‘I wonder. I regret my behaviour, but you made me so angry.’
‘Stop reminiscing about all that. You are so ridiculous.’
He grinned at her. ‘So, you love someone who is stupid, ridiculous and animbécile?’
‘Yes. I must be insane.’ She gave him her sweetest smile.
She teased him, trying to get him to laugh at himself. She ran her hand over his shoulder and upper arm, feeling the muscles under the thin linen of his shirt, and said, ‘Ooh, Your Grace—I can see why my friends called you a Corinthian. You must spend hours boxing.’
He laughed. ‘Indeed—and fencing, and riding. Do you disapprove?’
‘No, of course I do not. I – er – appreciate your body. As long as you also read a few books occasionally.’
He set his mug down then put his arm around her and quoted, ‘If ever any beauty I did see, Which I desired, and got, ‘twas but a dream of thee…’
Marguerite opened her eyes at him. ‘John Donne? I am impressed.’
He kissed the top of her head. ‘You inspire me. I wish you would wear your hair down, while we are here.’
‘Flossie does not allow it. She says it is not proper.’
‘Damn Flossie,’ he said, pulling the pins out, and twisting his hand in the long tresses.
* * *
Flossie was doing her best to watch over her mistress, ensconcing herself in a corner of the parlour with a basket of sewing. Marguerite laughed at her.
‘Don’t tell me you remembered to bring your sewing with you!’
‘Oh, no, my lady, Mrs Mowatt gave it to me. I am hemming her tea towels.’
‘Very nice for her, I’m sure, but why don’t you go and do it in the kitchen?’
Flossie put on a dignified air. ‘I am chaperoning you, my lady.’
Marguerite laughed again. ‘You really do not need to do that here. His Grace and I are engaged, remember?’
‘Still, it is not proper. And we cannot leave the door open.’
‘Certainly not,’ said Argyle, who had been watching this exchange with an amused look on his face. ‘People would start wandering in, asking for tankards of ale.’
Flossie threw him a grateful look. ‘You see? Your mother would not like it.’
‘My mother is not here. And I should not think detailed reports of my doings will reach her, will they? Oh, do go away, Flossie, I wish to be alone with His Grace. We have things to discuss.’
Flossie gathered up her sewing, curtsied with a raised chin and a disapproving look on her face, and left the room. But she did not give up. She found endless excuses to come in, bringing tea, the newspapers, letters, or a book. She bent severe looks upon them if she found them sitting too close together, with Argyle’s hand on Marguerite’s leg as she read aloud to him, or his arm around her waist.
Marguerite, in turn, found endless tasks for her to do—sending her down to the kitchen with requests for Mrs Mowatt, or off to the village with various errands to accomplish. She had found out there was a circulating library, from which many books were procured, and a tea shop from which pastries and tiny iced buns were purchased, to tempt Argyle’s appetite. Flossie enjoyed these outings, and sometimes persuaded her mistress to come with her, saying the fresh air would do her good. They wandered down the street together, admiring the flowers in the small front gardens, and looking into the windows of the few shops.
Flossie would find the opportunity to ply Marguerite with questions.
‘Do you love him, my lady?’
‘Of course I do, Flossie, I would not be here otherwise. But I didn’t think I would, in the beginning. Life is strange.’
‘Things will always turn up for the best, my mum always says,’ said Flossie wisely, swinging her basket.
* * *
