Chapter 15
Marguerite prayed all night, in French and English, sitting by Argyle’s bed and holding his hand—a limp hand, which did not return the pressure of hers.
When she had come into the room and seen him, she had found it hard to suppress her shock: his skin was ashen under the dark stubble on his cheeks, his lips colourless, his arrogant eyes shut.
Dark shadows played about his face, in the eye sockets and under the jawline.
There was a red scrape on one cheekbone, and another, smaller one, on the side of his nose. His dark hair fell upon his forehead.
She smoothed it back, then pulled up a chair and sat; she took his hand and held the palm to her lips, and whispered, ‘Je t’aime, mon amour.
Please don’t die.’ She talked and sang softly to him until, exhausted, she laid her arm on the bed and, resting her forehead upon it, dozed for a few minutes.
She was woken by Argyle’s voice, but, when she looked at him, his eyes were still closed.
He was dreaming—hallucinating…she could not tell.
Earlier the landlord had come in, to see if she needed anything, but she had told him to go to bed, since there was nothing more that could be done; the doctor would come again in the morning.
He had put a tray with a teapot covered in a tea cozy and a plate of bread and cheese on the table and said, handing her a warm woollen shawl, ‘My wife gave me this to put around your shoulders, my lady, in case you should feel cold. Seeing as your own things have not arrived yet.’
‘Please thank her for me, it is most kind. But you have made a lovely fire, and I will keep feeding it.’ The landlord had left, wishing her goodnight, and now she was all alone.
She had never felt so young and lost, but also strong, because she had to be strong for him.
She drank a little tea, but the sight of the food revulsed her; she put the shawl round her shoulders and pulled up a chair next to the bed.
She sat and stroked Argyle’s hair, and his hand, and kissed his closed eyes and his fingers one by one; and listened to his jumbled words.
Once she thought she heard ‘naked in my bed,’ and she imagined—hoped—he was dreaming of her. She whispered, ‘I will be naked in your bed, my love, every night until we die.’
Did his hand twitch slightly in hers, or had she imagined that as well?
She thought again of their drive at Harwick, when he had held her hand all the way home—now she held his as though she could keep him from slipping away from her.
She pulled the shawl tight around herself and sat huddled by the bed, clutching his hand; from time to time she rose to put more logs on the fire.
She sipped at the tea, but it was cold and tasted bitter. It was the longest night of her life.
* * *
In the morning, as she dozed with her head on her arm, still holding Argyle’s hand, there was a commotion and the door opened to reveal her maid, Flossie, who bustled in and put her arms around her.
‘Oh, my lady, what a thing to have happened. I am so sorry. I have brought your things, and I will help all I can.’
Marguerite lifted her head wearily and saw that Argyle was peaceful. ‘Dear Flossie, I am so glad you have come. Please, can you arrange for some hot water. I am in dire need of a wash, and, as you see, I am still in my riding habit.’
‘Yes, you look done in. At least you had a warm shawl, and I see you thought to take off your boots. You will feel better when you have some clean clothes on.’
‘The doctor will come soon, and I can get changed while he is examining His Grace.’
Dr. Peel arrived presently, and she slipped out in her stockinged feet, with Flossie following, carrying her boots. Marguerite asked, ‘What did my parents say to you?’
‘The groom returned and told us you were safe, and staying at a good inn, so they were not too worried. At least your father wasn’t—it seems he knows of the landlord. Your mother helped me prepare your things, but I could see she was anxious. We left at dawn.’
‘Poor Maman—I’m afraid I’m not a very restful daughter.’
They went into the bedchamber, which Marguerite had barely glimpsed the night before, staying only long enough to wash her face and leave her hat and gloves before going to Argyle’s side.
It was a small but pleasant enough room, with a window letting in plenty of light, flowered curtains, and a grate where a cheerful fire burned. The bed was spread with a red coverlet.
Flossie helped her wash and get changed; she had sensibly brought with her some simple and comfortable muslin gowns, kid slippers and a couple of warm shawls, together with nightwear and fresh linen.
As she did the buttons down Marguerite’s back, she said, ‘I did not know you had become betrothed to His Grace, my lady. Your mother told me. I am not sure if I should congratulate you while things are still so bad.’
‘Do you know, Flossie, even His Grace does not know it yet. But he has asked me to marry him, several times, so I hope he will not be too shocked when he wakes up and hears about it.’ They looked at each other and laughed. Then Marguerite’s face tightened. ‘…If…’
Flossie said firmly, ‘When. He will wake up soon. You did well to come. Do not fret, I am sure he will recover, him being so young and strong.’
