The Seduction (52 page)

"I don't care."

"Why on earth should you want a divorce? From what you've said, Ashton is turning out to be quite an adoring husband." She paused, then added, "I must admit, I'm relieved. Surprised, too. I never would have thought him the romantic type."

"He's not. He's just trying to manipulate me again for his own purposes. Trevor will do anything to save his estates. Once he has his heirs and his investments are profitable, he'll grant me a divorce quick enough."

"Forgive me for saying so, but you're not making sense. The gifts, the attentions—"

"It's all for show. He's not doing these things to demonstrate affection for me. He's only trying to keep me around long enough to get what he wants. I cannot live like this, in an empty and meaningless marriage. He doesn't love me."

"Are you certain?"

"Oh, yes. I heard him say so."

Cornelia looked up as the maid entered with a tea tray, then glanced at Margaret. She waved it away. "I hope you don't mind, Maggie, but I think both of us would do better with some Madeira." Margaret dismissed the maid and into a chair.

"I don't need a drink," she said with a sigh. "What I need is a divorce."

"Oh, Maggie, think about what you're doing. If you divorce, it's highly unlikely you'll be able to remarry a respectable man."

"Why should I want to remarry at all?" she asked bitterly.

"A divorce in England is almost impossible to obtain."

"So I've been told."

"Wouldn't it be simpler to try to make your marriage work? Even if he doesn't love you, he's fond of you, and you have a lot in common. You both like adventure and excitement. Not all good marriages are based on love. Many couples are quite content with shared interests and some degree of affection."

"I would not be content," she said. She looked at her cousin with hopeless resignation. "I could not bear it. I love him too much to be content with his fondness and affection. Don't you see?"

Cornelia sighed. "Oh, Maggie, I'm sorry you're so unhappy. I feel as if I am to blame."

"No, you're not. I know you and Edward were persuaded to cooperate in Trevor's plans and felt you were doing what was best for me. Trevor never told me he loved me, and no one forced me to marry him. That was my choice. I convinced myself he loved me when he did not."

"Maggie—"

"But that's all changed now," Margaret said with a rueful smile. "I guess you could say I've done what everyone wanted me to do. I've grown up. I've given up all my romantic ideals, and I'm starting to see the world for what it is, not what I want it to be. Trevor married me for my money, I was a fool, and I'm beginning to think there's no such thing as true love."

"How can you say that? You still love him."

"And what good does it do me?"

"He's obviously fond enough of you to give gifts he knows you like. Most men aren't so thoughtful. Maybe in time he'll come to love you and your marriage will still work out."

Margaret thought about that for a moment, and she couldn't summon up even the smallest hope that it would happen. Of course Trevor gave her things she would like, but that proved nothing except that he knew her weaknesses and could exploit them. No matter what gifts he gave her, no matter what he said or did, her trust in him was shattered, and she could never regain it. Nor could she bear to spend her life with him, loving him as she did, knowing he did not love her. "No, Cornelia," she said, shaking her head. "For me at least, happily-ever-after is a fairy tale." She smiled sadly. "And only schoolgirls believe in fairy tales."

Since they had traveled most
of the day, Edward and Cornelia retired to bed early. Margaret followed suit, hoping that Trevor wouldn't want to have another talk about the house. She didn't want to discuss where to put the bathrooms or which paintings ought to be consigned to the dustbin. She didn't want to see him at all. To guard against it, she bolted both the door into the hall and the one into the master chamber. She assumed he had a key, but hoped he would take the hint.

He didn't. Trevor came to her room, but not for the reasons she expected and not by the usual means.

She was seated at her dressing table brushing her hair when a squeaking noise caught her attention. In the mirror, she could see the reflection of the tall armoire, and she watched in horror as its doors slowly opened. Transfixed by the eerie sight, she wondered if Ashton Park had a ghost.

"Good Lord!" she exclaimed as Trevor stepped through the doors of the armoire, pushing through her clothes. Her brush clattered to the floor, and she jumped to her feet. Turning to face him, she said, "Heavens, you frightened me! What on earth were you doing hiding in there? Were you spying on me?"

"If I were, it's no more than you deserve for locking your door against me," he answered, brushing dust and cobwebs from his clothes. "I thought about kicking it open in the old-fashioned heroic tradition, but these doors are made of solid English oak. I thought this a better option than breaking my leg."

