Chapter 21

21

Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.

The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act 1, Scene 1

They rattled and bumped their way back to Pressmore in Foster's cart. The storm had ravaged the waxed covering over the wagon, peppering it with holes, but the cart served well enough as conveyance through the lingering mist. The trees along the narrow path to Pressmore hung against one another, bent at odd angles, their branches littering the ground. Ruby refused to look at Maggie, as if by sheer force of will she could pretend the other lady wasn't there.

"Do you think Ann will ever speak to me again?" Ruby murmured. It was slow going on the mangled, muddy path, and every so often Maggie had to get down and help Foster move a branch out of the road.

"That depends," said Maggie. "Are you sorry?"

Ruby sat with that in stubborn silence.

"Was it your idea or Mr. Darrow's to appear on the balcony together like that? To implicate Ann when it was your own misguided indulgence—your idea or Darrow's?"

"We arrived at the idea together," Ruby murmured. "He because Lane Richmond refused him another loan, and I because I wanted to feel for one moment like the charmed woman of the evening! And I did feel it, but then…then it was horrible, but I was too afraid to say anything."

Maggie nodded. "Mrs. Richmond is a formidable woman."

"Even if I see my error, it is still unfair! Almost from the moment he arrived at Pressmore, Paul singled me out as the object of his affection. We spent the evening before Ann's wedding together. We paraded through the gardens, and he kissed my hands, and it felt like a dream to be chosen. I'm sure it sounds silly to fall in love so quickly, in just an evening, but I swear it happened! I always had a heart ready to blossom, it just wanted for nourishing love." She picked up a twig blown into the cart and began to snap it into smaller and smaller pieces. "Oh, but it isn't fair, why can you have a Mr. Darrow and I cannot?"

Maggie stiffened and blanched.

"I heard you last night."

"My Mr. Darrow is not galivanting across the whole of England like a wild stallion pursuing every available mare," said Maggie. She fussed nervously with the toggles on her spencer. If Ruby tattled, she would be in even bigger trouble than she already was.

All morning, to keep from missing Bridger too miserably, she had rehearsed the story she would tell Aunt Eliza. Mr. Darrow and I were enjoying a chaste discussion of Pride and Prejudice when we noticed a cloaked figure running from Ann's stunning new Grecian temple. We followed, of course, eager to clear Ann's name, and found ourselves lost in the storm. By sheer chance and good fortune, we stumbled upon Ruby and Paul Darrow at the church. The weather did not permit our immediate return, but Mr. Corner was good enough to let us stay in the parsonage until we could return to Pressmore quite obviously heroes beyond reproach.

It could use a few revisions.

"In fact," Maggie barged on, "my Mr. Darrow did not need Lane to intercede on his behalf with a young lady's family in Bath. Nor is he a drunk. Nor is he kissing masked ladies on a balcony intending to cause a scandal!"

"No," whispered Ruby, smirking. "He is only kissing ladies in the good vicar's rectory."

"Lower your voice," she hissed, mindful of Foster. She continued in a ferocious whisper. "Remember, Ruby, that we are the keepers of each other's secrets. I will not breathe a word about your questionable behavior if you do not tattle about mine."

She at least had the good grace to hang her head. "I will make my apologies to Ann."

"See that you do, unless she has already been turned out of the house."

It was a bleak possibility. The cart diverted before the maze and temple, turning left onto a small road running along the property, between hedges, curving toward the Pressmore stables. Farther on, they turned left again and joined the main drive, Foster taking them right to the front doors of the estate. The house spread out before them, breathtaking as always, perhaps more so draped in pretty mist, the pale sandstone confection almost overrun in places with climbing hydrangea and clematis, the leaves of which glittered with the previous night's rain. They must have been spotted far out, for an entire welcoming party swept out onto the paving stones and met the cart as Foster brought it around.

Foremost among them was Aunt Eliza, taller than the rest by virtue of her colossal feathered bonnet, lending her the quality of the toughest hen in the flock.

"Oh, you are alive! We feared you were swept away in the storm!" cried Winny. She and Violet all but ripped Maggie out of the wagon before the footmen could help.

Maggie embraced her sisters, tears springing to her eyes. They squeezed her so tight, and she felt their tremulous fear.

"Never make us worry like that again!" Violet muttered, elbowing her when they pulled apart. "At best, I hoped you had gone off to be a pirate. But then, of course, there are highwaymen, and I did not want to consider that. Where is Mr. Darrow? For he is missing also."

"I promise, all will be explained," said Maggie, seeking out Ruby as she slid out of the cart. "And I do mean all. Come, 'tis time Ruby shed light on this scandal and its true participants. Ann's name will be restored, and any doubts about her character erased."

