A Radical Arrangement by Jane Ashford Page B

would have been hell. Or would it? He would not have known anything else, as Margaret had not. He tried to imagine such a life, and could not.
    “What did you talk to your parents about?” he asked her.
    She looked up, startled. “I?”
    “Yes. You must have had other topics besides politics.”
    “Well…they always asked about my studies, when I was younger. I had a governess, and they would review my progress at the end of each week. A special time was set aside for it. And, of course, my mother taught me a great deal about running a household and…and that sort of thing.”
    “And you had friends in the neighborhood, I suppose.” Keighley strained to recollect. “The Camden girl, and so on.”
    Margaret shrugged. “I was very busy with my studies. Mama felt that they were more important, though my governess and I took ample outdoor exercise.”
    For the first time Sir Justin felt something other than impatience or anger with the girl. Clearly she had some excuse for her shortcomings. He pitied her sincerely for her bland, sterile upbringing. He himself would no doubt have gone mad in such an environment or driven his tormentors mad. This vision brought a brief smile to his face, but it faded when he met Margaret’s anxious gaze. If it were not for his own damnable involvement, he could almost have been glad for the incidents that had made this girl flee her home. It could only help her to be away from it. Indeed, it had helped, as he had already observed.
    “I was not unhappy,” said Margaret to prevent a false impression.
    No, thought Keighley, you were never allowed even that much.
    Margaret frowned at him, not understanding his expression in the least. In anyone else she might have labeled it sadness, but that was clearly impossible in this case.
    “Are you tired?” she ventured. “You shouldn’t sit up too long.”
    He looked up again and felt a sudden twinge of warning. Their situation was damnable, and he would do nothing to improve it by starting to pity the girl or worry over her. He knew only too well where that sort of thing could lead, and he wanted no part of it. “I am, rather,” he answered. “Perhaps you should fetch Appleby to help me upstairs.”

Nine
    The three days following this evening passed quietly. Keighley withdrew into himself and encouraged Margaret to leave him alone and walk. He talked no more of boredom, and she would often find Jemmy Appleby with him when she came in from striding along the beach. Sir Justin seemed fond of the boy, and Jemmy was obviously overcome by his favor. Margaret told herself that she should be glad her patient needed her less, but in fact she felt rather slighted and shut out. The kindlier impulses toward Keighley that had surfaced during their conversations were thwarted. She could not understand why he was so pleasant one day and so indifferent the next.
    She channeled her puzzlement into her walks, going farther than before and moving faster. The increased exercise hastened the process begun earlier, and Margaret’s face gained animation and life as her form strengthened and rounded. Her appetite now required no tempting, and she began to find her formerly loose gowns a better fit. She could not help noticing the change, and had she been so blind, Mrs. Appleby’s encouraging comments would have made it clear to her that her appearance was greatly improved.
    On the fourth morning Keighley called her to his room first thing, and she went eagerly, wondering if his distant mood had changed. But he said only, “I am sending young Appleby to Falmouth for some clothes and other necessities. Tell him what you need, or have his mother do so, and he can get that as well. The workmanship will be inferior, I suppose, but it will be better than nothing.”
    “I…I have all I need.”
    “Indeed? You surprise me.”
    His tone annoyed Margaret, so she added, “Very well, I do not, then. But I haven’t much money. I shall get along with what I