words more quietly, he said, “In truth, who am I to have an opinion about what book you read, or any other matter of your life?”
She understood it for the act of kindness and support that it was. “I assume, then,” she said in a low tone, “that you have been privy to the rumours floating about this village regarding my morality and my character?”
He said nothing, but his silence was acknowledgement enough.
She turned and walked a few steps away. “Are you not shocked?” she said.
“I have never been one to put stock in rumour,” he said, following her. “I have always found that the talk of the Ton is the least reliable information available. You have told me a different story, and I of course believe the truth from the source rather than the gossip mongers.”
“You are kind,” she said, turning to him, “But I’m afraid you are alone in your opinion. Even if my version is the truth, I have been sullied by the rumours, and you will be sullied by association. Perhaps it would be better if you slipped out of the shop before people saw us together.”
“I will credit such nonsense with your state of mind,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I imagine you have been hurt by the village’s response to you, and even more so by what is being said in the papers and in London. I cannot ease that pain, but I can reassure you that not everything you read is true – not everyone is against you, and some people still find it an honour to be seen in public with you.” He offered her his arm. “Will you allow me to escort you home?”
“No,” she said with a smile. “But I will allow you to escort me to the edge of the village, if you dare.”
As they walked, he asked her about Poppy and her father.
“I don’t know about Father,” she said. “His is London at present attempting to secure a seat in parliament and a new position. I believe I shall hear back from him in a few days by post. As for Poppy, she is growing weary of the inside of the house. I would let her come to town with me as she used to, but I do not want her exposed to the gossip and rumours. People can be very cruel. Do you know that day I took her home with me – the day her mother died – she had come into the room with a wound on her head. She didn’t even seem to notice it, even as I attempted to care for her, and Mrs Tarrow later told me that the child was often exposed to such things at the hands of the village children. She is already an outcast, I would not have her appear more so.”
“If I came home with you today, perhaps I could take her on a walk around the property and show her a safe, sheltered bit of friendly activity outside the home,” he offered.
She wanted so badly to take him up on the offer, but in her heart she knew it would only fuel the rumours, and it would put Nigel in a bad light. People were already wondering what gentleman had been responsible for Poppy, what man might have led the venerable Lady Margaret into a path of wickedness, and she did not want him to be suspected.
“No, we are quite all right for the time-being,” she said, forcing a brave smile that she did not feel.
She walked home alone, passing nobody on the way, and reached the house in the late afternoon. She was surprised to see her father’s carriage pulled up outside the front door. He was not expected home for days – weeks even, if all went well – and yet here was his carriage looking tired as though from a recent journey. She stopped by the driver, who was tying off the reins.
“You are home sooner than expected,” she said with a smile. “To what do we owe this gift of my father’s swift return?”
The man looked up at her and then dropped his gaze back to the work at his fingertips. “Your father is just inside, my lady. I believe he returned with the express purpose of speaking to you.”
Margaret felt a stab of misgiving and climbed the steps to the house quickly. The hall was eerily quiet – no butler there to greet her, no servants in