Chapter Fifteen | Mrs. Townsend
The next morning, Margot wakes up to the sound of footsteps. She is, at first, far too comfortable to think anything of it, until her sleepiness slowly begins to drain away and she recalls the frankly indulgent night that she is now waking up from. In those first few seconds of her awakening, she thinks only of the warmth of the bed she lies in and the lavishness of her nudity beneath the blankets. It is a feeling she has never had before, for she has never before slept in the manner she had last night, pressed against Robert's equally bare form and breathing in his masculine scent. It is only when she sighs out and reaches out for him that her residual sleepiness fades from her, for it seems that he is not there. This is when she realizes that the sound of footsteps pacing the room must belong to him, and the remainder of her sleepiness vanishes.
With another sigh, this one slightly more grievous than the last, Margot rolls over to face the room. The movement appears to capture Robert's attention, for he abruptly ceases mid-stride. It appears that she has caught him in the midst of fastening the ties of his tunic. She frowns sleepily at him as she catches his eye and sits up, holding the sheets to her chest in a moment of shyness. That he is already partially dressed makes her feel strange to be so undressed.
"…What are you doing?" she asks, her voice scratchy with sleep. She raises a hand to drag it through her hair, pulling the dark curls of it away from her forehead. She eyes Robert's clothed figure with a rumpled sort of disappointment that makes the edge of his mouth quirk up just so.
Sweeping his eyes briefly over her, he responds, "I am preparing for the day." He sends her a raised brow as if silently wondering why she deems it necessary to ask.
Margot frowns deeper. "Must you already?" she complains. She feels only a little bit childish in voicing this; mainly, she feels completely justified. After all, many things had been exchanged last night. She had given herself to him body and soul. In turn, he had done the same. She had rather been hoping that their morning might be a slower one.
A soft look enters his eyes as he regards her in all her sleepy glory. Truly, he has never seen a creature so lovely as the one before him now, sitting in the pool of warm, pale sunlight that streams through the window. He can scarcely believe the good fortune of knowing that she is his, and he is hardly confused as to why Margot appears so disappointed. Waking up beside her had been a gift, and he would have much preferred to have more time to kiss her awake and administer more love upon her. But alas, time is the one thing they have very little of, and that dream will have to wait for better times, if the Lord sees him as deserving enough to receive such times.
With a sigh, Robert steps towards the bed and lowers himself onto the mattress beside her. He pauses a moment before reaching for her hand and bringing it to his lips, where he presses a lingering kiss over her fingers.
"Believe me, Margot, your presence is far preferable to Rivington's. Unfortunately, James will already be up and about, and I'd rather not give him any reason to suspect anything," he murmurs, then, after another pause, he leans in to seek out her lips, and is filled with content when she returns his kiss. When he tries to pull back, though, he realizes his error. Margot is entirely unapologetic about her desire to keep him where he is.
"Mm…but does he not already suspect that we commit egregious sins together beneath this roof?" she purrs, slipping a hand into his hair and not allowing him to draw back from her. Her mouth brushes his, delivering several light kisses before dragging her lips over his jaw and delighting in the scrape of his stubble against her. A shiver runs through her when she hears him release a tight breath and give into her, dragging her hair from off her bare shoulder so as to lean down and kiss the top of it.
Margot's fingers pull through the soft strands of his hair, which has yet to be tied back. In a voice full of longing, she appeals, "Come back to bed, Robert."
He would be lying if he claimed that the plea doesn't affect him or test his resolve. As he sits there, his lips lingering above the skin of her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her, he is filled with the desire to obey her request. He'd like nothing more, in fact, than to rejoin her beneath the sheets, to pull her against him and rejoice in the feeling of her form, to shower her with affection. For several tremulous moments, he nearly allows himself to cave. After all, she's right, is she not? Rivington would surely be shocked to learn that last night had only been their first night together. The man doubtlessly believes that they have given themselves to each other many times before. What is one more hour? What is one more minute?
Robert lifts his head, only to press his forehead to hers. His eyes flutter closed, basking in the quiet morning and her company, trying to master the moment and ensure that he will recall it as vividly as he can in future days, which are yet turbulent with doubts and uncertainty. He wishes to remember her like this, surrounded by the sun, her open arms holding him, unwilling to release him from her side. He hopes it will give him strength in the shroud of the future, which he is unable to look beyond in this moment, for too much is unforeseen and cast into shadow.
