15. Chapter Fifteen #3
“Looky here, it seems the two of you have hit it off!”
Mr. Marshall and Marjorie approached the booth, interrupting them.
Marjorie had many suitors in the past, but Margaret had never seen her little sister so enthused.
She attached herself to Mr. Marshall’s arm, displaying a certain light in her eyes as she snuck glances at him.
She then looked away and locked eyes with Margaret.
Her lips curled and parted, revealing a large grin.
Marjorie had never had a broken heart—mostly because she was the heartbreaker.
She craved adventure, not being stuck in one place or with one person.
Someone new always captured her fancy, but Margaret prayed this time would be different.
Yes, Mr. Marshall seemed to be a little bold, but so was Marjorie.
Margaret glanced across at Mr. McKinley, who had just finished the last sip of his cola, setting the glass down with a faint clink. “Miss Nicholson and I were just chatting.”
“Mr. Marshall and I danced for nearly two hours,” said Marjorie, leaning against Mr. Marshall. “I believe my shoes are too worn.”
“I’d like to drive your sister home, Miss Nicholson,” Mr. Marshall said to Margaret with a gentle voice. “If that is fine by you.”
“And how might I get home?” Mr. McKinley asked.
Mr. Marshall’s cheeks flushed. “I-uh . . . perhaps a taxi?”
Mr. McKinley rolled his eyes and sighed. “Fine.”
Margaret hated that Mr. McKinley would be alone again, abandoned by his friend. The least she could do, out of the kindness of her heart, was let Mr. Agnes take him home.
“If it isn't a problem, my driver should arrive soon, and he can take you home."
“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Mr. McKinley declined.
“You won’t.”
Mr. McKinley paused, spinning his empty cup in his hand. “I will accept your offer, but as a gentleman, I will escort you home first. It’s the least I can do.”
Escort? Margaret had never needed an escort. While she knew Mr. Agnes was trustworthy, for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to turn Mr. McKinley down. After all, they had gone through two hours without bickering.
“Very well.”
Mr. Marshall grinned at Marjorie. “Are you ready, Miss Nicholson?”
Marjorie nodded. “Why yes, I believe so. Goodbye, Margaret! It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. McKinley.”
Mr. McKinley raised his empty glass. “Aye.”
Margaret rose from the booth and made her way towards the entrance to fetch her coat.
She was determined to ride behind Mr. Marshall on the way home.
She didn’t want to interfere with the possibility of a courtship, but she also didn’t want her sister to be in a harmful position.
Marjorie knew so little of the world and its dangers.
“You didn’t have to volunteer yourself, sir,” Margaret said to Mr. McKinley as he retrieved his coat.
“I wanted to,” he admitted. “Only knowing you a week, I have never seen someone get into so much trouble.”
“I’m never in trouble!” Margaret declared.
Mr. McKinley raised his eyebrows, giving her a look of seriousness.
Margaret giggled. “Well, around you, I suppose. But Richmond is a new environment. I have an excuse.”
“I thought you were ‘growing accustomed’ to city life.”
Margaret rolled her eyes and huffed. “You are insufferable, Mr. McKinley.”
Mr. McKinley shook his head, slipping on his coat as Margaret did the same.
She snuck a brief look behind her and watched the man stick his muscular arms through each sleeve.
Margaret had initially questioned how his sizable arms would manage to fit, but to her surprise, they effortlessly slid into place without any hint of constraint.
Her heart thumped against her chest when she noticed him turning in her direction.
She quickly looked away and finished buttoning her coat.
When they exited, Margaret noticed Mr. Agnes waiting beside the automobile door.
“Hello, Miss Nicholson. How was your night?” Mr. Agnes straightened his posture and adjusted his spectacles when Mr. McKinley appeared from behind her. He cleared his throat. “Good evening, sir.”
“It’s not quite evening anymore,” Mr. McKinley corrected with an apathetic tone. He had mentioned his grudge against Mr. Agnes’s lack of management skills, so Margaret could understand his coldness.
Margaret smiled. “Mr. Agnes, Mr. McKinley’s car is being borrowed by a friend tonight, so he will be escorting me home before he makes his journey.”
Mr. Agnes swallowed. “Very well. It is nice to see you again . . . sir.”
Mr. McKinley nodded, but Margaret could overhear his mutters. “I wish I could say the same.”
Mr. Agnes opened the door to the back seats, and Margaret entered, followed by Mr. McKinley.
As Mr. Agnes drove along the street, Margaret averted her gaze, staring down at her lap.
Having her fears exposed had helped a little, but the night’s darkness made her stomach churn.
The road was rough, especially down the gravel road on the way to the estate.
Now the night seemed too familiar. The road had been bumpy that night she tried to forget.
There had been sharp curves in the road, an obstacle of the intoxicated driver behind the wheel.
A wave of nausea washed over Margaret at the thought. She covered her mouth, afraid she might become sick.
“Miss Nicholson,” Mr. McKinley whispered with concern in his voice. “Are you well?”
Margaret tried to remain strong and nod, but instead, she shook her head.
“Mr. Agnes, will you pull over, please?” Mr. McKinley asked. “Miss Nicholson isn’t feeling well.”
“We’re about two miles away. Can she wait five more minutes?”
Mr. McKinley scooted closer to Mr. Agnes’s ear. “Pull over, Sidney.”
Mr. Agnes complied with Mr. McKinley’s request, parking the automobile by the side of the road.
The area was devoid of city lights, with only tall trees standing sentinel, shielding the moon’s glow.
Mr. McKinley opened the automobile door and took Margaret’s hand, gently guiding her out of the vehicle.
Margaret hunched her body over, drawing in deep breaths.
Mr. McKinley placed his hand on her back, transferring her to another memory—the one where Mr. McKinley held her close after he saved her life.
“I’ll return with her father,” Mr. Agnes said before driving away.