Reuniting Lady Marguerite

by Lydia Pembroke

  “I am sorry for that, Mr. Fox.” Margaret saw the pain written upon the gentleman’s face and wished that she could comfort him in a plainer manner. Instead, she remained standing, allowing her features to do the talking for her.

  “Naturally, my father remarried barely six months after we lost her. His new wife was with-child soon afterwards and gave birth to a son, and another son shortly after that. They are both to inherit what I might have done, whilst my elder brother will become the next Earl, as is custom.”

  Margaret’s heart went out as she watched the pain play out over Leopold’s face.

  “I hold no resentment towards my younger half-brothers, for it is not their fault, but I lost my position within the inheritance, and was duly cast out by all involved. I did not mind so much, as I had my wife at my side,” he went on, almost as if she were no longer there. “And then, a year after that, my wife was struck by a runaway carriage. She was caught beneath a wheel and did not survive the impact. It has been but myself and Felicity ever since.”

  Unable to stop herself, she reached out and touched Leopold’s shoulder. “I am sorrier than I know how to put into words, Mr. Fox. I cannot even begin to contemplate what you have endured.” Tears filled her eyes, sparkling with empathy for this poor gentleman who had lost so much, in such a short space of time.

  “I am certain that there are many in far worse positions than I,” he replied, with a sad smile. “I am just grateful that I still have Felicity to keep me company, for I do not know what I would do without her. In fact, I told her of you when I returned home, and she is most eager to meet you. Only if you have the occasion to visit, that is.” He dropped his gaze, as if he had said too much.

  “I will find the time, Mr. Fox. I am still most excited to see your artwork.”

  He chuckled. “Then, I pray that it meets your expectations.”

  “I am sure it will.”

  He glanced over his shoulder, a curious look in his eyes. “I know you said that you did not care to dance, Miss Loxley, but might I convince you to partake in one quadrille? The music is rather pleasant, and I have a sudden urge to stretch my legs in a dance.”

  Margaret’s heart fluttered. “I should like that very much, Mr. Fox. Indeed, I find myself with the same urge. The orchestra are rather excellent, and it would be a shame not to compliment them by dancing.”

  “Then, may I have this dance?” The music had slowed within the house, as the musicians prepared for the next dance.

  She nodded shyly. “You may.”

  I should like nothing better.

  Chapter Five

  In a whirl of music and charming conversation, Leopold and Margaret danced two dances in the ballroom that night. He could not take his eyes off her as they moved elegantly about the floor, the entire world melting away, leaving only the two of them. Now and again, he espied Mr. Edgbaston watching them closely, but he found that he did not care. Let them watch. After all, he had very little left to lose, and could not be subjected to idle gossip. That was one benefit to no longer being a part of the social hierarchy.

  “Tell me, Miss Loxley, might you have an afternoon to yourself tomorrow?” he asked, as they twirled around one another. She looked exceedingly fair in her violet gown, though once again it seemed somewhat mature against the innocent expression of her face, and the youthful elegance of her figure.

  He suspected that Mr. Edgbaston had selected the gown, for he appeared to be the ringleader in this troupe of players.

  She paused in thought. “Why yes, I believe I may. Our last performance will be three o’clock, and then I will have very little to entertain myself.”

  “Might you consider coming to Lower Nettlefold to meet my daughter? She is rather keen to meet you, and I may show you my paintings at the same time. I realise it is a somewhat unorthodox suggestion, but Felicity was adamant that I ask you, if I ever encountered you again.”

  In truth, it was a promise he had made to himself, though his daughter had, indeed, been keen to encounter this Songbird he had spoken of.

  She smiled contentedly.

  “I should enjoy that very much, Mr. Fox. As soon as I am finished with my final performance, I will ride to Lower Nettlefold to meet your daughter.”

  “I shall await you on the road, to ensure that you have no further mishaps while riding.”

  “You are very kind to do so, Mr. Fox.”