"…You must leave the city," he breathes, "and return to Setauket where it is safe."
He does not give into her appeal, but it is hard to refrain from doing so, especially when he feels her pause in her movements. He bolsters himself for her displeasure, fully expecting her to attempt to argue, or at the very least, to try delaying her inevitable departure, but instead, Margot only sighs and turns her face to kiss him chastely.
"Sometimes I wish you were not so rational, Robert," she murmurs.
At this, he can't quite stop himself from chuckling. He turns his face to her as well and lifts a hand to her cheek, where he draws his fingertips down her jaw. "Come, get dressed. I'll prepare something for breakfast before you leave."
She sighs again, but does not try to convince him otherwise, and after a moment spent grappling with her courage, Margot finally lets the sheet drop from her chest so as to be unhindered in her rising. Robert's eyes fall to her body and for one long moment, he stares at her, before his hand drops to her shoulder and then down the length of her arm, and his eyes turn soft and ardent. In that moment, Margot wonders why she had been nervous at all to uncover her nudity, for the awed expressiveness of his eyes is truly a reward.
She releases a breathy laugh and whispers, "Does the sight of me please you?"
It takes him a second to recall why the question sounds so familiar. He had asked the very same thing last night, when she had guided him onto the bed and hovered over his form, curiously studying him, the only man she has ever seen so bare. His mouth curves up. His fingertips alight upon her collar and draw down the center of her chest in much the same curiosity. In the light of day, viewing her like this seems much different. He very much likes it, and it very much pleases him.
"Yes," he tells her, meeting her eyes with another smile.
She smiles back and takes his hand, bringing it to her lips to kiss his fingers. Then, feeling bold beneath his reverent gaze, she unwinds her legs from beneath the sheets and reveals the rest of her form to him as she stands. She feels his eyes upon her as she steps across the small room to where her shift had been dropped the night before and takes several more moments than is strictly necessary to pull it over her head, shivering just so at the feeling of his eyes closely drawing over her figure.
"I feel rather cheated," she sighs as she adjusts her shift over her frame. She glances at him over her shoulder, eyeing his clothes as she says, "I didn't get a proper look at you last night, in the shadows."
It isn't true, really – she had seen him very properly indeed, and had very much liked the sight afforded to her – but it still makes Robert send her a dryly amused look as she reaches for her skirts and begins to slip them on.
"I'm certain you'll have many more opportunities in the future, Miss Risdon," he drawls, the use of her surname playfully administered. A force of habit, and one that has Margot's eyebrow raising.
She turns to him just as she finishes tying her skirts taut about her waist, and boldly demands, "Mrs. Townsend."
Robert, who has begun to prepare for the day once more, pauses in the midst of pulling his neckerchief about his neck. His eyes dart to hers. The number of times he has demanded to be referred to as 'Mr. Townsend' now spirals through his mind. It is a particular sort of justice, this, to hear her demand just the same – and one that makes his heart nearly burst with warmth.
Smiling, Robert amends, "Mrs. Townsend." The name rolls off his tongue like fine silk, a luxury ill-afforded to a simple Quaker such as him, and yet he will allow himself the pleasure of accepting her command, for how could he not? The sight of her giddy grin is just recompense and more.
"I rather like the name," Margot admits, grinning all the wider as she approaches him.
Robert hums and allows her to take the ends of his neckerchief and begin to tie it. "I certainly hope so," he responds, his voice slightly dry, "for you have all but demanded I give it to you."
She laughs aloud at this and bickers back, "You seemed very eager to bestow it upon me and don't pretend otherwise."
He chuckles, but notably doesn't do anything of the sort – pretend, that is, for she is quite correct. Pressing back another smile, he watches her gently pull the neckerchief into a knot at the base of his neck. His gaze drifts over her face, studying the way she tilts her head as she fiddles with the knot, looking somewhat unhappy with her results. The reason for this shred of displeasure is obvious: apparently, Margot has little experience tying men's neckerchiefs, which Robert thinks to be highly endearing.
