Page 19 of Indecent Desires of a Proper Lady
They were silent for a few moments before Philip said, “Tell me of your plans in the artistic and the writing world. What do you think will be your first project?”
He could see that he’d surprised her by the lift of her brows. Hoping to make some sort of explanation, he said, “I am off to purchase my commission, what will you do?”
Again the question felt too direct and unfeeling. He knew of her love for Charles and her likely hope for a proposal. He watched as her hands twisted in front of her, and he thought that perhaps he should apologize for his lack of decorum.
Instead, Margaret replied, “I think that I should like to write something. I know it is not usual for ladies to become authors, but this morning, I began writing, as I had told you, and it made me feel like I had found something of myself again.”
Philip was floored. She had mentioned nothing of Charles or her plans for marriage or a family. Here was a woman he could truly respect, with her ideas and dreams falling outside of society’s rules and plans.
“I think that sounds wonderful, Margaret. I hope that you will keep it in mind and keep pursuing it. And there are women authors. Think of Mary Wollstonecraft and Anne Radcliffe.”
The two of them had walked to the foyer, and at Philip’s words, Margaret paused and looked at him with an expression so lovely, that Philip nearly took her in his arms and kissed her, not caring who saw them or what consequences it would have. It took every fiber of his being to remain where he was.
“I am very impressed, Mr. Winston. I had no idea that you were so well versed with the female authors of our time. To think that a man of the aristocracy would think to know aboutThe Vindication of the Rights of Woman,” Margaret smiled widely. “I am most impressed indeed.”
Philip looked down at her, amazed that he had accomplished his goal multiple times that day, to see Margaret happy again. It gave him a little flutter of hope, and he blushed under her praise. “Well, it is important, of course, to keep abreast of latest developments.”
He suddenly felt the need to leave, to get away to think for a while. “Lady Margaret, I shall at last take my leave of you. I am certain you have more pressing matters to attend to, such as your writing. Please give my parting wishes to the Duchess and to your brother.”
He bowed his head, and Margaret curtsied daintily. As he was gathering his coat and hat from the footman, Margaret said, “I hope we will see you again soon, Mr. Winston.”
He turned to see her expectant face. His heart beat a little faster, filling with hope. “Yes, I hope that as well, My Lady. Good day to you.”
Margaret appeared satisfied, smiling at him as he took his leave. She stood in the doorway while he got on his horse, and with one more look back at her, he rode away.
* * *
Once Philip left, Margaret rushed to return to the library, eager to get the words down on paper that were filling her mind. Despite his visit, she found that her rhythm was not broken, and in fact, it had given her even more ideas. She wrote for a few hours, thinking about everything she had experienced in the day. The book, the discussion of the ocean, the color of Philip Winston’s eyes. Margaret paused in her flow.
Why am I thinking about that? He is to be the friend character, not the romantic hero.
And yet, her mind could not release the image of his deep, green eyes, what she imagined the ocean would look like. From his eyes, she began to think about the line of his strong jaw as he moved his hand around it. She rested her hand in her palm and stared off into space.
In all the stories that she had written in her mind, she had always thought that Charles should be the romantic hero with his dark hair, dark eyes, and roguish grin. It had made sense to her for many years now. And yet, she could not be rid of Philip’s face as she thought about who the main male character would be. And so, she closed the notebook, frustrated that it was not going to plan, and she made her way upstairs.
She decided to put aside thoughts of the book for now. Now, her mind was filled with Philip’s words and their import. After his second visit, she realized that it was time to dispose with the old, dour, grieving Margaret and return to the Margaret she’d known before.
The next morning, Juliet visited her room briefly. “Margaret, I wish to alert you that Lord and Lady Andrews will be coming for lunch, and Charles will be here for breakfast before setting off. I do believe it will be his last visit.”
Last visit? “Excellent news, Juliet. I shall be down directly.”
Juliet left with a smile, but she had no idea why Margaret was feeling so fresh and revitalized. This was the best kind of day to start afresh, she thought, when there are so many people to play audience.
She dressed in a cream dress with light-pink flowers, feeling prettier and livelier than she had in months. Peering into the looking glass again, she hit her cheeks lightly in order to bring out a lovely pink hue to them before she left the room for breakfast, her light-cream shawl over her arms.
She entered the breakfast room, and both Leonard and Charles stood as she entered. They were in the middle of discussing business, so they did not say anything right away. For the first time in a long time, Margaret felt nothing at seeing his familiar face.
After a few moments, Charles nodded in her direction and said, “Good morning to you, Lady Margaret.” His eyes returned to Leonard, and they continued in conversation.
Her mind swirled with a sudden anger, but it was more toward herself. Charles did not even give her a second glance. He had spoken to her as he would speak to anyone, without feeling or interest, and this was the man who had taken up so much of her time and heart.
She knew she had to leave the room. Feelings were bursting through her mind, and she needed to be alone for a little while to organize them properly. Surprisingly, even tears began to build behind her eyes, and she did not want to release them in front of everyone. Standing, she gave fumbled excuses about feeling unwell, and rushed out of the room, feeling the flow of tears as she hurried upstairs.
Chapter Nine
Margaret slammed the door to her room and allowed herself a moment as she caught her breath. She grabbed a handkerchief from her dressing table and wiped her ever-flowing tears.
“What an utter fool you have been, Margaret Whitfield. I cannot even bear to look at you!”
