Page 2 of Indecent Desires of a Proper Lady
All three of the boys erupted into raucous laughter. Margaret felt like her face was on hot coals, the flush of embarrassment was on her cheeks. What rude boys they were! They did not even want to race her! She rushed forward to her Charles and with all her strength, she kicked him in the shin and gave him her meanest look.
“You will regret that, Charles Hitchcock!”
She didn’t want to see what his stupid face did, or look at him any longer after he’d embarrassed her so, and she ran off back to the governess. In the study room, Miss Joan was standing in her dark gown and cap, her arms crossed, making a tsking sound with her tongue.
Margaret sighed. “I know. It was foolishness.”
“So it was, Young Lady.”
Margaret wanted to forget that Charles Hitchcock ever existed.
* * *
Clutching her chest and feeling perspiration break out on her forehead, Margaret woke. She blinked into the darkness, and once she realized she was home, in her own room, she laid back on her pillow trying to catch her breath. A few strands of dark, raven-black hair were clutching to her forehead and she swept them away, feeling the cold moisture on her fingertips.
The dreams continued, and while they weren’t always horrible nightmares, they troubled the previously blissful sleep she used to enjoy. She covered her eyes with her hands. Tears pricked at her eyes. Her father, Lord George Whitfield, Duke of Bartley, had just passed away a few months before, and ever since then, Margaret’s dreams were relentless. Most of them were innocuous, full of nothings, but they often turned back to when she was a child, the time of innocence before the world’s cruelty was revealed.
Unfortunately, they often contained thoughts of Charles. He had been coming to their home nearly every day in recent months, and while he had never paid any mind to her as more than Leonard’s younger sister, little Margaret was still inside of her, feeling that same childlike passion she had felt for him all those years ago. Now, at twenty she wished that he would see her as a woman, and not as the girl who kicked him in the leg at eight years old.
“There is no more chance for sleep tonight,” she whispered from inside her bed curtains, and so decided to swing out of bed and find occupation until the morning hours. Once she exited the cocoon of her bed, she could detect the slightest bit of dawn creeping in through her windows. At least she had her eyes closed in a sort of sleep for most of the night. She moved to the window and clutched her arms to herself.
The world was a strange place without her father. She wasn’t sure who she was anymore. She had now been given a new sister-in-law, Juliet, married to her brother, Leonard, but there would always be a chasm yawning deep within her at the loss of her father, and so early. He did not even get to see her wed!
Life would continue on, she supposed. And somehow she could find a way back from the sorrow that threatened to suffocate her.
Chapter One
Afew hours later, Margaret was dressed and walking to breakfast, hoping against hope that her sleepless night would not be etched on her face. But she was not to be rewarded. When she arrived in the breakfast room, her sister-in-law, Juliet, drew in a sharp breath. She rushed to Margaret’s side, and Margaret silently thanked Heaven that no one else was about.
Juliet said urgently, “Margaret, you look terrible.”
“Why, thank you, my dearest Sister.”
“No, I mean you have not slept again? Are you ill?”
Margaret felt Juliet’s hand clutching her own. She had never had a sister, and so did not know what it would be like. To her delight, it had been a wonderful, beautiful thing, but Margaret did not feel worthy of it. Juliet was like a bright spot of sunshine with her hazel eyes and heart-shaped face, and she was a dark cave with brooding glances underneath her raven hair.
“Let us sit down, Juliet. I do not want to be the cause of you not taking breakfast. What would my brother say?” Margaret attempted to lighten the mood.
Juliet did as she was asked, but as soon as they were both seated, Juliet said again, “You must tell me. Is there anything I can do for you?”
Margaret poured herself tea from a white steaming pot in the center of the table.
“No, there is nothing you can do. It is the dreams I told you about. They keep coming, and while my eyes may be closed and my mind closed to the present world, I awake exhausted from my ventures into the past.”
“I see.” Juliet leaned back a little, and Margaret could tell she was scrutinizing her. “Is Charles a common feature in your dreams?”
Margaret lifted an eyebrow and clutched her tea cup. “What do you think, dear Sister?”
Juliet sighed. “Blast him! I think you should just forget about him. I had hoped for it, but then he started coming around nearly every day to talk business with Leonard!”
Margaret watched Juliet’s tiny fit of anger with amusement.
“At least I have you to defend me, Juliet. Good thing Leonard knows nothing of my feelings. But Charles is not as bad as all that. He is intelligent, interesting, and handsome. I could have fallen in love with a far less suitable person. Are not those wonderful qualities one can find in a man?”
Juliet tapped her fingers on the table with irritation. “Of course they are, Margaret, but what of kindness? Generosity? Mutual feeling?”
At the last words, Margaret blushed and looked away, ashamed of the fact that she knew and Juliet knew that Charles felt nothing for her. It was this extra pain during her time of mourning that sent her over the edge and made her feel like she was drowning.
