When they slowed to a walk Betsy patted her horse on the neck. ‘It is a pity we are not allowed to gallop here. When you come to Yorkshire, I will race you.’
‘I will gladly take up the challenge.’
Charles, seeing Argyle approach, rode up beside Marguerite and Mr Selby, who was following him, took up her place by Betsy and was soon engaging her in lively talk. Marguerite cast a glance over her shoulder and was satisfied.
Argyle, having watched the group for a little while before coming closer, was forced to admire Marguerite’s determination and efficiency as well as her kindness.
* * *
A few days later, as Argyle walked home from his club, he noticed Marguerite walking ahead of him with her maid, each carrying a few parcels. She wore a simple gown of rose linen, with a high waist defined by a broad satin ribbon; strands of her dark blonde hair escaped from a straw bonnet. Lengthening his stride in order to catch up with her, he saw a beggar woman approach her, a hand held out, clasping in her other arm a baby bundled in a filthy shawl. He quickened his step, meaning to chase the woman away, when Marguerite reached out to grasp her arm.
A hackney cab was coming down the busy street; swerving to avoid oncoming traffic, it came too close to the woman. Before Marguerite could pull her out of the way, the horse’s shoulder struck into her and she fell to the ground. Marguerite bent over her to help her up. The hackney driver, seeing a member of the quality, stopped to offer help, and was met by Marguerite’s fury. ‘You stupid man! Could you not watch where you were going? Look at what you have done.’
‘Begging your pardon, milady, I were only trying to avoid a gent in a curricle going too fast.’
‘You were going too fast as well.’ Marguerite gave the woman her hand to pull her up and, seeing her flinch when she put her weight on one foot, gave her parcels to her maid and took the baby from her arms, saying, ‘Here, lean on me. Have you hurt your leg?’
The woman was quite a young girl, and she pushed the hair out of her eyes. She lifted her skirt to reveal a badly scraped knee. She said, ‘It is my ankle, miss, I cannot step on it.’
Marguerite peered at the leg, and said, ‘You must have twisted it, and there is quite a deep cut on your knee. You ought to see a doctor.’
‘Oh, miss, don’t you bother your head about me.’
‘No, I insist. You,’ she said to the hackney driver, ‘I see you do not have a customer. Take us to the hospital. I will pay you, of course.’ She still held the baby in her arms.
Argyle, who had been watching this scene, intervened.
‘Lady Marguerite, please allow me.’ He took some notes from his pocket and gave them to the man.
Marguerite had been helping the woman into the cab and handed her the baby. She had not noticed him, and now looked at him in surprise. She said, ‘Thank you, Your Grace, but there was no need.’
He said, ‘It is of no matter. I will escort you home.’
‘I am not going home, I am taking this girl to the hospital.’
He was astonished, and his voice showed it. ‘Surely you are not going with her? The jarvey can take her, he has been well paid.’
‘Oh, don’t be so stupid, of course I must go. She will be turned away, otherwise.’ She climbed into the cab and said to her maid, ‘Flossie, take the parcels home and tell my mother I might be late for dinner.’ She closed the door, saying, ‘Goodbye, Your Grace. Thank you for paying the driver.’
The hackney moved off to join the traffic in the street and Argyle and Flossie remained standing on the pavement. He said to the maid, ‘Is your mistress always like this?’ He could hardly believe Marguerite had called him stupid.
Flossie, a young, plump girl with a pleasant round face and curly hair peeping out from under her cap, smiled. ‘Oh, yes, sir, she does have a mind of her own. I knew it was no use offering to go with her.’ She curtsied and turned to go, clutching the parcels.
Argyle stood looking after the carriage, not knowing whether to be furious, shocked, or admiring. Then he wasstruck by a blinding revelation: there was only one thing he could do about this girl—he would marry her.
* * *
Argyle was spoiled, high-handed, and used to getting his way but, despite Marguerite’s deprecating remark, he was far from stupid. After a night’s consideration, and before pursuing the rash course of action he had set for himself, he decided to consult the only human being whose opinion regarding his personal life he respected: his great aunt, Lady Montgomery.
This redoubtable old woman was his only living relative, or at least the only one he could abide; she was shrewd and opinionated and did not mince her words. A widow for many years, she lived in a large, gloomy house in Mayfair, attended by an elderly butler and his wife, who had been her lady’s maid for many years. To this house he made his way the next morning, at a respectable hour, wearing the formal attire he knew would meet with her approval.
He gave his hat, gloves, and cane to the butler and was ushered into a dim and cluttered drawing room. His aunt sat by the fire in a high-backed armchair, wearing a dark, high-necked gown whose skirts swept the floor, with a large diamond brooch pinned to the front. She looked up from her book and eyed him disapprovingly. ‘Oh, you’ve finally remembered I’m still alive, have you, Argyle?’
‘I came to see you last week, Aunt Eliza, don’t you remember?’ He bent to kiss her withered cheek and a rare smile lit up his face.
‘Oh yes, of course you did. Will you have some tea?’ She closed her book, placing it on a small table next to her chair.
‘I would rather have a glass of your excellent port, ma’am, if I may. And I hope you will join me.’
