A Radical Arrangement (15 page)

“I only hope I can be like you,” she added.

“You exaggerate.”

“I don’t think so,” she said softly. She had seen the look in his eyes, and been deeply touched by it. “I think perhaps you are the most admirable man I know.” Slowly she stood and moved around the table, leaving her hand in his. When she stood beside him, she said, “Thank you for showing me…everything.”

He gazed up at her and, in one blinding instant, saw that what he had been fighting for the past week was not the mere influence of propinquity but something much stronger and more permanent. He also stood, towering over her. “You have shown me a good deal as well.”

Margaret smiled. “Have I? I can’t imagine what.”

“Can’t you?” He released her hand and slid his arms about her waist, unsure how she would respond. A tiny part of him shrilled one last warning, which he rejected with disdain. “Can’t you, indeed?”

Her heart beating wildly, Margaret put one hand on his upper arm, then the other. As he pulled her slowly closer to him she moved her hands up and around his neck. She was trembling. It was the oddest sensation to tilt her lips gradually toward his, both like and unlike the other time he had held her.

Sir Justin bent his head and kissed her, softly and lightly. His arms tightened, and he did it again, more passionately. Margaret, astonished by a flood of powerful new feelings, pressed her body against his. She felt as if her bones were melting. They kissed a third time, and Margaret’s last hesitancy disappeared in the heat of their embrace. Keighley’s hands wandered up her back and then down in a lingering caress, and with an answering passion.

At last he raised his head again and looked at her.

“Oh, my,” breathed Margaret.

He laughed. “May I take that as a favorable judgment?”

She nodded, wide-eyed. “It is just so new to me, you know.”

A flicker of concern passed over his face. “I should not have—”

“Can we try it again?” she interrupted, pulling a little at his neck.

He laughed again. “I doubt that that is wise.”

“Oh, wise.” Margaret was contemptuous. “All my life I did what was wise and proper. Until I met you, that is. I like the new way
much
better.”

Their eyes met in a warm smile, and he bent to kiss her a fourth time.

Margaret was just giving herself up wholly to the embrace when the parlor door burst open so violently that it slammed back against the wall. “
So
,” shouted the man who stood in the opening. “Just as I expected.
Blackguard. Villain. Ravisher.
” He turned his head a little. “And you—baggage—where are your principles, your moral scruples, that I find you so?”

They had separated at the first sound. Now Margaret put a hand to her mouth. “Papa,” she gasped.

The shouting lasted nearly an hour, accomplishing nothing. First Mr. Mayfield shouted, then Margaret, goaded by his unfair accusations, joined him, and finally Sir Justin could contain himself no longer and added his voice to theirs. They none of them listened to one another, and it was only when they became aware of the astonished faces of the Appleby family in the corridor outside the parlor that they quieted a bit.

“I shall require a room for the night,” Mr. Mayfield told his hosts. “That is all. You needn’t gape.”

“Th-this is my father,” put in Margaret.

“Aye,” agreed Mr. Appleby. “We gathered as much. And
not
the gentleman’s father, I take it?”

“N-no.”

“I was adopted,” suggested Keighley. Margaret was so startled she almost giggled. The Applebys looked unimpressed.

“Get out, get out,” exclaimed Mayfield impatiently, moving to shut the door. “We’ll ring if we want anything.”

“There is no need to be so rude, Father,” said Margaret when the door was closed. “The Applebys have been very good to us…to me, I mean.”

“
Rude?
If you think I can bother with politeness at a moment like this…” He paused to catch his breath.

“Perhaps I should leave the two of you to talk?” offered Keighley. Both Margaret and Mr. Mayfield stared at him, Mayfield with outrage and Margaret with puzzlement. The truth was that Sir Justin felt the need for a respite, a moment to think before he confronted the situation. When neither answered him, he nodded briefly and left the room.

“Well,” breathed Mayfield.

“Father, what are you doing here?” Margaret was more angry than chagrined at her father’s arrival and his wild accusations. Things had been going wonderfully until he came, and now all was confusion again.

“How can you ask me that? My only daughter runs away from my home—”

“And you
let
her. Leaving her to make her way as best she can for weeks.”

“That was not my idea. I wished to go after you at once. Your mother… Well, that is by the by. In any case, once I began to search, it was by no means easy to find you.”

“How did you?”

“I searched and inquired in Penzance and then in other towns thereabouts. A doctor in Falmouth finally gave me news of you.”

“Ah. Dr. Brice. I am not surprised.”

“Are you not, indeed? And I suppose you are also unmoved by the fact that we have been worrying about you for weeks? Your mother is prostrate. You could not spare a moment to send us word, I suppose, here in your love nest?”

“Oh, take a damper, Papa,” answered Margaret impatiently.

Mr. Mayfield gaped at her like a beached fish.

