“How dreadfully unfair it is,” Jane said. “Your father must be turning over in his grave.”

Maggie gave a short, humorless laugh. “On the contrary. It’s just the outcome Papa was hoping for. He couldn’t force me to marry Fred while he was alive. In truth, he didn’t have the heart to force me to do anything. But now he’s dead, he leaves me no choice. If I don’t marry within the time allotted, Beasley Park will go to Fred for good, and I’ll be left nothing but a small income on which to live out my spinsterhood.”

“Oh, Margaret. Your father doted on you so. I can’t comprehend how he could give away your inheritance to a stranger. A man related to you by neither blood nor marriage. It makes no sense at all.”

“Papa knew precisely what he was doing.”

“Well, I can’t understand it!”

“Can you not, Jane? Papa raised me to run Beasley Park. To love the land just as he loved it himself. He knew there was nothing on earth I wouldn’t do to keep it. And knowing that…from the grave, he has forced my hand.”

Jane shook her head in disbelief. “Then you mean to marry Fred?”

“Yes…I…” Maggie faltered. “I haven’t told Fred my answer yet. I have a little time left.”

“How much time?” Jane asked.

“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.”

“Your aunt would choose to die the week after you finished mourning your father.”

“Yes. And as a result, I have but six months left before I must wed.”

Jane exhaled a deep breath. “Oh dear. No wonder you’re looking so wan and sickly. I didn’t like to mention it, but…”

Maggie wasn’t offended. She knew full well how she must appear to her friend. “The Burton-Smythes believe in the strictest possible interpretation of the rules of mourning. I wasn’t permitted to leave the house after Papa died except for walks in the garden with Bessie. And I wasn’t allowed visitors or to…” She faltered again, raising a hand to her forehead. A headache threatened. “Fred already runs Beasley as if it were his own. He’s joined it to the Burton-Smythe estate. I haven’t any say, not even over the tenants that I’ve known my whole life.”

“You have no power at all?”