Chapter 18 #3
So you see, Aunt Eliza, I did find another way, following your wise admonitions—perhaps not the most intelligent thing to do, but it did bring the object of my affections to my side. She has acknowledged her feelings for me and looks after me in the most agreeable way.
I am greatly looking forward to your meeting her and am confident you will wholly approve.
Yours, etc.
A.
* * *
Marguerite basked in the feeling that they were in a private world of their own, cut off from reality for the present.
She said to herself, ‘I am in love.’ I am in love, I am in love, she repeated as she went about her day.
Braving the disapproval of both Flossie and Curtis, she often went down to the kitchen to give Mrs Mowat a hand, or sit at the kitchen table with her, drinking cups of tea and listening to her dispensing pearls of wisdom about life in general and marriage in particular; she now knew all about this lady’s numerous relations and their various ailments. She felt at home.
As the days passed, Marguerite realised she was becoming easy in her mind about spending the rest of her life with Argyle.
She was too shrewd not to know the present idyll could not last forever, but she hoped they were building a connection strong enough to help them overcome any future difficulties or disagreements.
One night after dinner, when she was sitting on the sofa with Argyle’s head in her lap, stroking his hair, she said, ‘When I first met you, I thought your hair always looked untidy—when I said so to my mother, she pointed out that you were probably not using pomade. Well, I’m glad you are not, because your hair would have been horrible to touch, and I love touching it.
’ She ran her hands through the dark curls, rubbing his scalp, and he closed his eyes.
There was a silence, then she said, ‘I wish it could always be like this.’ She realised neither of them had mentioned marriage once, and ventured, ‘I think we should get married soon.’
‘Oh, do you?’ His voice was ironic, but he looked up at her, a smile lurking in his eyes. ‘Are you actually asking me to marry you? I can hardly believe it!’
She was undaunted. ‘Yes, Thomas, I am—do not tell me you have changed your mind?’
‘Of course not—I have only decided to leave all the important decisions in our life to you. You are obviously so much better than me at dealing with them.’
‘Please can you stop being so odious. I was serious.’ But she was thrilled by the way he had said, in our life.
‘So was I. The only demand I have, is for the ‘naked in bed’ part of our agreement to be implemented.’ He stroked her leg through the fabric of her skirt, then put his hand under it and rolled down her stocking, caressing her bare skin.
Marguerite put her own hand on his chest, inside his shirt. She said, ‘It will be. It is a long time since the night in the library. I can’t wait. Soon, do you think?’
‘Soon. I can’t wait either. We must find a way to deal with my bruises.’
* * *
That night, after everyone was asleep, she came into his bedchamber, to find him sitting up in bed reading, with a lamp burning on his bedside table. He looked up and said, ‘Sweetheart. Have you come to get a book?’
She laughed in delight. ‘No, I have one in my room, but I find it bores me to tears.’
Argyle closed his book and set it on the bedside table. He said, ‘So does mine. But I can’t sleep.’
‘Neither could I. But perhaps there is an activity that will tire us out.’ She sat on the side of the bed and pulled off his shirt.
She looked at the bruises on his ribs, which had turned from purple to green and were yellowing around the edges.
She ran her hand over them tentatively. ‘Does this hurt?’
‘Only a little.’ He pushed her hand lower, and lay back on the bed, pulling her with him.
Their relief at his recovery, combined with the embracing of their feelings for each other and the delay since the night in the library gave their lovemaking a sweet intensity.
They spoke in whispers; Argyle ran his hands over her body, rediscovering it; Marguerite did the same, finding the places that still hurt and those that gave him pleasure.
When he winced, she said, ‘Sorry,’ and they laughed softly, their faces close together.
He said, ‘I love you so much, why could I never say it before?’
‘You’re saying it now, mon amour.’
Later, lying next to him in the dark, she said, ‘I will never forget our drive at Harwick. It was the first time we did not quarrel. And the way you smiled at me…’
‘I kept thinking I had to kiss you. But I was expecting you to slap my face.’
‘Well, you would have deserved it, since you had promised not to flirt. But I was dying for you to kiss me.’
There was a smile in his voice. ‘Yes, I noticed!’
‘Cependant, I swear I came down for a book that night. I never expected to find you in the library.’
