She turned on her side as the door opened. Felicity entered, followed by Violet. The man did not enter. She was spared that at least.
Felicity came and sat on the edge of the bed. Violet hovered behind.
“How are you feeling?” Felicity asked.
Violet reached forward and patted her hand.
“I . . . I am not sure. What happened? How did I get here?” Marguerite could not bear to ask about the baby.
“I do not know exactly,” Felicity began, “I was taking an early ride in the park. I hoped to escape the coming heat of the day. I heard a scream. I followed the sounds and found a crowd gathered around you. You must have tripped off the curb. You were almost run over by a hack.”
Marguerite closed her eyes again and tried to remember. All she could remember clearly was the argument and the bitter taste of lemonade. She scrunched her eyes closed. It had all gone so wrong.
She fought the urge to rub her belly again. She would be strong.
Falling. She could not remember falling.
“Shh, just relax, my physician said you would be fine. A great wallop on your head and a few bruises on your behind. A day of so of rest and you should be fine.”
The baby. Felicity did not mention the baby.
“Why am I here?” That was an easier subject to discuss. “I am so close to my own home. Why bring me here?”
“I had not originally planned to. I was going to brave Wimberley’s dragons and bring you home, but you refused to go. You began to fuss, said you did not wish to see you husband. You only calmed when I promised to bring you to my home.”
“I do not remember.” Marguerite shook her head trying to clear it and almost screamed at the sudden pain that lanced down her neck.
“Be careful.” Violet spoke up for the first time. “You have quite a knot on the back your head. It must be painful.”
Marguerite nodded.
“I hate to ask,” Felicity drew her attention, “but, why did you not want to return home? Has my son done something foolish? It would be like him.”
Now that Marguerite knew the story, Felicity’s bitter undertone was clear.
“I would not phrase it quite in that manner.” Marguerite hoped her own bitterness did not sound as clear.
“And I thought that everything was going so well.” Violet came around the bed and sat on the other side. “You said our lessons had been successful – even if you would not supply details beyond that you both liked to play piquet. The important thing is to tell us what that foolish man has done so that we can help you begin to correct it.”
“I am not sure that I need to know that there were lessons, even if I did perform the introductions between you. However, Violet is correct. That is not the important matter had the moment. How can we be of assistance?”
“I am not sure you can. I do not believe Tristan was foolish – careless, perhaps, but not foolish. I am clearly the fool in this situation.” Marguerite twisted her hands in the sheets. They were the one part of her that did not ache.
“Nonsense, dear. One of the first rules you must learn is that it always the man who is foolish,” Felicity said. “It goes without saying.”
“I must agree,” said Violet. “Knowing you both, well, you are much less prone to foolishness than he, and that is not even accounting for the fact that he is a man. You consider and debate each action a hundred times. He acts without thought and only through charmed instincts is almost always correct. You would never have decided to marry him in under fifteen minutes if given a choice. I doubt it took him five. Tell me which of you is more likely to be the fool?”
Marguerite remembered the anger and numbness that had driven her from the house that morning. She clearly did not have charmed instincts. “Still,” she mumbled, “I was the fool. He acted in what I am sure in his mind was a reasonable manner. He may have not debated the point long, but he already knew all the rationale for and against. This was not a question of thought and reason, it is a matter of emotion.”
“Oh dear, you don’t mean . . .” the two ladies spoke as one.