“In the first place, it is not a ‘love nest.’ What a ridiculous idea. We are here only while Sir Justin recovers from his wound. And in the second place, I did not send word because I did not think you wished to hear and because I did not want you descending upon me—as you
have
done.”

“Did not…”

“You made no effort to help or understand me when I asked it, Papa. Why should I have turned to you?”

“What has happened to you, Margaret? You are…so different.
He
has corrupted you.”

“Nonsense!”

Mr. Mayfield gaped again. His daughter had never spoken to him in this tone and had certainly never labeled anything he chose to say to her as nonsense.

“Nothing in particular has happened to me except perhaps that I have grown up a bit. I have merely been staying in this inn helping to nurse Sir Justin. He is nearly well now, and—”

“What was the matter with Keighley? How was he wounded? Dr. Brice mentioned it as well.”

For the first time Margaret felt uneasy. “Well, you see, Papa, I…I shot him.”

“You…” Mr. Mayfield put out a shaking hand and found a chair back. Supporting himself upon it, he staggered around to sit down. “I cannot have heard you correctly.”

Margaret grimaced. “I’m afraid you did. It is rather complicated. I thought he was chasing me to force me to marry him, so when he came up, I…shot him. I had taken your pistol.”

“My…” He was staring at her as if she had suddenly sprouted horns.

“Yes. I haven’t lost it. It’s upstairs.”

Her father simply continued to stare.

“And so you see that I had to stay and make certain he was all right. I could not leave him bleeding in the road. The Applebys helped me, and we had the doctor, of course. Oh, and Mrs. Dowling. She is the one who really saved him. I don’t know what we should have done without her.” Margaret moved a little uncomfortably under her father’s astounded gaze.

“And?” he said finally.

“And that is all. Sir Justin is better now, and…”

“Exactly. Now what?”

Margaret looked away. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I
mean
what is your explanation for the way I found you when I came here tonight? Is that your idea of nursing?”

“N-no.” She stopped, at a loss. If he had only delayed his entrance a few minutes, she thought resentfully, she might have been able to tell him what came next. As it was, she wasn’t sure.

“If
that
is the sort of goings on…”

“It
isn’t
. It never happened before.”

“I see.” Mayfield brightened a little. “Perhaps you are about to tell me that you and Sir Justin are engaged? That the highly unusual circumstances have led to an attachment—”

“No,” interrupted Margaret baldly. She could not say that, though she wished she could.

“You were behaving in that scandalous way with a man to whom you are
not
engaged? Margaret, I am deeply shocked.” He looked it. “How could you do so? And why?” He shook his head. “You told us you hated the man. What has
happened
to you?”

Margaret looked at the floor. She felt wholly incapable of explaining herself to her father. He would never understand her feelings or her actions. And the one horrid gap in any explanation—the future—loomed large and blank.

“Margaret,” repeated Mayfield appealingly. She saw now that he looked tired and sad.

“I…I can’t talk now,” she blurted out. “I will see you in the morning.” And before he could speak again, she ran from the room.

The rest of the inn was quiet. Margaret hurried up the stairs and down the corridor to Keighley’s room. If she could just see him for a moment, perhaps all could be settled. But his bedchamber was empty; there was no sign he had been there since dinner. Frustrated, she went to her own room and locked the door. Where could he have gone? And what was he thinking?

The answer to that question would not have pleased Margaret overmuch. Sir Justin was walking along the seawall in the moonlight and thinking that he was a fool. The arrival of Ralph Mayfield had brought back all his former doubts. He remembered how he despised Margaret’s family and all their circle, and the anger and repulsion he had felt when her mother had tried to force him into marriage. He recalled his first impression of Margaret herself. She had changed, yes, but could that cowering simpleton really have become the kind of woman with whom he wished to spend his life? Out here, away from her, it seemed impossible. He must have been drunk, to behave as he had tonight, and so must she. It occurred to him now that the chit was probably not accustomed to wine. He did not choose to remember that the small amount he had had could not possibly have addled his wits.

What worried him most was the question of the future. It was obvious what Mayfield would expect and demand, but what of his daughter? Would she come to her senses, as he had, and be horrified at what had passed between them? Once, she had repudiated marriage as vehemently as he. Yet the way she had yielded to his caresses suggested that this attitude might have changed. And if she now took his offer for granted, what would he do? To draw back after tonight was dishonorable, but to be trapped into marriage in such a way—without thought or preparation—galled him. He would not be ruled by the father’s threats or the daughter’s tears.

By this time Keighley had worked himself into a quite unwarranted state of righteous indignation. With the advent of Mayfield, he suddenly saw not the Margaret he had held this evening but the chit he had angrily come after weeks ago. Unreasonably he blamed everything on her. He
would
not marry such a woman, whatever they might think. He would apologize for his behavior tonight as abjectly as they pleased, but no one else knew of it, so it could not compromise the girl. Her father could take her home again, and everything could be forgotten. And perhaps, after some time had elapsed, he could even see her again… He thrust that thought quickly away.