‘And I could not believe you would still deny me after that night. It drove me insane.’ He turned and hugged her tightly and she buried her face in his neck. She heard him mumble, ‘I have never felt so blue-devilled in my entire life, as after that ball.’
* * *
Marguerite woke up in the middle of the night in a strange bed.
Putting her hand out, she touched another hand lying still on the sheet, a strong masculine hand—Thomas’s hand.
She felt the long fingers one by one, running her thumb over each smooth nail—how strange, and how already familiar, the hand of this man she loved, a man she had disliked only a short while ago.
She now had the right to touch this hand, it belonged to her in some way—she had spent a whole night clutching it in desperation.
She stroked the fine hairs on his forearm and moved along his biceps to his shoulder, feeling the muscles under the smooth skin.
When she got to his collarbone, he turned in his sleep and embraced her, pulling her body to his.
She snuggled close to him—another unfamiliar sensation, having a man sleeping next to her—but one which somehow felt right.
Thomas’s hand settled between her shoulder blades.
She closed her eyes; this was a lot nicer than waking up freezing on a sofa.
She did not for a moment consider returning to her own bed.
* * *
In the morning Flossie, finding her mistress gone when she brought her a cup of chocolate, peeped into the duke’s room to make sure everything was all right and found them sleeping with their arms around each other.
She bustled about, drawing the curtains and tutting her disapproval. ‘Oh, my lady, and you not married yet.’
‘But soon, Flossie, soon.’ Marguerite stretched like a cat, bare arms and a tousled head emerging from the counterpane.
‘Please don’t scold. It’s just that His Grace felt a little lonely, didn’t you, mon coeur?
’ She dropped a kiss on the nose of her beloved, who kept his eyes shut, pretending to be asleep still.
She slid out of bed, naked, and threaded her arms into the dressing gown Flossie was holding out.
Her maid bundled her out of the room, saying sternly, ‘I will tell Curtis you are awake, Your Grace.’
* * *
Later they met in the parlour, properly dressed and with brushed hair. When Marguerite walked in, Argyle was already ensconced behind the table, sipping at a cup of coffee and perusing a newspaper. He lifted his face and smiled at her with such warmth in his eyes that she melted inside.
‘Good morning, my sweet mistress. I trust you are recovered from the night’s …er…exertions?’
Marguerite laughed and lowered her eyelids demurely.
She curtsied and said, ‘Good morning, my lord. You shock me. What can you possibly mean?’ She turned to shut the door, glad that neither Flossie, whom she had left in her room to tidy up, nor Curtis were present.
She would not have put it past Argyle to disregard their presence.
‘Oh, nothing. But tell me, my love, did you like sharing your bed with another person all night?’
‘I did. I slept well.’
‘Well, I have a confession to make. I have never shared my bed with another person—and I thought I never would. I hated the idea.’
‘But you said—’
‘I know. But it was more a manner of speech—I never meant the whole night together.’
‘And now?’
‘I have discovered there is nothing I like more than having you sleep next to me. So let us keep doing it.’
‘All right—as long as you don’t snore.’
‘I shall endeavour not to.’ He laughed. ‘You are lucky in your choice of husband. I am sure your fat suitor snores, the one I saved you from.’
Marguerite grinned at him. ‘What made you think of him?’
‘Because it was then I realised I could not tolerate another man touching you. If he had not desisted so fast, I would have blacked his eye. I could never stomach Barnfield or Crampton, either.’
‘Oh, what a drama! I never regarded them as more than friends. And I did not ask you to save me from the fat man. I was just about to kick him in the shins before you appeared, uninvited.’
Argyle burst out laughing. ‘I wish I had watched that, instead of interfering. He was not a handsome fellow, I will grant you that.’
She shuddered. ‘He even had a horrible name, Mr Potts or Mr Bloggs, something of that nature. After that night, he pursued another girl, Dieu merci.’
‘Enough of Bloggs. Come and kiss me good morning.’ He pulled her onto his lap, but she felt him flinch and jumped up.
‘Do not try to outdo yourself, Thomas. You will only have a relapse. You must still be patient.’
‘Why must you be so boring? It is bad enough facing your maid’s constant disapproval.’
Marguerite laughed, then bent and kissed him and went to pour herself a cup of coffee.