‘Thank you, Flossie, you have made me feel better. I did not think I could ever laugh again.’
Flossie brushed her hair and put it up while Marguerite avoided looking at her face in the mirror, a quick glimpse having told her it was pale and drawn, with dark circles under red-rimmed eyes; she looked down at her hands and went on praying silently.
Presently there was knock on the door and, when asked to come in, the landlord stuck his head inside the room and said, ‘The doctor says you should come, my lady—His Grace has regained consciousness.’
Flossie beamed and said, ‘You see?’
Marguerite jumped up and followed him down the passageway.
He knocked on the door and preceded her into Argyle’s room.
Marguerite stopped at the threshold and saw him sitting up against his pillows, in the same crumpled white shirt open at the throat, still very pale but with his eyes wide open under his dark brows.
When he saw her, he said, ‘Ah, this fiancée. Now I see.’ He did not smile.
Dr. Peel, standing next to the bed, said, ‘Good morning, my lady. His Grace is much better, thanks be to God, although his memory is still a little shaken, I fear.’
‘Yes, I noticed. I do hope he isn’t betrothed to more women without my knowledge.’ She laughed, light-headed with relief, and the landlord did as well. The doctor looked a little shocked, and said, ‘I must insist on complete rest for a few weeks.’
Argyle said, rubbing his hand over his chin, ‘Well, could I at least get a shave? I’m sure I look like a brigand.
Here, Jack,’ he addressed the landlord, ‘get me some hot water and a razor, will you? And some breakfast, I’m starving.
’ His voice was impatient, if a little weak, but his black eyes were dull.
‘Your valet has arrived, Your Grace,’ said the landlord. ‘I will fetch him at once.’ He left the room.
Dr. Peel said, ‘Only the lightest of fares, I beg you, my lady. I rely on you to keep His Grace sensible. This improvement has been nothing short of miraculous, and I feel your presence did much to help. I will now take my leave, but I will return tomorrow.’ He bent a severe look upon them and went out, leaving them alone together.
* * *
They looked at each other in silence. Marguerite, with an effort, restrained herself from bursting into tears and flinging herself on Argyle’s chest. Still standing by the door, she gazed at him and waited.
He said slowly, his face expressionless, ‘So, I understand that we are engaged.’
‘I could not have stayed here by myself, otherwise.’ Her voice, a little unsteady, sounded defensive to her ears.
‘I see. And how long are you planning on staying?’
The harshness of his tone would have irritated her before, but she was so flooded with joy and relief that he had not died, that she looked in his face and said simply, ‘As long as you need me. Or until you send me away.’
He was silent for a moment, then he said, his voice still harsh, ‘Jack told me you rode here.’
‘Yes, it was faster. I have only just changed out of my habit.’ She glanced at him and said, a hint of defiance in her voice, ‘I have sent the groom back with the horses.’
‘But why did you come?’ Some fleeting but strong emotion crossed his face.
She made a sound between a sob and a laugh. ‘Because I love you, imbécile! What did you think?’ There, it was said. And it was true.
A small light went on at the back of his eyes and a muscle twitched in the corner of his mouth. He said, in a tone that had lost all harshness, ‘In that case, I dimly seem to remember you offering to be naked in my bed until my death. And, since I do hope my demise is not imminent…’
She was suddenly furious. ‘If you heard me in the night, why did you not say something? I thought you were dying.’ Her voice broke and her eyes filled with tears.
‘It was all so jumbled, I don’t remember much. I could not speak. Things come back to me in snatches.’ He saw two tears roll down her cheeks, and said, ‘Come here, you wretched girl, I cannot bear to see you cry.’
He opened his arms and she went to the bed and sat on the edge and hugged him very carefully, hiding her face in the smooth skin of his neck above his collarbone, inside the open collar of his shirt. He stroked her back and she mumbled, ‘Becoming engaged was what you wanted, wasn’t it?’
He said, ‘It was. It is.’ He put his face against hers, and the stubble on his jaw scraped her skin.
She said, ‘Ow,’ but did not pull away.
He said, roughly, ‘Is the offer still open?’
‘Yes.’
‘Every night in my bed?’
‘Yes.’
He tightened his arms around her. Feeling him flinch, she drew back and looked inside his shirt and saw the bruising on his ribs; most of his chest was blotched a dark purple.
She said, in a small voice, ‘That looks painful.’ She sniffed and hunted for her handkerchief.
