Margaret, we will deal famously together. I feel it in my bones. We are both interested in bonnets." Margaret doubted as she stepped out of the house on Lord Sheringford's arm that he even suspected how deeply his mother loved him or how passionately she had pleaded his case. "That visit," he said dryly, confirming her suspicion, "was doubtless enlightening." "I /like/ your mother," she said. "If I marry you, it will be at least partly because I wish to have her for a mother-in-law." He looked at her sidelong without really turning his head.

Margaret smiled.

But she was thinking of him as a boy and young man – before the great folly of his life. His mother had not given much detail, but it was easy to picture a boy who frolicked with animals and stood up for them when they were being treated badly, and a young man who was happy and carefree and a little wild. A perfectly normal young man, in fact. Like Stephen.

Would everything that was Stephen be negated if he did anything as shockingly distasteful as what Lord Sheringford had done? The answer was, of course, yes. But would he not still be Stephen? But Stephen without the light and the joy? And the honor?

Had there once been light and joy in Lord Sheringford?

And honor? "You are looking very serious," he said. "Are you realizing with regret that it is me you would be marrying, not my mother?" "A shame, is it not?" she said. "Who /are/ you, Lord Sheringford? And who /were/ you?" "And then," he said, "there is the crucial in-between time." "Which you have refused to discuss," she said. "Yes." "Then I will have to content myself with the before and after," she said.

But they did not talk more during the walk home. Was it because there was too much to say? she wondered. Or too little?

He stepped inside Merton House with her but would come no farther than the hall. "Are you to attend the Johnston concert this evening?" he asked her. "I have a dinner invitation to honor," she said. "Sir Humphrey and Lady Dew, our former neighbors at Throckbridge, are in town for a short while and have invited my whole family." "Ah." He raised his eyebrows. "And the gallant major will be in attendance too, I assume?" "I suppose so," she said. "My competition?" he asked her. "Not at all," she told him. "I play no games, my lord. I have told you quite truthfully that I may or may not marry you in … What is it now?

Twelve days' time? I am not interested at all in Crispin. I have not been for years." "Except," he said, "that the lady doth protest too much." "You are impertinent," she told him. "I am," he agreed. "What about Mrs. Henry's soiree tomorrow evening? You will be there?" "I am sure that by tomorrow I will be thankful for an evening at home," she said. "I always find the constantly busy pace of a London Season somewhat overwhelming." More than ever this year, though she had not been here many days yet. "Let me escort you there," he said. "Mrs. Henry is my mother's sister and will not turn me away. She will certainly be delighted to meet you." "I don't know," she said. "Be fair, Maggie," he said. "You have commanded me to woo you publicly and become better acquainted with you privately. Give me an opportunity to do both. As it is, another whole day will have been lost. I will be down to eleven days." "Oh, very well," she said with a sigh.

A soiree sounded like a quiet, decorous event. And surely by tomorrow evening the /ton/ would have gawked its fill and exhausted all that could be said on the topic of her and the Earl of Sheringford.

He bowed over her hand and took his leave.

Was there such a thing as coincidence? Margaret wondered, standing in the hall looking at the door after it had closed behind him. If he had arrived in the ballroom one minute later than he had, if she had arrived at the doorway one minute sooner than /she/ had, if they had both arrived there exactly when they had but she had been looking where she was going – if any of those things had happened, they would not have collided. And if he had not been desperate for a wife, and if she had not been desperate for a betrothed to introduce to Crispin, or if she had heard about the Marquess of Allingham's engagement even one day before she had, or one hour later – then they would have collided, been embarrassed, made each other a hasty apology, and gone on their way into very separate lives.

But all those /ifs/ had converged on one moment as surely as their persons had in the ballroom doorway.

Which left the question – had it all been coincidence?

Or not?

And if it had not, what did it all mean?

She shook her head and turned away in the direction of the stairs and her room.

11

THE evening at Grillon's Hotel was really a very enjoyable one. Sir Humphrey greeted them with his usual hearty affability, and Lady Dew hugged them all tightly – even Elliott and Jasper – and exclaimed in delight over the elegance and good looks of the ladies.

She hugged Vanessa with an extra warmth, of course, because Vanessa had been married to Hedley, her younger son, for a year until he died of consumption. She still considered Vanessa to be her daughter-in-law – so did Sir Humphrey. And they thought of her children with Elliott as their grandchildren. They were full of plans for calling upon the children the next day, acquainting them with little Maria, and taking them all to the Tower to see the animals and to Gunter's for ices. "Can you imagine," Lady Dew said, smiling about at all of them, "that I have never in my life tasted an ice? I shall be as excited as the children. I hear they are a delicacy not to be missed." "One's life is not complete, ma'am," Jasper said, a twinkle in his eye, "until one has tasted one of Gunter's ices." The ladies were taken upstairs to the room where a nurse was reading a story to Maria. She was a dark-eyed, dark-haired little beauty, very Spanish in coloring, though she resembled Crispin in features. She must be all of four years old, Margaret thought.

Under other circumstances she might have been /her/ child.

Dinner stretched over much of the evening since the conversation was lively. Crispin recounted some of his experiences in the wars, at the prompting mainly of Elliott, though his father was obviously proud of his exploits and wanted them known. And Lady Dew turned to beam at Margaret several times while her son spoke. "Can you believe, Margaret," she asked, "that this is the same boy with whom you used to romp as a girl? Has he not grown into a handsome man?

Despite the nasty scar, which gave me quite a turn when I first saw it, as you may imagine." "I can certainly imagine it," Margaret agreed, evading the other questions.

Most of the conversation was a mingling of news from home and reminiscences of the old days, when they had all lived in Throckbridge and its neighborhood – all except Elliott and Jasper, that was. But they appeared as interested as any of the rest of them.

Margaret soon relaxed, despite the presence of Crispin. It seemed that the Dews knew nothing of the rumors and gossip that had so disturbed her during the past couple of days. Crispin had not told /them/, at least.

She had come with Vanessa and Elliott. She expected to return with them, but Sir Humphrey was eager to offer their own carriage for her use, and Lady Dew joined her voice to his. They simply would not take no for an answer, she declared. It was the least they could do for one of the most admirable neighbors they had ever known. /She/ would never forget how dear Margaret had devoted half her youth to her sisters and brother, giving them as loving and secure a home as any children with both parents could ever desire. "And Crispin will escort you," she said, dabbing at the tears in her eyes. "Oh, no, indeed, ma'am," Margaret said in some alarm. "That would be quite – " "The streets of London are said to be teeming with footpads and cutthroats and other dastardly villains," Sir Humphrey said. "Crispin will certainly go with you, Miss Huxtable. Any scoundrel would take one look at /him/ and run as fast as his legs would carry him in the opposite direction." "It would be my pleasure, Meg," Crispin said.