A recipe of love

Chapter 36

As Margaret watched the clock, her heart beat anxiously with every ticking second. The truth she had kept from Mr. Lennox weighed upon her like a stone, and though she knew she could delay it no longer, a part of her dreaded this conversation. She was steeling herself for his arrival, rehearsing her words, her apologies, her reasons. She would be kind-she owed him that-and yet she knew that kindness would not lessen the pain of what she had to say.

When Elsa opened the door to Mr. Lennox that afternoon, Margaret remained seated in the drawing room, her back straight, her hands folded tightly in her lap. The fire crackled softly, yet the warmth did little to ease her tension. Mr. Lennox entered with his usual air of gentle grace, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her, and he greeted her with warmth and care. He looked at her with such affection, and it pained her to realize how much she had taken that quiet love for granted.

"Margaret," he said softly, his smile kind. "How lovely it is to see you."

She smiled weakly, rising from her chair, though her stiffness was unmistakable. "Mr. Lennox... please, do sit. I... there is something I must discuss with you."

He tilted his head, sensing the unease in her voice, and yet he made no comment. "Of course," he replied, settling himself into a chair across from her, still watching her with that gentle, patient expression that somehow made her heart ache all the more.

As she sat, Margaret took a deep, steadying breath, choosing her words carefully, though her voice trembled all the same. "Mr. Lennox... Adam... you have been nothing but kind and gracious to me, and it is for that kindness that I must be honest with you today."

She saw his brow furrow, a shadow of concern passing over his face, yet he remained silent, waiting for her to continue. Her hands trembled slightly in her lap as she spoke, each word a confession long overdue.

"When we met," she began softly, her gaze lowered, "I... I was already in love with another." She dared a glance upward, her heart twisting as she saw the flicker of pain that crossed his eyes, though he held his silence. "It was never my intention to deceive you, nor was it my wish to mislead. But... the circumstances were such that... my mother disapproved of him-of his station and standing." Her voice grew softer, her throat tightening as she remembered those painful, tangled days. "Afterwards, he departed for France. It was then that... someone sought to deceive us both, crafting letters we had not written, intending for us to believe the worst of each other. And for many years, we neither spoke nor saw one another, until this year... when he returned."

She looked down once more, her voice becoming almost a whisper. "My mother then insisted that you and I should wed. And, Mr. Lennox, it must be said that you are a gentleman of the highest character. You have shown me a kindness I did not deserve. But, alas..." she took a breath, steadying herself, "my heart has not been touched in the same manner, and in this, I have been deeply unfair. I am profoundly sorry."

Mr. Lennox's face softened, his expression one of sad understanding. "I see," he murmured quietly.

Margaret pressed on, her voice thick with regret. "Things became complicated after that. I... I tried to move forward. I wanted to move forward, truly... but in my heart, I could never let go of him. It was only then that we met, and... I thought, perhaps, that I could love you as you deserve, that I could... forget." She paused, blinking back the tears gathering in her eyes. "But I could not, Robert. I have tried, but it felt... forced. And that is not fair to you."

There was a silence, heavy and strained, and she dared not look at him. The weight of her confession hung between them, filling the space with an ache that seemed almost palpable. Finally, he shifted, his hands clenching around the hat he held in his lap. "The man you loved..." he said slowly, his voice almost a whisper. "Is it... the man who came to the park that day?"