Her aunts waded to the front of the crowd. "We shall see about that," said Mrs. Richmond, sweeping her eyes up and down Maggie's soiled, torn, bloodied gown and jacket. Lane met them in the foyer, flying down the grand stairs, cheeks flushed with excitement.

"Cousin! What a comfort it is to have you back safely. I am saddened to say that the report from Madigan is less relieving, for he has bled Ann repeatedly and seen no improvement."

"What we have to tell will cheer her, I'm certain of it," Maggie told him. She broke away from her sisters and aunt, tugging Lane aside, into the shadows cast by the stairs. "Mr. Darrow has found his brother and taken him back to their family estate. He has promised to return within three days' time, and I know he would not want you to worry on his account."

Lane hoisted a brow. "Has something occurred that would make you the authority on his desires?"

Maggie was dragged away to the sunny southeast parlor before she could provide an answer. It was a swirling morass of questions that moved through the house, Ruby at the center of it and growing smaller and more shrunken by the minute, no doubt dread overcoming her as she anticipated the conversation to come. And she was right to fret. Upon reaching the parlor, all were dismissed except Lane, Maggie, her aunts, and Ruby. Maggie stood near the young lady for encouragement while Ruby tripped and sniffled her way through the full accounting, from Mr. Darrow's arrival at Pressmore, his imposing, swift courtship, the plan they concocted to both embarrass the marrying couple and then escape for their own secret wedding. When Ruby faltered under the withering gaze of Mrs. Richmond, Maggie gently touched her shoulder and whispered, "Courage, Ruby. Courage."

The interrogation lasted long into the afternoon, and Ruby was made to stand and answer questions until everyone was satisfied. Lane said little though his face communicated much; he was heartbroken and confused and had difficulty even glancing at Ruby.

"The ladies must be hungry and exhausted," said Lane, intervening when it seemed the questioning would never end. Ruby extended a grateful look, but Lane didn't see it. "Let us adjourn for tea and share with Ann the tremendous news that she is as blameless as we all knew."

Slight emphasis on all, to which Maggie's aunts stiffened.

Lane held Maggie back as the others left the parlor. They stood in the square glow of an unshielded window, the happy heads of climbing flowers bobbing against the edges of the glass. A dark ribbon of clouds extended across the horizon, but the view down to the pond was otherwise clear, bittersweet with the promise of rain to come. Lane gathered up her right hand in his, a film of tears over his eyes.

"You never wavered," he murmured, almost hiccupping with emotion. "You were our champion, and without your persistence, and Bridger's, our fledgling marriage might have fallen from the nest and shattered. Blazes, you tackled a man with a pistol! Bandaging wounds and solving mysteries, you are just like your own intrepid characters, dear cousin. And you have done it all at great personal cost, for I know well the fury my mother is capable of—she and Aunt Eliza were horrified at your absence."

"There is nothing to be done about it now," said Maggie. "Come, we must go to Ann. It will not be easy for her to hear the truth."

She knew everything Lane said was true; for now, Ruby absorbed the negative feelings that would soon fall upon Maggie. For she had promised Aunt Eliza she would behave and not make a nuisance of herself, and she had done neither. Yet she held her head high; love, for that was indeed what she felt for Bridger, was like a little hand cradling her chin, keeping her from losing hope and giving in to shame.

Poor Ann sat in shocked silence as the tale of Ruby's betrayal was retold. Ruby herself was not there, but Maggie knew it would not be long before apologies must be made and accepted or rejected. Ann's response was not for her to anticipate or influence. And, more happily, Madigan could at last be dismissed, Ann making a swift and miraculous recovery, strong enough to meet with her husband in private. Maggie left them in Ann's chambers, leaving alongside Emilia.

"I can't believe Ruby sank so low," whispered Emilia, stricken. "Perhaps we did treat her badly."

"We can all be kinder," said Maggie. "If this leads to greater isolation, I fear what it will mean for her."

Emilia pressed her lips together. Her thick black hair was curled tightly, woven with pale pink ribbons, and bunched over her ears. She hugged herself, swaying, visibly distressed by what she had heard in Ann's chamber. "Whatever the colonel decides, I will not let her slip through our fingers again." Fanny, Ann's dark-haired maid, slipped out of the double chamber doors behind them. Emilia nodded to her. "Fanny, have some food and clean linens brought to Miss Arden's room. She has earned her rest."

