Oh, M., what foolish creatures we are when we fall in love. Is there anything more wonderful? Or so catastrophic, when it goes awry? You know better than to reply to this letter. I wish I could see you, even if it was only for half an hour. If I sound stoic, if I sound strong, then do not be fooled. You know me better than anyone. I have never needed your loyal support and wise counsel more. And yet I cannot have it, and so must soldier on alone, as you must, too.

Until we meet again, in happier times! With my best love always,

Louise

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Sunday, 17 June 1866

MARGARET CURLED UP ON THE window seat of her bedchamber. Outside, the church bells pealed for Sunday service. Louise would be at Balmoral now. Her friend’s latest epistle had stated cryptically that there was no material change in her situation.

Unlike her own. At last night’s ball, Killin had informed her that he would be calling on her father immediately after the royal wedding to discuss the announcement of their betrothal. Her attempts to dissuade him in the month since Sebastian had declared himself had been to no avail. If she wasn’t careful, she could well end up betrothed to two men at once. Would it be pistols at dawn for the right to her hand?

Oh dear lord, but this situation she’d got herself into was not remotely funny. What was she going to do? Leaning her hot cheek against the windowpane, she closed her eyes and tried to calm herself. First things first. She could not marry Killin. In the quagmire that was her life at the moment, that at least was clear-cut. If she had not met Sebastian, she may indeed have forced herself to go through with it, but it would have been a huge mistake. She had to face up to the fact that she was incapable of living a life of dutiful misery. If that made her an errant, ungrateful daughter, so be it.