‘Just as well, seeing as you and his grace are always kissing and such,’ said Flossie darkly. ‘It is not proper.’
‘Exactly,’ said, Marguerite, dying to ask her if she and Curtis ‘kissed and such.’ However, she desisted, knowing it would embarrass her horribly. She followed her to the kitchen, where they waited for Mrs Mowat to finish with the breakfasts so they could sit down with cups of tea and discuss the wedding plans.
Mrs Mowat had strong opinions about the food and, since she would be procuring it as well as doing the cooking, Marguerite and Flossie agreed with all her suggestions. They took on the task of ordering and arranging the flowers, and sent to London for table linen, china and silverware, as well as more of Marguerite’s clothes.
Argyle observed all the fuss with an amused look on his face, sitting quietly in his chair with a book on his lap. With the excuse of needing fresh air, he occasionally extracted Marguerite from the preparations and walked arm in arm with her round the orchard—he was getting stronger all the time.
One afternoon as they strolled under the apple trees he asked her, ‘How is your cousin Alice?’
‘Very well. I received a letter yesterday. Only she is distressed, because her parents are urging her to marry, and she has not had an appealing offer yet. I find it all rather sad.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Girls—obliged to marry people they often don’t like much, because they cannot earn their keep themselves. Unless as a governess, or something of that sort.’
‘Well, you might be marrying someone you like, but you can still earn your keep, should you be so inclined.’
‘I can? How?’
‘My estates take a lot of effort to be run properly, and I would appreciate your help with that.’
A wide smile broke over her face. ‘Do you mean that? Because it would please me exceedingly—to work with you. Although I can foresee some fierce battles.’
‘No, do you think so? I said I was leaving all important decisions to you.’
‘Well, that is all right, then.’ She pressed his arm against her side.
* * *
A huge bouquet of hothouse flowers arrived by special delivery. Curtis brought it into the parlour saying, ‘This has come for her ladyship, Your Grace.’ Before Marguerite could rise from the sofa where they had been sitting, Argyle sprang up and took it from him. He opened the card and waited until Curtis had gone out before saying, ‘It is from Aunt Eliza.’
‘Oh, that is so kind of her.’
‘Yes. I was afraid it would be from one of your old admirers.’
‘In which case, it would have meant he was glad to be rid of me. You are so ridiculous, Thomas.’ She took the card from him and read it. ‘I am looking forward to meeting her. But where shall we put it? All the vases I have are full already and I am sure Mrs Mowatt will not have anything suitable.’
‘You must improvise, my love. This has to have pride of place—we do not want to disappoint her.’
Marguerite thought for a moment and then brightened. ‘I know. I will cut the stems and put it in the crystal punch bowl. Sadly, we will not be able to have Mrs Mowatt’s rum punch.’
‘I think champagne, wine, ratafia and…did I not hear you say, lemonade, will be amply sufficient for our limited numbers. You really make an inordinate amount of fuss over the simplest things, my heart.’
‘I want everything to be perfect,’ Marguerite said with dignity, taking the bouquet and leaving the room, her chin held high.
* * *
On the day of the wedding Marguerite chose a gown of ivory silk and lace and picked rosebuds from the bush beside the kitchen door to put in her hair. Flossie and Mrs Mowat made her a posy of white roses, mixed with ivy and rosemary and tied with pink ribbons.
Argyle wore a black coat, a waistcoat embroidered in silver thread and a white silk cravat. His face was still pale and his hair a little long, falling over his forehead and down his neck in unruly curls.
‘You look like a pirate,mon coeur,’ Marguerite said when she saw him.
‘And you look like a fairy princess.’ His rare smile lit up his face. ‘I have won. I have won you.’
‘You have.’ She smiled back at him.
They were standing in the passage outside their bedchambers. He looked at her for a moment, then he said, ‘So, my heart, are you marrying for love, as you wished?’
