“Margaret! Miss Willoughby!” Sibylla and Louis arrived together, both looking startled to see her and the earl. At first, as Louis’s earnest blue eyes slid between the two of them she thought he had noticed something wrong. Then it occurred to her that it was Louis himself who looked guilty, as if it was he who was somehow culpable.
Margaret turned to Sibylla. She was very beautiful, and it was understandable that some men would find it difficult to keep away from her, but she had never thought Louis was such a man.
“Lady Sibylla has agreed to sing during our Christmas service,” he said, as if that explained their tardy departure from the church. “We were discussing her choice of song.”
“Oh, that would be wonderful,” Margaret said, hoping her enthusiasm didn’t sound too forced. It was a wonderful idea, but right now she was finding it difficult to concentrate on anything but Dominic’s declaration. “But … I thought you were leaving very soon to return to London?”
Sibylla exchanged a look with her brother, but what it meant Margaret wasn’t sure.
“There is some more paperwork to finalise,” Dominic said, his voice not quite as even as usual. “That is, legal matters in regard to our great uncle’s estate. I want to be certain everything is done properly before I leave.”
“Best to be certain everything is done properly,” Sibylla repeated, nodding wisely.
Louis gave Dominic one of his earnest looks, although Margaret noticed that when he glanced at Sibylla his cheeks coloured. He looked more like a love-struck boy than the mild-mannered curate she knew.
“What you are doing with the house,” he said, “is very generous of you, my lord.”
“My brother is a very generous man.” Sibylla stated it as fact. “He has put aside his own wishes and feelings for the good of others on more than one occasion.”
Dominic frowned in annoyance. “You make me sound like a saint, Sib. I am very far from that.”
Margaret, until now so quiet, couldn’t help herself. “In my experience saints are a very tedious lot. Either they are so perfect it makes one despair of ever achieving such a state, or else they are suffering appalling torments with unbelievable resignation.”
Dominic’s frown lifted and his eyes warmed. She knew what he was thinking. This was the Margaret from Mockingbird Square he enjoyed sparing with, and he was glad to have her back.
Louis chuckled. “I have seen paintings of those saints, and I agree that few of us could aspire to such heights. Nor would we want to.”
There was an awkward pause and Margaret wished herself far away. She said quickly, “If any of us are to eat today then I need to go and see to luncheon.”
“Yes, of course.” Louis reached for her arm as if it was expected. Margaret supposed it was. They were going to become engaged at some point. But at the same time she glanced up at Dominic and what she saw both thrilled and disturbed her. The smile on his mouth had faded into a tight line and his eyes were filled with the need to possess. She was his, that was what his face was telling her. He didn’t want Louis to touch her he didn’t want any man to touch her but him.
She turned away, just as Sibylla slipped her hand through her brother’s elbow. “Will Lady Strangeways be eating with us?” she asked. “She called upon us at the inn.” Something in her voice made Margaret think the visit hadn’t been very affable.
“What did she say?” Margaret asked, looking back over her shoulder.
Sibylla looked to her brother and once again something passed between them. When she turned back to Margaret she was smiling but her eyes were cool. “I’m sure it was all a misunderstanding on her part. We will disregard it, Margaret.”
The four of them moved out of the churchyard and along the street toward the vicarage. Louis pointed out to Sibylla some of the gargoyles on the exterior of the church, their faces barely recognizable from centuries of rain and wind. While the two of them chatted, Margaret and Dominic were silent, but she felt his presence acutely. And suddenly their conversation of moments ago returned to her with a rush.
He loves me. Dominic loves me, Margaret Willoughby. He wants to spend his life with me.
She didn’t know what to say, how to behave, and at the same time she knew she would have to respond. And there was only one way she could respond. She would have to send him away forever and already her heart was breaking at the thought.
“And see this one here …?” Louis pointed and at the same moment stepped away from Margaret, while Sibylla did the same from Dominic. Heads close they moved to stare up at the blob of stone—well that’s what it looked like to Margaret.
She would have gone on alone but the next moment Dominic was beside her, his low, husky voice making her tingle all over. “So you’re not a fan of saints? I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.”
“Why, because you are so far from sainthood?” It was easier to verbally spar with him than talk about what was important.
“Very far, Margaret, as you know only too well.”
There was that look in his eyes again, making her think he wanted to kiss her and so much more. She swallowed, narrowing her gaze at him. “If you were a saint then I think you would be the patron saint of meddlers. St Dominic the Meddler. It suits you.”
He laughed, delighted. “I’ll have it carved above my door in Mockingbird Square.”
“You sound very jolly.” Sibylla was back, smiling now, her gaze curious.
“We are all very jolly today,” Dominic replied. “When did you develop such an interest in architecture, Sib?”