Page 8 of Indecent Desires of a Proper Lady
Philip was pleased that she was asking him questions. They were never uncomfortable with one another in the past, but he had never been so starkly alone with her before.
“Well, I have been deciding what my next steps will be.”
“You mean what trade you will embark upon?”
“Exactly. My father has his own ideas for me to join the clergy, but I have decided upon the Navy.”
She turned back to him, her eyes shining with interest.
“How exciting. I do hope you will enjoy it.”
She sighed as they neared the drawing room. “I wonder what Juliet’s surprise could be. She is a wonderful sister-in-law, but one can get a little tired from all the excitement.”
Philip nodded. “She must be trying to find ways to make you feel wonderfully at home with her by your side as the new addition to the family.” Margaret entered the room, and Philip behind.
Suddenly she froze, and Philip could see the line of her back straighten and her shoulders tense. She did not say anything, but she did not proceed further into the room. What could she be seeing? His heart began to speed up, fearful she may have found someone ill or even dead in the room, for that was what her face looked like. It turned even paler than he had seen it earlier, and all former happiness in discussing George was gone from her face.
Chapter Three
Margaret stopped cold, just as she and Philip were about to enter the drawing room. She blinked and swallowed, trying to keep the tears from running down her cheeks.
“Margaret, are you well? Can I assist you in some way?” Philip’s kind voice echoed from behind her, and she could feel a light touch on her elbow. What a fool he must think her! And so weak!
She shook her head and said, “No, Sir. I am sorry. I was just surprised at my gift.”
She placed a hand on her stomach and walked into the room toward a wooden easel and bright white canvas that stood in the center.
Philip said nothing but merely stood by and watched her as she circled it, placing a finger on the carved easel and then through the pile of paintbrushes that lay in a slot in front of the canvas.
“Will you sit, Margaret?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Philip pulled the chair out in front of the easel, and she sat gratefully. She hated to have such an audience while her old memories were suddenly unpacked and exposed before her. Her emotions were brimming at the surface ready to spill over. But surprisingly, she felt that Philip was the best audience she could have had. He never made her feel ill at ease.
Not only had she always loved to write poetry, she was also an avid painter or had been before her father died. Her father was the best of men, and he had always encouraged her in this pursuit, calling her to create paintings of all sorts for many of his friends. He had even hung some of her work in his study and around the house. He loved her paintings. Once he passed, Margaret hadn’t been able to paint, and so she’d put the canvas away to avoid the memory of his smile.
She thought she’d hidden it away very well, but apparently Juliet found it. She knew that Juliet had good intentions, for she surely did not think that Margaret would react so to seeing it again.
“I thought your interests were merely of the literary kind. I did not know you were also a painter like Leonard.”
She nodded, her voice thickening with emotion. “I am, or I suppose I was. It has been a long time.”
She looked down at the paintbrushes and pulled one out, feeling its length between her fingertips. This was the paintbrush her father had made for her many years before. The stick was pure ivory, and the brush was made from a horse’s tail. It was the most beautiful thing that she possessed.
Suddenly, without warning, she burst into tears. They flowed more than she’d expected. Now that she had opened their floodgates, they would not remain behind her eyes. She took in breath quickly, hoping to find a way to calm herself with Philip nearby, but it was to no avail. Nothing happened for a moment, but then she heard Philip take a chair and pull it next to her, sitting down beside her. She couldn’t quite see him with her eyes full of tears, but she could see a blurry vision of the dark blue of his coat.
When she looked down, she saw he was holding out a handkerchief for her in his hand.
“Thank you,” she sputtered, “you must forgive me.” She couldn’t keep her voice on a steady beat, and her shoulders kept trembling with the wave of grief that was washing over her. When Philip spoke, his voice was calm and soothing.
“You have nothing to worry about with me, Margaret. I hope I am not being untoward, but may I help you in some way? What bothers you so greatly?”
She could finally feel the tears abating at the sound of his steady voice. It seemed to ground her, but she still couldn’t face him. Even after she wiped the tears from her cheeks, she feared that she looked a fright.
“Everything is dark without Father. I cannot remember a time that I’ve been happy since he died. He was always my guide and my source of comfort. He believed in me greatly, in anything that I put my mind to. I do not know what to do without him. I feel like a piece of me is missing.”
She finally had the courage to turn to him, and when she did, she felt her heart warm at the sight of his kind, handsome face. Her tears had slowed, and his face was a little clearer. He was smiling at her, and his green eyes somehow looked greener than ever.