She was unimpressed. "Wouldn't your key have been easier?"

"Definitely," he said and grinned. "But where's the adventure in that?"

"How did you get in there?"

"There's an iron ladder behind this armoire that leads down through an old laundry chute to an underground passageway."

Margaret was too curious to remain upset. "A secret passage? How exciting! But what on earth is it for?"

"Family legend has it that the countess of the tenth Earl of Ashton had it installed while her husband was fighting the French on the Peninsula so that she or her lover could enter and exit without being seen by servants or guests. The passageway leads to the gamekeeper's cottage. Convenient, don't you think?"

"She had an affair with the gamekeeper?"

"Shocking, I know, but the story goes that they were actually in love." He caught her skeptical expression and said, "There it is again. That little crinkle between your eyebrows that says you don't believe me."

She folded her arms across her breasts. "You're making this up. The gamekeeper's cottage is a quarter mile away. Why would anyone go to all that trouble?"

"In romantic liaisons, discretion is all."

"Let me see," she said, walking over to the armoire. Pushing back her gowns, she peered inside and realized he was telling the truth. The back of the armoire had been removed, and by the light of a lamp on the wooden floor beyond she could see a hole leading down into darkness. "Unbelievable!" She turned to him. "Show me the rest of it."

"Ask me nicely and maybe I will," he said.

"If you don't show me, I'll simply go by myself."

"With your fear of spiders?" He slowly shook his head, his eyes full of laughter. "I don't think so."

"Spiders?" She swallowed hard and cast a doubtful glance at the secret passage. But even the possibility of spiders wasn't enough to deter her from this adventure. "You wouldn't have shown it to me at all if you didn't intend to show me the rest."

"You'll have to change first," he said, gesturing at her silk nightgown and bare feet.

"Oh. Of course." She grabbed a striped muslin skirt and shirtwaist from the armoire and a pair of slippers. "Turn around."

"You must be joking. I'm your husband, remember?"

"Don't remind me," she shot back. "Just turn around. And no peeking."

"It seems we've had this conversation before," he said, but he did as she wanted, saying, "One of the reasons I got married was so I wouldn't have to do this."

She ignored that comment and quickly slipped into her clothes. "All right," she said, tying her hair back with a ribbon. "Let's go."

Trevor led her through the armoire and into the small space beyond. Picking up the lamp, he began to descend the ladder. Margaret followed him down through the dark shaft until its walls of brick and timber changed to dirt and she knew they were underground. They started down the tunnel, and she glanced around, noting the sturdy oak beams that supported planking over their heads and kept the dirt tunnel from caving in. "A bit like a mining shaft, isn't it?"

"The man who built it was a miner, I believe. But how would you know what a mining shaft looks like?"

She grinned at him. "When I was a girl, I always spent August at my Uncle
Johann's
summer house in the Catskills. That's Cornelia's father, by the way. Anyhow, there were some abandoned coal mines there, and Cornelia's brother Andrew and I went down in them once to explore."

"You must have been out of your minds. Abandoned mines are dangerous."

"I know, but we were just kids. We were foolish, I suppose, but we wanted to meet Abraham."

"Who?"

"Abraham's a ghost and quite the local legend thereabouts. He died in the mine, and was said to haunt the place. We wanted to see him."

"And did you?"

She laughed. "No, I'm afraid not. We did get lost, though, and had to spend the night down there. There were ten search parties out combing the county for us, and one of them finally found us. Uncle Johann told Papa about it, of course, and there was no end of a fuss."

"I can imagine. Your poor father."

"You're a fine one to talk, what with all the scrapes you got into as a boy. Edward told me about some of the trouble you got him into at school. Something about blowing up the chemistry laboratory when you tried to make your own fireworks?"

"Oh, that. Well, like you, I've always been rather fond of adventure. Without it, life can seem very tame. That's why I thought you might like to see this. We haven't had an adventure in quite a while. What do you think of this one so far?"

"It's quite exciting. I'd always heard that these old country houses had secret passages, but this is the first time I've ever seen one." She laughed. "I'm afraid these things have rather gone out of fashion in America. None of the mansions on Madison Avenue have them."

"I suppose not. A shame, if you ask me."

"I agree." She looked over at him. "I must admit, Trevor, you do come up with some exciting adventures."

Coming from Maggie, that was high praise indeed, and it pleased him. "There are several more hidden passages and rooms in the house."