Mary Balogh: At Last Comes Love

He had all but promised to ask her again. By her hesitation, she had all but promised to say yes next time.

And she /would/ say yes.

She was going to be married before she turned thirty-one. She felt comfortable, even happy, with her decision. She no longer loved Crispin Dew and had not for a number of years. But being married to the Marquess of Allingham would finally close the book on any lingering attachment to that youthful fancy. She was only sorry she had not accepted him before now. But perhaps it was as well she had not. She had needed to feel quite ready, and now she did.

So Margaret went to London at the end of May, rather later in the Season than she had intended, as certain local commitments had kept her busy at Warren Hall. Stephen was already in town. So were Vanessa and Elliott and their two children, and Katherine and Jasper and their one. Just the thought of seeing all her family again, including the children, buoyed her spirits. But beneath it all, she felt a glow of happy anticipation in knowing that at last she would begin her own independent life by marrying and starting a family.

She could scarcely wait to see the marquess again.

She spent the first few days after her arrival visiting her family and going shopping and walking with her sisters. The first entertainment she planned to attend was Lady Tindell's ball, always a well-attended event.

She felt rather like a girl anticipating her very first ball. Every hour she changed her mind about what she would wear and how she would have her maid dress her hair.

She wanted to look her very best.

The day before the ball she went walking in Hyde Park with her sisters.

It was the fashionable hour of the afternoon, and it was a fine day after three days of almost steady drizzle. The carriage paths were packed almost axle to axle with fashionable carriages of various descriptions. Riders on horseback wove their way among them whenever they could find passage. Pedestrians ambled in a dense, slow-moving crowd along the footpaths. No one was in a hurry. This was not the route one would take if one wished to get anywhere fast. One came into the park during the afternoon in order to observe the beau monde and exchange greetings and gossip with friends and acquaintances. One came to see and be seen. "After all," Vanessa said gaily as they strolled among the throng, "I did not spend half of Elliott's fortune on this bonnet in order to hurry along a deserted back street." "And very fetching it is too," Katherine said. "Meg and I must be content to bask in your reflected glory, Nessie." They all laughed.

And then Margaret felt her own smile drain away, and with it half the blood in her head. One horseman, a military officer who was riding with a group of others, all looking very dashing in their scarlet regimentals, had stopped a few yards ahead of them and was looking intently at them, first in astonishment and then in open delight. A smile lit his face as he swept off his shako and made them a bow.

Crispin Dew! "Meg!" he exclaimed. "And Nessie. And /little Kate/? Is it possible?" Margaret curled her gloved fingers very tightly into her palms at her sides and concentrated hard upon not fainting, while her sisters exclaimed at the sight of him. He swung down from the saddle and came striding toward them, parting the crowd, one of his hands holding the bridle of his horse.

Oh, /why/ had she not been warned of this? Why had no one /told/ her? "Crispin!" Vanessa cried, and she stepped forward to hug him. She had once been married to Hedley Dew, his brother, until Hedley died of consumption.

Katherine inclined her head and curtsied. "Crispin," she said, her voice cool and polite.

His eyes came to rest again on Margaret, and he held out both hands for hers. "Meg," he said, his smile softening. "Oh, Meg, how have you contrived to grow even more beautiful over the years? How many years has it been anyway?" She kept her hands at her sides. "Twelve," she said, and then wished she had not shown such an exact awareness of how long it had been since that afternoon when they had said good-bye. When she had promised to wait and he had promised to come back. When the very air had throbbed with their passion and grief. When she had thought her heart would surely break.

He was even more handsome now. His reddish hair had darkened a shade or two, and his fair complexion had weathered. He looked broader and more rugged. There was a white scar just above his right eyebrow that slanted across his forehead to disappear into his hairline. It made him look curiously attractive. "Can it possibly be that long?" he asked, returning his arms to his sides.

He looked back at his fellow officers, who had also stopped though they were being jostled by the crowds. "These three lovely ladies were neighbors and dear friends when I was growing up," Crispin called to them. "I will walk with them for a while if they will permit it. You fellows go on without me." /These three lovely ladies/. What foolishly flattering words.

They were given no choice since he did not actually ask their permission. Vanessa looked slightly uncomfortable now, and Katherine looked almost morose. They knew, of course, about the secret betrothal and Crispin's betrayal of it, though Margaret had never talked of it.

Margaret's mind was in turmoil as Crispin turned to walk and make polite conversation with them. He had heard of Nessie's second marriage, of course, and told her he was delighted by it. She had been a wonderful wife to Hedley and deserved to be happy again, he said. His mother had told him about Kate's marriage to Lord Montford. He was delighted by that too and hoped to meet the gentleman soon.

But it was impossible to walk for long in a group of four. Soon Vanessa and Katherine were detained by a mutual acquaintance, and Margaret found herself walking alone at his side.

She was finding it difficult to breathe – and she was alarmed and annoyed by her own discomposure. This was /Crispin Dew/, who had married a Spanish lady and fathered a daughter after promising to return to /her/.

Crispin, whom she had loved with her whole heart – and trusted with her love and her future. "Well, Meg," he said, his eyes warm with admiration, "you are greatly to be commended. You remained faithful to your promise to your father. You stayed with your sisters and Stephen until they grew up, and did a very good job of raising them all. But you never did marry, did you?" As if marriage were no longer possible for her.

She did not answer him. She pretended to be distracted by the crowd. "I am /glad/ you did not marry," he said, lowering his voice. "Why would you not come to Rundle Park when I joined my voice to Mama's to invite you there?" Ah. So he /had/ known what Lady Dew had written to her. He /had/ endorsed it. She thought the less of him – if there were less to think. "I had other commitments," she said. "And they were too important," he said, "to postpone in order to visit an old friend who longed to see you again? But no matter. I have come to town and have met you here instead. I expect to be here for a month or two. I will give you my company whenever I have the time while I am here, Meg. It will be a pleasure. You are still amazingly lovely." Would it /not/ be a pleasure if her looks had faded? /I will give you my company whenever I have the time…/ What exactly did he mean by that? He was not asking for her company. He was not even offering her his. He was /granting/ it to her as if it were some precious gift. As if she might be all alone and lonely without it.

As if she were past the age when she might expect any but her family members or an old friend to take any notice of her. As if she ought to be grateful that he would find time for her in his busy life. /… whenever I have the time/.

As if he were prepared to fit her in whenever he had nothing better to do.