles or her father or tragedy. She wanted to put those things in the past. She moved to a clean white page, spreading her fingers across it, enjoying the view of its potential as it lay open before her.
She tapped her pen against her lip, letting thoughts swirl around her mind. She was capable of anything. She could do anything she set her mind to. Feeling the comforting hover of her father’s spirit and the warmth and kindness of Philip’s words still in her ears, she began to write.
She wasn’t sure where she was going, but suddenly the words began to pour out of her, and she couldn’t stop. It was like she had become possessed, and she needed to get things out on the page before they would burst from inside her. As she wrote, she could feel a lovely tremble in her fingertips, and a thrumming in her stomach. After about two hours, a servant knocked on the door.
“Mr. Winston has arrived, My Lady. The Duchess wished for me to call you to attend to him while she is with Lord George.”
Margaret stood and reluctantly let go of her pen. She did not wish to stop the beautiful rhythm of writing.
“There is Lord Durby with him?”
The servant shook her head. “No, my Lady. ‘Tis only Mr. Winston who calls.”
The fact that Philip came alone gave Margaret a slight pleasure, that she could speak her mind without the presence of Charles before her.
“Shall I send him in?”
“No, I shall go to greet him at the door.”
“Very well, My Lady.” The servant curtsied and left, and Margaret stood looking into the reflection of the glass of the grandfather clock. She smoothed her hands over the wrinkles in her pale-pink dress, and she put her hand to her pile of curls, hoping that she looked suitable for company. As she stared, she froze, realizing what she was doing.
It had been the first time in a long time that she’d taken a moment to see how she looked before descending the stairs for the day. Since Father died, she had no longer cared very much. In all this time, she had neglected herself. Was that what love truly was? To leave oneself behind in order to gain another? The thought felt wrong, like the wrong puzzle piece forced into position.
She thought it over a bit more as she walked down the long hallway to the foyer, feeling like she had broken through something. When she entered, she spotted Philip looking at the artwork that hung there, his back to her. For a few moments, she quietly observed him. Philip Winston really was a good-looking man. Why had she never noticed before?
His shoulders were quite large, and with his hands behind his back, she could see them even more as the cloth of his coat strained against his muscles. He was tall, and while his legs were long and thin, she could tell that they were also quite muscled, and snug up against the fabric of his breeches. She was certain that many women would be flustered by his large presence, and the way his eyes watched one with a mixture of kindness and interest.
As if he knew he’d been called, Philip turned around, and Margaret blushed a little as his handsome face broke into a smile. Today, she could see that he had shaved, and she almost missed the rugged look of yesterday.
“Lady Margaret, how lovely to see you again.”
Margaret could see tiny crinkles at the corners of his eyes, as he smiled widely. She felt her heart do a little flip at the sight.
Smilingly, she replied, “Mr. Winston. You are most welcome. I am glad you thought to call so soon, but I am surprised that Lord Durby is not here to join you.”
She looked to the door and noticed the slightest change in Philip’s expression.
