After the Kiss by Karen Ranney

would be better simply to forget the entire episode. Rein in his curiosity and expend his energies on his work and his search for an acceptable wife.
    Not on a woman who danced in the moonlight.
     
    Margaret leaned against the door frame of the cottage door and watched as Penelope walked down thehill from Squire Tippett’s house. Her bonnet swung by one hand and her step was light, almost skipping.
    A smile curved Margaret’s lips. A week ago Tom had come to see her, delaying his visit until Penelope had gone to the village. His solemn expression and the fact that he had gripped his hat nervously between both hands was a foreshadowing of his words.
    “I’ve a bit of money saved, and a willingness to work hard. I know you’re not her family and all,” he’d said. “But you’re the closest thing she’s got.”
    The stories of Penelope’s youth had not been pleasant ones. Margaret could not help but wonder what untold experiences had marked her life. The relatives she had left behind in London were never mentioned, nor had Margaret ever broached Penelope’s privacy by asking.
    She nodded, hands folded atop the table. His face was red with embarrassment, his brown hair neatly combed. Even his clothes looked to have been brushed, and his boots shined. His brown eyes looked everywhere but at her, however.
    “She’s my friend,” Margaret said, attempting to ease him in his task.
    “She’s told me that,” he said. “And she thinks highly of you.”
    “That is nice to hear,” she said.
    “I’ve got steady work at Squire Tippett’s,” he said. “I care for the horses there. I’m learning from the head groom and I’ve a future if I stay and work hard.”
    In a burst of enthusiasm and courage he continued. “I’d like to marry Penelope, Miss Margaret. I think I’d do her proper.” He was so intent upon impressing her and so very much in love that it almost hurt to look at him.
    “I think she is very fortunate to have someone likeyou, Tom. How could I not approve of you? I hope you and Penelope are very happy.”
    “Would you not tell her that I’ve spoken with you, then, Miss Margaret? I have it in my mind that it should be something of a surprise,” he said, his face almost radiant with joy.
    He had beamed at her when she had agreed, ducked his head, and left the cottage. She had walked to the window and watched him. Halfway up the lane he threw his hat into the air and danced a circle beneath it.
    Now Penelope echoed that same delight. Her face was alight with a smile as she reached the cottage, her news expected. “Tom’s asked me to marry him, Miss Margaret,” Penelope announced, her eyes shining.
    “I am so very pleased for you,” Margaret said, hugging her friend. “Tom is a wonderful young man.”
    “But I’ve no wish to leave you alone here,” Penelope said, pulling back.
    Margaret smiled, the expression surprisingly difficult. “It’s not me we should be thinking of, but you, dear Penelope. Have you decided when?”
    “I can’t wait another year, Miss Margaret,” she said. “Tom’s got the squire’s blessings for a few weeks from now. We’ll have to live with his mother for a time, until we can afford our own place, but we can make do.”
    It would be unwise to wish for a different future. Or remember the man who sometimes colored her dreams. She had almost kissed him. Montraine. Margaret turned away, closed the cottage door, and stepped inside.
    The boundaries of her world were small indeed. The walls were too close, the roof too low. Sometimesshe had to escape, to walk upon the Downs and seek out the highest place she could find.
    She had done the same with her thoughts, perhaps, in trying to escape the truth of her future. It loomed before her, black and gray, tinted by the color of her widowhood.
    It would do no good to wish for what she could not have.
     
    The Countess of Montraine announced herself to Smytheton, sailing over the threshold of Michael’s library like a