“Margaret,” her mother called out from among the roses she was clipping as her daughter walked by. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going for a walk, mamma. The sunshine is so warm today.”
“Do remember to put your bonnet on, dear. I know we are seldom out in society, but you mustn’t ruin your complexion. I’m certain that you’re turning into a woodland girl, and all your years in London will be wasted,” she chastised with a sigh.
“Never fear, mamma,” Margaret answered, duly tying on her bonnet. “I have two faces, like Janus. I can be Margaret of the New Forest at my leisure, but I can also be Margaret, the refined London girl whenever necessary,” she gently teased with a broad smile.
“I wonder if we shouldn’t invite the Gormons to tea sometime, although they live in Southampton,” Mrs. Hale went on as if her daughter had not spoken, remembering that the Gormans had a rather handsome son.
Margaret’s smile faded. “The family that manufactures coaches?”
“Yes, and it has done them very well, I should say. Coaches are respectable things to make. Just think what we should do without them,” she added, seeing her daughter’s look of doubtful disdain.
“I suppose so. But they are tradesmen all the same. I don’t really like that class of people. They’re always thinking and speaking of money.”
“Well, I’m sure they are very proper and know how to carry on interesting conversations,” her mother returned. “I see now you have learned to be a little too prejudiced, my dear. In London you may pick your associations very well, but out here we have very few options for company.”
“Invite them, mamma, if it pleases you,” Margaret answered sweetly, brushing aside any further interest—much to her mother’s annoyance. “I can be London Margaret for a time,” she reassured her with a smile. And with that, she resumed her way down the garden path.
She turned to take the fairway through the hamlet and walked along the oak-shaded road until the glow of a sunny field beckoned her. She dropped there to sit among the tall grass and feel the warmth of the sun, gazing at everything surrounding her with the wonder and joy of a child. She felt at peace here—on the ground of this vibrant meadow. She was at this moment, just one of the many creatures who dwelled in the New Forest.
She tugged off her bonnet and lay down, closing her eyes to absorb every sound. As she listened to the rustle of grass, the buzz of insects, and the chirps and calls of birds—she fell asleep.
Chapter six
Henry Lennox glanced up from his newspaper as the southbound train steamed through gently rounded expanses of grassy fields and golden-hued trees. A low stone wall or straight line of hedge here and there marked the only signs of human existence.
The London barrister felt his structured moorings slipping away. Staring at his newspaper, he found he could no longer concentrate. He folded the paper and put it away, the crinkling noise drawing the attention of the lad across from him. He flashed the boy a cursory smile of acknowledgement, although there was no genuine warmth in the gesture. He eyed the parents briefly. More than a few years older than him, they were each traveling in their own world of thought although sitting undefinedclose to each other—the husband reading his paper and the wife thumbing through the pictures in some ladies' journal.
He felt his eagerness deflate and turned again to the window. All marriages that begin with fluttering hearts end in a calmcomplacency, he told himself. It’s a perfectly natural process of experience and maturity.
It was precisely the quickening stabs of anxiety that disturbed Mr. Lennox, for he counted the uncontrolled swell of feelings as a sign of the foolish romanticism of youth. He prided himself on his reliance on reason and his habitual steady comportment.
Was he truly ready to put his plan into motion? His income as a barrister was not yet sufficient to carry a family in the style he would like, but he had no doubts that in a few short years his talents would be well rewarded. Of course, there was also the question of her resources. There was no rush to these ends. It might even be a few years before all was arranged. So why then was he on a train going to see her? It was only wise to secure his future; he told himself. As with all other planning, the earlier the lines were laid down, the better. It would merely be a matter of timing—when to arrange it.
As for his choice, he had no doubt about his discerning taste. He liked her intelligence. She was a sensible girl, a skilled conversationalist, and she could be very witty—even biting at times. Her only drawbacks were her tendency to moralize and her over-fondness of the country. He could tolerate the first—she was a vicar’s daughter after all—and he could mitigate the latter. He would take her to the country from time to time, and she would be grateful to him for it.
He was proud of his decision and thought himself especially fortunate. Although his brother had carried away a bride of significant wealth and unquestionable beauty, Henry believed Margaret was in some ways a more refined treasure. She had a piercing mind for a female and had her own distinguished beauty. She was more robust, with a flare of Roman temper that attracted him. She was no delicate flower, like Edith. Margaret Hale’s hardier frame would likely bear him many heirs. He smiled and cleared his throat at this thought. He glanced overat the boy again before returning his attention to the passing scenery.
The coach driver announced they had arrived in Helstone. Somewhat perplexed, Henry looked ahead for any sign of a cluster of homes, but saw only the road continue on through a small copse of trees.
They had passed only two cottages thus far. Perhaps Helstone was truly a hamlet, and not a tiny village as he had surmised despite her claims. He was glad he had asked for an announcement of their arrival, for now he felt the impulse to walk—to gain a more intimate sense of the place, he told himself. If truth be told, he wished for a few more unhurried moments to prepare his mind.
Once on foot, he passed the bend in the road through a gathering of oaks. The way opened up on one side to a great open meadow. His gaze fastened on a figure lying on the grass, and his heart thumped more quickly as he imagined he knew the form. He allowed, however, that he could be mistaken. But as he drew nearer, he knew his first impulse had been correct.
He quickened his pace in the sudden alarm that she might have fallen or was hurt, but as he approached, it grew ever clearer that it was a scene of perfect tranquility. He arrived at her side, his concern turned to wonder as he gazed at her. She was asleep, her hand cast over her head in careless freedom as if the grass were her natural pillow. Her bonnet was tossed aside, and sunshine poured down upon her face, which bore a trace of a smile. Adoration stunned him into silence—Margaret of Helstone was more beautiful than Miss Hale of London.
He feasted upon the vision for just a moment more until the vague uneasiness of finding himself a voyeur promptedhim to speak. “Margaret?” he ventured softly and watched with fascination as the sleeping angel stirred and came to life.
“Mr. Lennox!” she exclaimed as soon as the drowsy fog had lifted enough for her to recognize him. She sat up, hastily, snatching up her bonnet. A faint blush warmed her cheeks.
“Is Edith all right?” she asked as she rose from her grassy bed, suddenly recalling that he had accompanied the newlywed couple to Scotland.
“Yes. Yes, of course. I have come for my own pleasure. To see this wonderful Helstone which you suggested I should see for myself,” he answered, amused at her bewilderment. “As to your cousin, I have a letter which I promised to deliver,” he added, pulling the folded paper from a coat pocket.
Margaret took the letter with a word of thanks. There was nothing to do but ask him to the house for lunch. She took a moment to tie her bonnet, tucking in a few stray strands of loose hair before leading him through the wooded path toward her home.
He delighted in walking with her. He was more interested in the shape of her figure and the lilting sound of her voice than in any passing scenery she pointed out.
