Emma Barry Read Free Page A

about our misspent youths. Nothing more.”
    Matilda Winters — dear, sweet, demure Matilda — nodded. Auburn hair gathered in a low knot and gown simple and practical, she embodied an unvarnished purity. She accepted Margaret’s story with only a tiny hint of skepticism skimming over her pretty features.
    The third member of the party, Rebecca Livingston, said nothing but appeared unconvinced.
    After a beat, Phoebe sniffed and said, “Well, I’m glad you listened to me about the pink tulle, nonetheless. He’ll be half in love with you by the end of the waltz.”
    “I doubt that very much,” Margaret said. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get some air. This room is already oppressive.”
    Once she had escaped into a quiet hallway, she collapsed onto a small bench and hid her face in her gloved hands. What was Theo doing, asking her to dance?
    Their engagement felt like it had occurred a lifetime ago rather than a mere two years. Instead of moving forward together, they had stood still apart. Likely, he was still in that law practice where he felt so ineffectual, living with his mother, and generally raving inside while doing nothing about it. She had buried her heartbreak at the seminary, realizing her dreams in the lives of a hundred students. She had known what her future held when she broke with him, but she had anticipated he might progress.
    He had remained a very handsome man, she thought with a smile. His curly brown hair was still thick and dark. He wore a short beard now, along his jaw line. His eyes were much bluer, even, than Margaret had remembered. Combined with his strong features, he had something of the aspect of an eagle. Margaret always felt as if he looked into her very soul with those eyes. To be regarded by Theo Ward was to be without cover or provision. He knew the ridges on her soul.
    Why hadn’t he married? Each week she opened
The Constitution
with an air of resignation, expecting to see at last the dreaded announcement. Margaret’s jaw clenched. Presumably his mother had scuttled any hope of that. The only thing he’d ever reached for Mrs. Ward didn’t approve of was Margaret. And
that
had ended very quickly. So why approach again? What was he doing to both of them?
    Before she could hazard a guess, Rebecca rounded the corner amid a rustle of skirts and petticoats. A brunette with great intelligence and spirit, she had strong, regular features, a plum of a mouth, and delicately expressive green eyes. Her natural mirth had been tamped down when her own engagement had ended a few months earlier.
    “Miss Hampton?”
    The purple silk of the girl’s gown murmured as she crossed the hall. The black lace trim floated in the air, a beautiful but funereal detail insofar as it announced to the room that she didn’t intend to dance.
    You must save Rebecca from her grief
. The thought cut through the roiling emotions and memories in the transom of Margaret’s mind. It was another problem without an easy or obvious solution.
    The girl dropped to the bench beside her. For the space of a breath, Margaret hoped they could avoid the obvious topic, but then Rebecca said, “Mr. Ward isn’t merely an old friend, is he?”
    Had it been so clear? Well, dishonesty was worse than exposure.
    “No. He’s not.”
    Rebecca settled her hands in her lap. “You understood everything with Emery so well. It takes heartache to know heartache.”
    “Ah.” They sat in silence for a long beat. Rebecca wasn’t forcing a confidence. She was not pushing. She was acknowledging the situation. Opening a door.
    Margaret sighed and walked through it. “Mr. Ward and I were engaged to be married.”
    She really should stop at this. For a week more at least, Rebecca was her student. But the words continued to flow out, impossible to stop now they had begun. “He is a passionate man, but he submits, I think, too much to the desires of others. He … doesn’t achieve moderation. I grew weary of his inner