  She chuckled softly, a bashful expression upon her face.

  They danced once more, before a voice interrupted them.

  “Miss Loxley, it is time for you to sing,” Mr. Edgbaston commanded, drawing the pair apart.

  Leopold did not care for the haughty, jealous look in the gentleman’s eyes, but he knew that he could not say anything that might distress Margaret. It was clear to him that Mr. Edgbaston had hidden feelings for Margaret, though it did not appear as if Margaret shared in them. Instead, she seemed somewhat frightened by him, her chin lowering in an obedient nod.

  “Of course, Mr. Edgbaston.”

  “I have asked the musicians to play for you. They will begin whenever you are ready.”

  Mr. Edgbaston gestured to the small orchestra. Immediately, Margaret hurried to the other side of the room and took up her position beside the musicians. They smiled encouragingly at her, no doubt as entranced by her fair beauty as Leopold himself.

  As she began to sing, the room fell silent. The violins played a soft, sad tune, and her voice intertwined with the gentle flow of it, sweeping through the gathered crowd in a torrent of rich emotion. It was a melancholy song about loss, and a young woman walking alone after her love had been taken from her.

  Leopold’s heart ached at the sound of it, his eyes fixed upon Margaret.

  She held his gaze as she continued, tears twinkling in her eyes. He did not know why she cried, or why she looked at him with such intent sorrow.

  Her sadness plucked at his own heart strings as if his chest were a harp, harmonising to her sweet song.

  One thing became certain, as he listened to her words and gazed into her eyes. He would not lose her now, not if he could help it. For, though they had only known one another a brief time, he realised that he could not comprehend the idea of being without her. And he was running out of time to discover a way to ask her to remain.

  Even if he could not find such a way, he knew that her memory would linger long in his mind, haunting him with the thought of a missed chance at happiness.

  He prayed, in that moment, that she would not slip through his fingers.

  Chapter Six

  The following afternoon, having dreamt of little but the previous evening, and dancing so joyfully with Leopold, Margaret hurried away after her final performance. She mounted her horse, still fearful that it might bolt again, yet determined to go regardless, and urged it on down the road towards Lower Nettlefold.

  A few clouds marred the clear azure sky overhead, but she did not mind— these fields could do with some rain, after the heat of recent weeks. In total contentment, she rode along the hard-packed earth and listened to the sound of thrushes and blackbirds as they chirped amongst the branches of the roadside trees. Cabbage-white butterflies fluttered amongst the wildflowers that basked in the shade of the trees, hovering hither and thither as they went about their daily business.

  Meanwhile, Margaret’s mind drifted back to the Ball. They had been forced to depart shortly after she had finished, as one of the troupe— a rough, grizzled creature named Philip— had found himself in a dispute with a well-to-do Earl.

  Before something terrible could occur, Drake had demanded that everyone leave at once, to maintain the shine of their good reputation.

  She had lost Leopold in the ensuing furore, though she had looked for him. Upon returning to her caravan, she had thought of nothing but him, and the way that he had moved as they danced together. Ordinarily, she did not care for such pastimes, but he had made it seem like a charmed occasion, and she had enjoyed herself immensely.


  What spell have you cast over me, Mr. Fox?

  It had been some time since she had felt such stirrings in her heart, and though they felt thrilling, they were tinged with an edge of anxiety. She had not forgotten her previous failure in the realms of romance, and the memory niggled at the back of her mind as a warning.

  “Miss Loxley!” a voice shouted up ahead.

  Margaret squinted into the distance, a smile forming upon her lips. Leopold was awaiting her at a crossroads, his horse resting under the signpost. She waved and trotted right up to him.

  A warm flush ran over her cheeks as she looked upon him once more. Every doubt and every concern disappeared as she took in his open, handsome features and his ready smile.

  I have nothing to fear from this man, I am certain of it.

  “Have you been waiting here long, Mr. Fox?” Margaret wondered.

  “I have only just arrived. What serendipitous timing.”