After all the excitement and disruption, Maggie slept deeply, almost the moment her head met the pillow. She rose hours later to eat, then fell back asleep until evening, when her sisters arrived. They found Maggie sitting at the window, feet tucked up onto the bench, a shawl drifting from her shoulders, her mind soaring across the fields of Warwickshire to Fletcher, where she tried to imagine Bridger—what he was doing, what he was feeling.

"Now it is our turn to hear the full and sordid tale," shrieked Violet, running to where Maggie sat and kneeling, pressing her head of black curls into her hip. Winny stood behind her, rising up and down, tiptoes to heels, forefingers and thumbs pinched together.

"Only if you are well enough to share," said Winny. "You must be dreadfully tired."

"But you didn't leave us to become a pirate, did you? You can tell us if you did, I would not tattle to Aunt Eliza about it. In fact, I will never tell her anything again. She said the most horrid things about you while you were gone! Acting as if you had abandoned us, as if you were the most selfish girl in the county. Mother marrying Papa poached her brains, for she thinks everyone is out to insult her personally."

Maggie flinched, tearing her gaze away from the window and her soft thoughts of Bridger. Real life, as ever, encroached. "I would never leave my sisters," said Maggie, and Winny hurried over to join their pile, squealing. "Not even to become a pirate."

"But where is Mr. Darrow?" asked Winny.

"Your one, not the terrible one."

"He has taken Mr. Darrow—the terrible one—home. But he has promised to return in three days, for Fletcher is not far and he is…" Maggie trailed off, blushing. He is eager to be with me once more. But there was no hiding it from her dear sisters, who sniffed out the missing words immediately.

"I knew it!" cried Violet. "Look at her face, Winny! She's like a freshly dug beet. Have you ever seen anything redder? Confess, sister! What is between you and Mr. Darrow? Omit not a single detail."

Maggie relented and told them all. Well, almost all. She left out the part about their lovemaking, though admitted to sharing a bed with him. The lovemaking she wanted just for herself. Just for them. The temple, the walk, the rain, the cart, their conversation and subsequent argument at the inn, then Mr. Darrow (the bad one) appearing to carry her away to the church, Bridger's daring appearance, the gun, the bandaging, and so on…

"You are disgusting in love." Violet sighed, crushing Winny to her chest with wistful…something. Not jealousy, but a sudden sisterly overcoming, the act of feeling far too much and not knowing where to put it. "And very sunburned."

"Love suits you," Winny had added, fending off Violet's crushing embrace. Maggie fled their teasing, racing to the bed, but she was soon captured in their arms again.

"It suits her very well," Violet agreed.

"And what luck!" cried Winny. "A man of learning with a love of books and a handsome face! I will accept him as a brother, dearest, as long as he is always gentle with you. And he must listen, of course. And he must never endanger your aspirations, but rather celebrate them! Oh, but he could publish your book himself, which makes it all wonderful and like a fairy tale. But if he is ever cruel to you, he will regret it!"

"What will you do?" Violet had teased. "Compliment him to death?"

They dissolved into giggles. There was washing up and rearranging, but Maggie was once again happy to find herself tucked up with her sisters, even if Violet snored and took up too much of the bed. But once her sisters were asleep, Maggie found herself listless. Her heart kept beating too fast and intrusive meanderings plagued her. Violet had once declared that no thought had after nine o'clock could be trusted, but even with that rule in mind, Maggie's mind wouldn't settle. At last, she wiggled her way out from between Violet and Winny and went to sit at the window again, shifting the curtains aside to gaze out at the moon.

She was apparently not the sole person at Pressmore for whom sleep seemed impossible, for there soon came a soft rapping at the door. Maggie stood, wrapped her shawl tightly around her shoulders, and went to see who had come.

It was Ann, who whispered, hunched, protecting a candle. "Are you not abed?"

"Obviously not." Maggie smiled. "And neither are you."

Ann shared her grin, though it soon faded. "My brain is a husk, I think. I am more leech than lady now after all of Madigan's bleedings."

"You do look peaky. Come in," Maggie beckoned, closing the door behind them both. "Is something amiss? Something more, I mean. I know it is not all well with Ruby."

Ann drifted inside, noticed Violet's snoring, and continued to the window. Propped against the sill, she set the candle down on the writing desk and gazed outside. "Only that you will leave us soon, now that this farce is all coming to an end."

"Your wedding was not a farce!"

"I am tired, Maggie, not ignorant." She did indeed look drawn, her sadness no doubt transferring from herself to the precarious situation of her cousin. A significant number of people—people inclined to gossip—had witnessed Ruby kissing and caressing a man publicly. Even if they never learned of the botched marriage, the social consequences would be severe. "This would all be much easier to resolve if my father were in the country." Her expression hardened. "Sometimes I wonder if he will return at all. Sometimes I…I wonder if he has abandoned us."

