Three Sisters Torn - Margaret - Book 3: Three Sisters Torn, #3

Three Sisters Torn

~ Margaret ~

Book 3

By

Aurora Hills

Aurora Hills - Georgia – 2019

USA

Copyright © 2019 by Aurora Hills

Published by Aurora Hills Books All rights reserved.

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This is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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CHAPTER ONE

Margaret Hartson truly wanted to scream. She had never done so in her entire twenty-five years, not when her finger had gotten caught in the door when she was ten, nor when her middle sister, Penelope, had decided to lop off part of her long blonde hair just because Margaret had taken the last tart at supper.

But now as the cold, drizzling rain fell onto her hair, soaking into her traveling habit, she truly wanted to do so. Screaming was not going to fix her current situation, but it might make her feel somewhat better. With a sigh, she looked down the dark road, hoping that the coachman was just around the bend, with his apologies for leaving her in such a state. He would bring a flask, she decided, with some brandy to warm her insides and a warm brick for her feet.

Margaret snorted very unladylike and put her hand on her hips. There was no one coming. The coachman had been gone for well over two hours, and the nearest village was not even that far. There would be no hot toddy or warm brick. Those days were over for her.

Well now, she said aloud to no one in particular as she surveyed the broken wheel, wondering what wrong she had done to have her life fall in such despair. Four months ago, she was a respected woman in the Ton, a duchess who had a handsome duke at her side and piles of money to spend.

And with Morose, there had been no limit. He had doted on her relentlessly during their engagement, bringing her trinkets and telling her how she was going to be a perfect duchess. Even after their wedding, he had escorted her to the balls and galas about London, showing her off to their peers. In his arms, Margaret had felt much like the queen of England. And then, well, it all fell apart.

Margaret wrapped her arms around her waist. The rain started to seep into her underclothes now. Perhaps this was how she was supposed to die, cold and desperate on the side of the road, like gutter trash. After all, that was how all of London saw her and the disastrous title she was stuck with now.

Blowing out a breath, she climbed back inside the coach, the warmth that was once there, now gone. Margaret had honestly not felt warm in quite a while, not since she had learned the truth about her husband.

Four Months Ago

Your grace. Your grace. You must wake up.

Margaret muttered as she opened her eyes, waving her hand at her lady’s maid. Oh, good grief Gertie. Whatever is it now?

There’s a gentleman to see you. I put him in the parlor.

Margaret grumbled as she sat up, scrubbing her hand over her face before looking at the small clock beside her bed. It’s after two in the morning!

He says, tis urgent.

Urgent. Nothing was compelling at this time in the morning, especially when Margaret had just climbed into the bed not but an hour prior. Fine. I’ll be down directly.

Gertie bobbed her head and escaped the room as Margaret rose from the bed, grabbing her wrapper and securely fastening it around her slim waist. One quick look at her husband’s side of the bed told her that he had not been there.

Well, he had not been there in quite a while. The duke had his own agenda these days, and while Margaret attempted to keep up appearances, he set out to ruin them both. Oh, he did not flaunt his current lifestyle out in the open, being the ever-solicitous husband and duke when the Ton was watching them, but his behaviors were damaging non-the-less.

Behind closed doors, Margaret shivered despite the warmth of the room and checked her braid in the mirror before walking through the corridor and down the stairs. If it was a message for her husband, they could wait until the duke was available.

She found a tall, thin man in the parlor, clutching his hat in his hands and bowing at the sight of her. Are you the Duchess of Morose?

Margaret lifted her chin. Her title was the only thing near and dear to her right now, the only thing keeping her in this marriage. In the Ton’s eyes, she was their equal, something she had desperately wanted all her life. I am.

His eyes grew sorrowful, and Margaret felt the first stirring of concern in her bones. I’m sorry to tell you this, your grace, but your husband is dead.

The words did not sink in immediately. Margaret heard a gasp from far off and realized it had come from her as the room swam before her eyes and the man helped her to a nearby chair. D-dead? Charles is dead?

I’m afraid so, your grace. My condolences.

Her tongue felt thick in her mouth as she attempted to form the words. H-how?

Tis not fit for your ears, your grace.

Margaret’s gaze narrowed as she stared at the man. Not fit? He was my husband! I deserve to know how h-he died.

The man swallowed visibly, looking down at the floor instead of meeting her gaze. Jealous rage. The duke was having, er, he was caught in the bed of Lady Tremore, and her husband came home a mite early. We have promptly arrested him for the murder of your husband.

Margaret sat back in the chair, feeling her own rage inside, not sorrow for her husband’s death. She had suspected he was having an affair for months, perhaps since their engagement and more than once, Margaret had confronted Charles about it. His infidelity had done nothing but caused her pain in the end, and she had learned merely to overlook the fact that her husband was just a rake.

But now, now he had gone and gotten himself killed. All of London would know before the sun rose and Margaret would be forced to deal with the backlash.

If there is anything you need.

Margaret rose to her full height, forcing her body not to shake as she looked at the man. I require nothing more than time to grieve. I trust the details will remain a secret?

His brow rose. I’m afraid that is public knowledge, your grace.

Get out of my house then.

He gave her a look but did as she requested, and it was not until the sound of the door shutting echoed through the quiet house that Margaret allowed the first tear to fall down her cheek. She was ruined, utterly ruined.

Margaret bit her lip, some of the pain sneaking into her chest before she could push it away. At that moment, she had thought the worst had happened, that the Ton would be wagging their tongues at the salacious gossip.

But it turned out that had just been the tip of the iceberg. Within two weeks of Charles’s funeral, the creditors had come knocking. Before she knew it, she was selling off the furniture she had picked out for their home, the jewelry that Charles had bestowed upon her. Well, the jewelry had been useless. Even her engagement ring, the ring she had coveted so much, was paste.

When there was nothing left, they had taken the house, and Margaret had been reduced to traveling to her parent’s estate in the country to hide from the public humiliation.