  She chuckled.

  “I came as quickly as I could. Indeed, I believe the troupe are still in the middle of Henry the Fifth. It will be some time before they even realise that I have departed.”

  “Will they miss you?”

  “Oh no, they are used to me wandering off on horseback when my performances are finished. As long as I have returned before supper, they will not worry too much.”

  A curious expression washed over Leopold’s face.

  “And what of Mr. Edgbaston? Does he worry?”

  “He professes to, but he will be satisfied as long as I return in good time,” she replied, trying to push all thoughts of Drake from her mind. He had been even more intense in his flattery that day, though she could not comprehend why. Now, she understood that it may have had something to do with her dancing and her choice of partner.

  “I confess, when I first saw you together, I wondered if you might be married.”

  Margaret laughed. “Oh goodness, no. Many young ladies find Mr. Edgbaston to be charming and handsome, but I am not one of them. He is my employer, and nothing more. Although, I often think of him as a somewhat roguish older brother.”

  “So, he has never made any advances towards you?”

  She frowned. “Certainly not. Even if he were inclined to do so, I would not permit it. I would have run from the troupe in a heartbeat if he had even attempted it.”

  “That is good to hear,” Leopold said softly. “Now, shall we press on to my studio? Felicity is awaiting us there, and I believe she has made something for your arrival.”

  “Then let us ride without delay.” Margaret flashed him a smile, forgetting all thoughts of Drake Edgbaston in favour of far more pleasurable exploits.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Leopold’s artist studio turned out to be a rather quaint stone cottage on the outskirts of Lower Nettlefold. A larger house stood beside it, with shuttered windows and flowerboxes on the sills.

  It was painted white, with slate tiles gleaming on the roof, and a picturesque white fence and gate bordering a beautiful garden, full to the brim with dragonflies and butterflies of all shades, devouring the sweet nectar of the pretty, vivid blooms which grew there.

  Behind the house, a river rushed by. Ducks waddled across the verdant grass, and fish leapt from the water to gulp down the hoverflies that rested atop spongy willows. In the distance, she could see swallows darting this way and that, flying free across the warm currents of air that swept upwards.

  From their vantage point, she could see the town of Lower Nettlefold in the near-distance, though it seemed somewhat removed from this countryside paradise. She espied gloomy rooftops and faded paintwork, and the muddied cobbles of crisscrossing streets. However, it was the manor house on top of the distant hill that drew her eye the most keenly.

  The solitary wing of what might once have been a grand estate stood like a charred sentinel over the town, weary and war-torn from battle. She spotted the blackened remains of ancient buildings, confirming her suspicions.

  “What happened there?” She looked to the manor, and Leopold followed her gaze.

  “Ah, the Dunsmore estate— a tragic tale, and no mistake. The great Southwell family lived there once, the Earl of Dunsmore, his wife and children, and his mother, but they were all consumed by a fire that tore through the house. Only the Dowager Countess remained. That was near twenty years ago now” He paused, with a smile. “Although, it has come to something of a happy ending.”

  Margaret gasped.

  “How can that be so?”

  “Well, as fortune would have it, it transpired that the Dunsmore children had been spirited away by the very individuals who set the fire. There was some dispute surrounding the Dowager’s granddaughter and a young man who was sentenced to death because of her. I do not know the full details of it. However, the family of that young man set light to the estate, which killed the Earl and his wife, as well as his sister. I suppose they could not bear to watch children die, and so they took them from the house as the fire raged and deposited them around the country, in secret. The twins, who were thought to be dead, were recovered some months back. Although, the eldest has not been found, though they have been endeavouring to discover her ever since.”

  Margaret looked at the manor house with forlorn eyes.

  “How terrible, to have suffered so much. The Dowager Countess must be glad indeed to have her grandchildren returned to her, but I imagine that she must wonder what happened to the eldest child.”

  Leopold nodded.

