Isla was about to leave them alone when Maggie's voice whipped out, piercing the air like a blade.
"Isla, stay here please."
The maid presented Maggie with bewildered looks before she realized that Lady Blanchard had no one else in the house to play chaperone for her. Certainly, an unwed noble lady such as herself must not be caught in a compromising situation with a man. All unchaperoned meetings could spiral down to uncompromising situations.
"Ah... I will bring the tea first..." Isla hesitated, an awkward foot planted in the drawing room while the other wanted to head to the kitchen.
"Stay, please," Maggie repeated. "Mr. Cunningham will leave soon enough."
Isla, caught in the crossfire, retreated to a secluded corner. The air was laced with a tension so thick it felt like a physical barrier.
A flicker of something akin to pain crossed Nicholas' face at Maggie's use of "Mr. Cunningham." The formality stretched a sudden chasm between them.
"Maggie, please."
Maggie crossed her arms before her chest in a defensive posture. Instead of taking a seat, she glowered at Nicholas.
"Why are you here?" she demanded to know.
"I..."
The knot at Nicholas' throat bobbed up and down nervously.
"Maggie, I am worried about you."
Maggie paused for a split second before she broke into a scoff.
"You have a funny way of showing it," she mused.
Nicholas looked like he would rather be anywhere but that little townhouse.
"Maggie, I... I was unable to do anything. I am sorry. My father..."
"...tried to kill me," Maggie ended the sentence for him. "And you did not do anything about it."
"I already said I'm sorry," Nicholas pressed, his voice tight. But his apology hung in the air, a flimsy offering against the backdrop of Maggie's near brush with mortality. The gravity of the situation settled on her like a shroud, leaving her cold and indifferent.
"Save it. If that is all you come in here for, please take your leave now. Good-bye, Mr. Cunningham."
Maggie turned to leave.
"Wait!!!"
Nicholas closed the distance between them with four long strides. Maggie hated his long legs for this convenience.
The man had his hand clamped around Maggie's wrist.
"Maggie, please. I love you. I know that you still love me. We can still get married. I already persuaded my father. Once I become the Earl of Huntington, I will formally propose to you and we shall marry within a week. How does that sound?"
"A marriage? To you?" Maggie repeated, her voice hollow from disbelief.
"Yes!" Nicholas brightened up, obviously mistaking Maggie's disbelief as a prelude to joyful acceptance.
"Never," Maggie snapped.
Nicholas clenched his jaw.
"Is this the extent of your love for me?" he asked without a sliver of reservation. Maggie stared at the man she used to love. The man she believed she used to love. She could not believe it.
"Oh, God," the whisper escaped her lips when the realization struck her.
"...Maggie? What's wrong?"
Nicholas reached out with the other hand, trying to caress Maggie's cheek but the latter slapped it away viciously.
The words tumbled out in a choked whisper, "Father knew." A wave of icy dread washed over Maggie, prickling her skin and sending shivers down her spine. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around herself, seeking a semblance of comfort in the face of the cold terror that gripped her.
"...Knew what, Maggie?"
Maggie's lips trembled before she continued speaking.
"I have always wondered why Father was so opposed to our wedding. It turns out that he has always known about your and your father's ulterior motives!"
"Maggie, that is not true and you know it!" Nicholas snapped, tightening his grip around Maggie's wrist.
"How did my father die?" Maggie howled.
"You... You knew what happened," Nicholas sputtered. "He fell from his horse..."
A seed of suspicion, long dormant, sprouted in Maggie's mind. "Now that I think about it," she said, her voice barely a whisper, "was your father not around when my father supposedly fell from his horse?"
Nicholas' silence was a deafening answer. Hot tears welled in Maggie's eyes, blurring her vision. "I trusted you," she choked out, her voice thick with emotion. "I trusted your family. If I had only questioned, investigated further..." Her voice trailed off, the weight of the unspoken truth heavy in the air.
"Maggie, you are hysterical," Nicholas furrowed his brows. "You are still grieving, but it gives you no right to accuse my father of such a heinous deed."
Maggie pulled her wrist free from Nicholas' grip.
"It doesn't matter," she said. "I have experienced it myself. You two, father and son, cannot be more alike. I was wrong to ever trust you."
Nicholas tightened his fingers into fists.
"Maggie, I am trying to mend the rift between us, but you choose to be stubborn. You are going to regret your words today."
Maggie met Nicholas' gaze. Fury and indignation marred his features, a stark contrast to the gentle, loving expression she knew so well.
Perhaps, Nicholas shared the same thought. After all, this unfamiliar fire coursing through her veins had to be reflected on her face somehow.
Nicholas stormed out without a backward glance. Maggie, drained but strangely relieved, sank down the nearby wall, crumpling onto the floor. The conversation had been emotionally taxing, yet a weight seemed to have lifted from her shoulders.
"My Lady, are you alright?" Isla asked, petrified at Maggie's state. She had never seen a high-born lady sitting on the floor.
"I am fine," Maggie spoke. Right now, she was.
She did not have the energy to finish the thank-you notes, so she chose to remain on the bed and read a book instead.
The next morning, she finished writing all thank-you notes. After sealing the last one with a dab of wax, she sent them on their way.
The afternoon sun beckoned her outside, thus Maggie found herself strolling along a nearby river after lunch. Laughter of children playing in the cool water drifted on the breeze, prompting her to smile wistfully. Oh, how wonderful it would be to return to childhood again, she mused.
When she returned to her rented space, she found two items waiting for her.
One was an elegant invitation, its embossed lettering proclaiming a garden party hosted by Lady Kensington in three days to come. But the other held her attention far longer. It was a pamphlet, with her name emblazoned across the title in bold, black letters.