Having decided, Keighley felt better, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He turned back toward the Red Lion, walking slowly, and rehearsed the calm, measured speech he would use to explain his position to both Mayfields. Perhaps it would not be so difficult as he imagined. Perhaps Margaret would even take his side once the cold light of morning had dissipated the fumes of alcohol.

At the door of the inn he straightened his shoulders, took a breath, and strode in. He hoped everyone was in bed, but such luck could not be counted on. And, indeed, the first thing he saw was Ralph Mayfield’s head peering around the door of the back parlor. “Keighley,” he exclaimed, “I want to talk to you.”

His jaw hardening, Sir Justin joined him.

Mayfield shut the door. “Margaret has told me some of what happened,” he continued. “It is a very odd story. I should like to hear your version.”

“I am sure it is the same as hers.”

“Because you have rehearsed her in it?”

Keighley stiffened. “Because there is no need to tell anything but the truth, Mr. Mayfield.”

“Ah, the truth.”

Their eyes locked in hostility.

“Precisely. Your wife maneuvered me into this ill-starred adventure, and I have carried on as best I could.”

The older man looked away. “I have spoken to her about that. I do not at all approve what she did, and she regrets it bitterly, you may be sure.”

“As do I.” He put a hand to his injured shoulder.

“Did Margaret actually shoot you?”

“She did.”

“I wouldn’t have thought her capable. But even given that, why did you not send for someone? Me—or one of your own people, at least?”

“I was unconscious for some time. When I recovered, I found that your daughter had spread the story that we were brother and sister, and had been attacked by highwaymen. I could only go along with her unless I wished to start a scandal that was likely to spread far beyond this village. And I was in no state to make other arrangements for a long while, I assure you.”

“Hah.” Mayfield looked tired. “Well, that is all done with now. I am more interested in what you plan for the future.”

“I? Why, to return home now that I am recovered.”

“That is all?”

Keighley nodded, bracing himself for what was sure to come.

“And what of Margaret?”

“She will go home with you, I suppose.”

“And we simply forget this happened. Is that it?”

“Exactly. Nothing, after all,
has
happened.”

“Do you call the scene I walked in on tonight nothing?”

“It was unfortunate, but…”

“Un…” Mayfield clenched his fists. “Perhaps in the circles you frequent such immorality is merely ‘unfortunate.’ I, and my friends, do not view it so.”

“No doubt.”

“Is this to be your attitude? You do not, then, intend to marry my daughter?”

“I do not!”

“You…you…”

“Never mind, Papa.” Unnoticed by the two men in their rage, Margaret had opened the door and was standing just inside it. She wore her blue dressing gown, which molded to her body in soft folds, and her blond hair was hanging in loose waves over her shoulders. She was trembling but this was not evident from across the room. “Sir Justin has made himself very clear. Indeed, I daresay his position is clear to the whole inn. I could hear you both from upstairs. Let us stop broadcasting our affairs, especially since the matter is settled. There is nothing further to say.” Her lower lip started to tremble and she pressed her lips together firmly. She wasn’t thinking; she was merely reacting, with all the dignity she could muster, to intolerable circumstances. She had obviously made a dreadful mistake with Sir Justin. The thing to do now was to escape as soon as possible. “You look exhausted, Papa,” she added. “Come upstairs with me. Mrs. Appleby has prepared her last bedchamber for you.”

“Margaret, we
cannot
leave things as they are,” responded her father cholerically. He turned to glare at Keighley, whose eyes were fixed on Margaret.

Sir Justin did not notice. He was transfixed by the overwhelming realization that he had made yet another idiotic mistake, and by astonishment at his own newly acquired ineptitude. He had never been so clumsy before. But now, because of his silly meditations and decisions by the shore, he had hurt Margaret terribly. He could see this as if she were transparent. And in doing so, he had finally understood that she was the last person he would wish to hurt. Recent events and conversations had resurfaced, to obliterate his memories of earlier times, and he knew once and for all that he loved her. Ironically, this certainty came just when he had probably lost her forever. Why had he blurted out his stupid refusal for all the inn to hear? Why had he not first discussed the matter with her privately? Common courtesy would have demanded that, after what had passed between them tonight, regardless of his decision.

Keighley ran a hand over his forehead. Mayfield had made him furious, and he had let his temper speak for him, like a fool.

“Father, please,” said Margaret. “I really do not want—cannot support—further discussion of this tonight. Let us go to bed.”

“But, Margaret…”

“He does not
wish
to marry me, Papa,” she cried. “And…and I do not wish to marry him. So that is that.”

“But what about…”

“May I just say…” began Keighley.

Ralph Mayfield turned on him with burning eyes. “You
,
be quiet, sir. You have no right to say anything, after the way you have behaved.”