  “The new Earl and his sister, along with their grandmother, have offered rewards for any news of the missing girl, but it has come up with naught but glory-hunters, seeking out a devious means to claim a small fortune.”

  “Are they happy? The children, I mean? Although, they must be grown now, if the missing grandson has become the Earl.”

  “I believe so. There have been two weddings since their return, and both seem to be happily married to excellent individuals. There was some scandal regarding the Earl’s wife, but that has long been forgotten, as it was of no fault of her own.”

  Margaret sighed. “My goodness. And you and I thought our life stories were complicated.”

  He chuckled. “Speaking of which, would you care to come in for some tea? Felicity will be going quite mad with eagerness by now.”

  Together, they made their way into the beautiful riverside house. Almost the moment that Margaret set foot through the front door, a figure darted out to greet her— a small, willowy young girl with a mane of curly, golden hair and the same bright eyes as her father.

  “The Songbird!” she cried, wrapping her arms brazenly around Margaret.

  Recovering quickly from her surprise, Margaret put her own arms around the girl and embraced her warmly. “And you must be the great Felicity that I have been hearing so much about?”

  The girl nodded. “Oh yes! Come, you must follow me. I have been baking with Mrs. Fellows!” She took Margaret by the hand and dragged her down the elegant hallway, where exquisite riverside landscapes hung from the walls. Margaret caught a glimpse of the signature in the corner of each and realised these were Leopold’s work. How very remarkable.

  Ten minutes later, they were all sitting around a wide, wooden table in the kitchens, sipping tea and eating the delicious scones that Felicity had prepared with the cook, Mrs. Fellows. The latter was a plump, cheerful woman with perpetually ruddy cheeks and a thick accent that Margaret could not place. They piled the scones high with thick cream and sweet strawberry jam, and devoured them merrily.

  “Are those your Father’s paintings on the walls, Felicity?” Margaret asked, as she licked jam from her fingers.

  Such food always returned her to her childhood, making her forget that she was in company. She caught Leopold staring at her with amusement, and promptly blushed.

  Felicity nodded. “They are extremely pretty, are they not? My favourite is the one by the door.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because it is of me.” She giggled loud
ly and took a large bite of another scone. They were truly delicious, and rich with butter.

  “I will show our guest the paintings once we have polished off the rest of these scones,” Leopold promised.

  “I made them for you, Miss Loxley!” Felicity declared.

  Margaret chuckled. “Then I am truly honoured, for these may be the finest scones I have ever eaten.”

  Busying away in the kitchen, Mrs. Fellows beamed with pride. Margaret supposed that Felicity was playing up her part in the scone-baking, but her enthusiasm was infectious. In truth, Margaret thought the young girl entirely adorable, with a fervour and vitality that she almost envied. She was glad that Felicity had happened upon this quaint life with her father, for there were so many children who were not so fortunate.

  The dark memory of bitter mornings, and frost upon the bedsheets, bombarded her mind. Next came the recollection of being whipped across the back of the legs with a stick the nuns liked to keep for such occasions, and agonising welts that had made walking difficult for weeks after. Not to mention the constant toil of each day, working her hands to the bone in the convent kitchens until the nuns were satisfied. Even then, she had been sent to bed without supper on countless occasions, or had fallen into bed, utterly exhausted, after working from sun-up to sundown, and hours after, into the night.

  I am glad you have been spared that, Felicity. It was a fate she did not wish upon any child. Although, she knew that Felicity had endured her fair share of hardships in her young life, having lost her mother so early. That thought tore at her heart, for she was of the mind that no child should be without its mother. She turned to look at Leopold and smiled. But at least she has you, Mr. Fox.

  Chapter Seven

  “Blast!” Drake shouted, as he stormed into the tent the following morning. Margaret was daydreaming about the enjoyable afternoon she had spent at Leopold’s charming house yesterday, viewing all of his artwork and playing with Felicity, meaning that she was in something of a daze as Drake disrupted her peaceful interlude.