"You did it all wrong," he helpfully informs her, slipping his hands around her waist. With her corset still waiting to be put on, only the voluminous layers of her skirts and her paper-thin shift creates a carrier between his fingers and her waist. The rest of her is perfectly undone. He had thought she was most beautiful just moments before, and yet now he thinks her to be even more beautiful than that. This is an endless cycle, it seems, in which he is sure he will always be taken aback by her beauty in whatever form it comes.
Margot clucks her tongue at him and catches his eye, sending him a look. After a moment, however, she begins to untie the sloppy knot that she had only just put into place, muttering, "Well, Mr. Townsend, I suppose you ought to show me how to do it properly, so that I will be more adept in the future."
He pauses upon hearing this, his mind springing with thoughts of that potential future, of Margot and him preparing for many more mornings in the quiet comfort of a life that they might live out together. The consideration of this future brings both excitement as well as hesitance; it serves to remind him that their time is running out, for now.
He sends her a quiet smile and sighs out, hovering over her as he takes the ends of the neckerchief and begins to tie it the correct way. Margot watches every movement of his fingers as he does, and he watches her. When he finishes, the desire to kiss her is too overwhelming to ignore, so he shuffles forward to take her face in his hands and draw her to him. She is surprised, at first, at the firmness of his kiss, the way it seems to ring with determination, almost, as if he is silently telling her that all will be well. She can't bring herself to doubt, not now, and so instead she just curls her fingers into his shirt and tilts her head back, hoping to draw out the moment for as long as possible.
But alas, as always, time slips away.
"You ought to leave," Robert murmurs, breaking the kiss but still hovering near her. His forehead presses against hers as his eyes close. He doesn't release her from his gentle hold, nor does he appear to take his own words seriously for several long moments.
Margot sighs out tremulously and whispers, "Please be careful."
Robert opens his eyes to send her a small smile. The calming nature of it makes her feel better, but only just. She will worry over him until she has him in her arms again.
"This will all be over soon," he whispers back, studying her carefully. He lifts a hand to press a strand of her hair behind her ear, and adds, "Come to Oyster Bay when it's all over. I'll be there as soon as I can."
Margot nods with a shaky smile and tentatively leans in to kiss him once more. His eyes fill with a warmth that she would have thought impossible, during their first few meetings, but she knows him better, now. She knows exactly what kind of man he is, and she knows also that she is in love with him. And she tells him so, then, because she can't bear the thought of leaving without doing so. Of parting ways without making sure that he knows, without a doubt in his mind, that she has and will love only him. So she whispers it out quietly, her voice so soft that it barely sounds at all.
"I love you, Robert."
He pauses for only a moment upon hearing it. Truthfully, he isn't surprised, for he knows already of the nature of her feelings, and it would be a lie to claim that he feels anything contrary to her soft expression. He brings her closer, enveloping his arms around her tightly, unwilling to release her to the winds of fate, and whispers the same words against her shoulders as he buries his face against her.
"I love you too."
His words are also soft, so soft that they tremble, but he thinks that he's never spoken more truthfully in all his life.
Quiet as they might have been in the soft silence of Margot's room last night, Rivington seems to be at least partially aware that something had happened between Robert and Margot the night before. As usual, Rivington's mind jumps to conclusions. When Robert makes his initial appearance after seeing Margot off, his business partner is near to glowing with barely suppressed excitement.
"Had a bit of a lie-in this morning, eh?" he wonders as Robert takes his place behind the accounting counter and draws the books towards him, intent on finishing up the work that he hadn't gotten to last night. Rivington leans on the other side of the counter and eyes him suggestively, even as Robert sends him a stoic expression that gives absolutely nothing away.
"…If you're referring to Miss Risdon's late departure, I can assure you – "
"Oh, you needn't cling to your honor so righteously, Robbie-boy," Rivington interrupts before the rest of his sentence can be uttered. He peers at the Quaker with a smirk that makes Robert's teeth grind together, and snorts, "You can hardly be blamed for giving in to your urges every now and again, especially when the object of your passion is so lovely."