Maggie drew closer, mindful of her sleeping sisters and lowering her voice. "Would he really do that?"

Ann shrugged. The flowery, embroidered shawl she was wearing slipped down her shoulder. "It is not uncommon. Girls like me are sometimes sent to family in England, baptized, reimagined completely, declared English, and cut off from their mothers in India. A father's love is fickle, Margaret, and depends on so much."

"But what will become of Ruby?" Maggie asked.

"Mrs. Richmond has declared she must marry Paul Darrow. Lane and I are firmly against it."

"What?" She nearly shouted it. Violet stirred. It was horrible to contemplate, and Maggie sank back, sitting heavily on the bed.

Ann continued gazing out the window, picking idly at the ends of her shawl. "Ruby will get what she wants after all and be Darrow's, and we will all sigh and say the right thing was done, but done for whom? The conclusion will be that tragedy was averted. Attention will turn to the next bit of gossip, Ruby all forgot. Over the years, she will be ground down, as all unwanted women are ground down by their husbands, until the bright spark of her is dust, and the Ruby of this moment just a memory." She paused and shook her head. "I gave everything to be English. Ruby will give far more, and in a blink, it could be utterly stripped away from her. Or me."

"Is there nothing we can do?"

"My hope is that she can return to India. If she does, I will never see her again," Ann replied. "I know it is unladylike to hope Paul will somehow marry someone else in a similarly hasty marriage before he can have Ruby, and yet…"

"And yet. Well! I will lend my voice to yours and try to persuade my aunt that Ruby is better off far, far away from Paul Darrow." Ann rose and came to her, and Maggie offered a sisterly embrace, asking, "Is all well with Lane?"

"Not yet," she replied, though without malice. She pulled back, holding Maggie at arm's length. "But he intends to win me back."

Maggie's brows jumped in surprise. Knowing them, she had assumed instant reconciliation. Noting her amazement, Ann continued, "My mother told me that Englishmen come to India, they fall in love and fear with the country, they covet its women, they think us subdued and mysterious. They lust after us, they marry us, and only then do they discover who is the general and who is the soldier."

"And does your mother have any wisdom to provide where Ruby is concerned?"

Ann's smile faded. "I think not. I fear there is little I can do to help her. Mrs. Richmond's outrage is not abating, just shifting from me to my cousin. And I fear that same anger will come for you, too."

Maggie looked down at the gap between them. "That is perhaps inevitable. When they look at me, they just see my mother, the woman that disappointed them both."

"Is that what keeps you awake?"

"Partly," said Maggie. She didn't mention Bridger, protective of their budding love, and afraid of the information getting back to her aunts. Perhaps it was even an error to tell her sisters, for Violet was a known blabbermouth. "Stay awhile, at least we can be sleepless in good company."

"You know," Ann began, returning to the window. A pretty light suffused her face. It was the sort of glow that preceded the telling of a secret, and Maggie leaned toward her. "We haven't spoken of anything but sorrow since the masquerade." She unlatched the window, allowing in the chilled and fragrant night air, and breathed deep. "While I was confined in that room, my thoughts turned often to Lakhnau. I hadn't missed it much until now."

"What do you miss most of all?"

Ann's gaze grew distant, and Maggie sensed she had gone somewhere far away. "Impossible to choose. Impossible. I was just a girl when I left, but I remember valleys filled with flowers, and rivers that seemed to wind on forever. And I remember walking beneath the Rumi Darwaza and thinking it must be the gate to paradise! Mother loved the shrines within the Bara Imambara, and oh, Maggie, you have never seen anything so beautiful, stone worked to look like most delicate lace." She laughed softly. "If I even start in on the food I shall certainly cry."

"From the little I sampled at your feast I believe I know why."

"You would love it there, though the heat can be challenging." She grinned, and still, Maggie knew she was nowhere near England. "The air there holds you."

They spoke long into the night, until they both grew too tired to go on. Ann drifted out the door sometime around dawn and Maggie stayed at the window bench, curling up there for the bright companionship of the moon. It was the same moon over Bridger, and that pleased her. But nothing would truly comfort her, for she could not have the one thing she wanted most. It was impossible not to want him, crave him. Impossible not to remember the full heat of his body as he crushed her into the mattress, the hard, demanding pressure of his lips against her neck, the way he had moved inside her with urgency.

Maggie sighed and closed her eyes, though her heart continued to beat too fast. Something was wrong. She could feel it, though she told herself it was nothing, that Bridger Darrow would return to her within three days' time, and their love, no matter the protests, no matter the obstacles, would be strong enough to conquer anything.