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“The will stated that if I wasn’t already married upon Papa’s death, I would have two years in which to become so. That allowed for one year of mourning, and one year to find a husband. Unfortunately, it didn’t account for the time I must spend mourning Aunt Daphne.”
It was just the sort of thing she was used to do when Nicholas would call
I’m not stupid. I may yet marry you. You’ve given me little choice in the matter. But make no mistake. Whatever the future holds for us, I shall never, ever love you.”
This time, there wasn’t murder in his gaze There was something worse. Maggie very much feared it was recognition.
“It’s not about him. It’s about you. It’s always been about you.”
“My first love,” she’d called him. “My only love.” And love wasn’t meant to be selfish.
“I’ve been wrapped in cotton wool for too many years. Locked away inside Beasley Park. The night you returned to me is the night I came alive again. There’s no going back now.”
She was his companion, he’d said. Just as she’d always been. His equal, and second self. Not someone to be silenced. But someone he would help to be heard.