‘It is. And my head is splitting. I am only thankful there are no broken bones. I could not have borne months with my leg in a cast.’ He took the handkerchief from her hand and dried her eyes, and the unexpected tenderness of this gesture made her swallow hard.
She said, ‘Oh, Thomas, you would have borne it if you had to. I would have kept you company. What I could not have borne, is if—if you had died, which you came very close to doing. What happened?’
‘I don’t remember much. I know I was going too fast—my mind was weighed down with…everything. Then it is all a blur.’
She clutched his hand. ‘It is all my fault for sending you away. I cannot imagine why I did that, I find that all I want is to be with you.’
Argyle touched her lips with a finger. ‘It is not your fault, my heart. You wanted to marry for love, but I never once told you I love you. I never thought to woo, only to conquer. I was obsessed—I never had a woman defy me before. But you—you came here—and you declared your feelings first. I stand in awe of you, my beloved.’ He looked at her face and said, smiling a little, ‘You look astonished!’
Her eyes were wide. ‘I am. I have never heard you talk like this before.’
He gave a short laugh. ‘It must the knock on the head.’ His lips curled in irony and then he said, simply, ‘But I have never felt this way before.’
‘Oh, Thomas.’ There was a pause, and then she said, ‘Do you know, when you announced you were going to India, I nearly gave in—when you left, I was distraught.’
‘And I nearly said I loved you then, but…I am not used to telling women I love them. I wanted to beg you, but I couldn’t—it even made me angry that you kept calling me Your Grace. I have been so stupid.’
She gave a little rueful laugh. ‘And I have been so stubborn.’
‘What made you change your mind?
‘When I heard you were hurt, I knew I had to be with you. I rushed off, my parents were astonished.’
Another short laugh. ‘And when I woke up and was told my fiancée had arrived, I thought I was hallucinating. I had no idea what Jack was talking about.’
‘You did not think it was me?’
‘How could I? You had just sent me packing.’
‘I’m so sorry, my love. But I was scared. That night, I woke up in a panic, on that sofa. I could not believe what I had done.’
He smiled, a slow smile that transformed his harsh face. She saw the dimple in his cheek again. ‘Yes, I do admit I was amazed—shocked—that you let me make love to you without having decided to marry me.’
She said, simply, ‘I could not help myself, your kisses made me insane. But afterwards I was terrified.’
‘Marguerite—would you really have let me go away?’
‘I hope not—otherwise I would have had to travel to India to find you, wouldn’t I?’ She made a grimace.
‘Why must you always call my bluff?’
She stared at him. ‘Did you not mean to go to India at all? I believed you.’
‘You still did not try and stop me. But it probably was an empty threat. I could not bear to plan the journey.’ He paused, and said slowly, ‘I have wanted you since the day I saw you help that woman in the street. You called me stupid.’
‘Did I? I don’t remember.’
‘Because your mind was on the girl, not on me. I fell for you, but I had no idea it was love—it was about getting what I wanted.’
‘Well, I fell for you after our drive at Harwick, when I saw we could get on. You held my hand on the way home, it was magic.’
‘But why keep refusing me, then?’
‘I knew you wanted me, but I did not think you loved me. I did not want to lose my joie de vivre and become an embittered old bat.’
He laughed. ‘As if that could happen! You are not some pretty little songbird that can be caged. You are a…a…raptor.’
‘Oh dear, that sounds menacing. Like a hawk, you mean?’
‘A lovely little kestrel. Or perhaps a barn owl.’
‘Wise and silent in flight. I like that.’ She sighed. ‘I told you I love you, many times, last night—mostly in French, I suspect.’
He laughed. ‘My command of foreign languages was probably below par, last night—but I’m sure the effect of your words was beneficial to my recovery. I am not much use as a lover in my present state, but I promise to make it up to you. Meanwhile, could you please kiss me without touching my ribs?’
Marguerite bent forward to put her hands in his hair and her mouth against his. She felt overwhelmed by her feelings.
They heard a cough and looked up to see the landlord bearing a basin of steaming water, followed by Argyle’s valet, Curtis, who was carrying his clothes. Marguerite, blushing a little, said, ‘It is just that I am so, so happy he is better, you see.’ She rose from the bed.
‘Of course, my lady,’ said, the landlord, beaming, while the valet busied himself with razor and towels. ‘My missus says if you would like to come down, she has prepared breakfast for you in the parlour. I will bring His Grace a tray up later.’