Once again, Robert is vaguely surprised at how observant James Rivington is – a realization that hardly assuages his nerves. When his business partner lowers his eyes to the neckerchief around Robert's neck and lifts a pointed eyebrow at the less than perfect knot, tied with a touch more haste than usual due to Margot's perfectly distracting presence, Robert feels his neck flush. It is far from the immaculate visage that he usually prides himself in, though he can't currently find fault with it despite Rivington's insinuating glance. After all, the ghost of Margot's touch remains upon the cloth, as does the memory of her tying it into submission with far too much impatience than the task ought to have bestowed – though, perhaps her impatience may have been because of other things, such as the distracting kisses he had thoroughly enjoyed placing against her mouth, or the lingering touches that he couldn't help but dispense. No, he can't currently find any fault at all with the knot, despite it being less than impeccable. In any case, it only means that Margot will need to practice tying it as she herself had claimed, the thought of which nearly draws a smile to his face before tampering it forcibly down. He ought not smile so capriciously with James Rivington looking on. The man can sniff out a story faster than a bloodhound, especially where it concerns his gleeful curiosity in Robert's love life. He'd rather not give him any reason to embellish the truth of it – an activity that Rivington is remarkably skilled at and uncannily proficient in.
Hoping to press down his embarrassment at being called out on with such flippancy, Robert bows his head as if refocusing on the numbers in the book before him and staunchly replies, "If you are here only to gossip, I must disappoint."
The stoic voice that extends these words is so similar to his usual that Rivington's only reaction is to heave out a sigh.
"Oh alright then, keep your silence!" he huffs, turning around and taking several steps forward. Then, pausing, he glances back at Robert and adds, "Just don't marry her, Robbie – marriage ruins everything, trust me."
Mention of marriage has Robert's mind plummeting back to whispered vows exchanged the night before, and a heat like no other crowds through the spaces of his heart. It does, admittedly, take him a moment to grapple down the boyish smile that once more threatens to tilt up his mouth. Memories of warm skin and reverent eyes pluck at him like levers in a harpsichord, tumbling against taut strings to pull out sounds that would otherwise remain buried. Last night's heady composition still rings through his veins, unshakable and vibrant but yet without an end. Rather, the final note had been a mere inflection; a waiting game to be drawn out and elongated until he may take her into his arms again and bring this elegy to a definitive close.
Robert forces his expression to stoicism when he glances up at Rivington and drawls, with the slightest hint of amusement coloring his voice, "I believe she mentioned she was engaged to a British fellow of the King's army, did she not?"
Rivington snorts and waves this off with a muttered, "Ha! Miss Risdon seems to prefer the stiff-necked variety. I doubt very much that any man could sway her attentions now that you've captured them." He gives Robert a fond pat on the shoulder and cheerfully adds, "It truly baffles me."
Robert's eyebrow twitches at that. He barely manages to hold back an eyeroll at Rivington's ability to both compliment and insult all in the same sentence. The man is a wit, and there's no escaping it. For this reason alone, Robert thinks that he will miss him once he leaves, though he would naturally never say such a thing aloud, least of all to Rivington himself.
With a snort, Robert turns back to his work and asks, "Do you not have gossip to pull from unsuspecting customers?"
The question makes James sigh as he turns to cast a glance about the coffee house. At this hour, the place is fairly empty, but that doesn't usually stop him. There are, after all, several men sitting nearby who regularly break their fast here on account of the rooms they let on the upper floor. Still, Rivington doesn't appear overly interested in approaching them this morning.
"I think I may head down to Coin Street for a morning walk instead," he tells Robert after a moment spent studying their array of guests. He glances over at him and adds beneath his breath, "Between you and I, Robbie-Boy, you're more engaging than the lot of those men put together."
Robert lifts his eyes to his business partners with no shortage of dry humor, which transfers to his voice when he responds, "Why Mr. Rivington, I do believe that was the most complimentary thing you've ever said to me."
Rivington only barks out a laugh and, amused, says, "Don't grow too accustomed to it."
Then, pushing away from the counter where Robert is at work with the calculations he had been too preoccupied to do the night before, for reasons that, upon recollection, make yet another rush of warmth flood through him, Rivington disappears into the back room and leaves him to man the coffee house alone – for the final time, come hell or high water.