Page 20 of When We Touch

“And a policeman, one who knew that the wandering around of a lady such as yourself could well stir resentments and anger, and bring about catastrophe,” Jamie said.

“I know what I’m doing,” she informed him.

“It’s really none of my affair,” Jamie said.

“There, that’s right!” Mireau burst in, well aware that both of their voices were growing more tense. “Every man and woman, noble and common, must draw their own paths, look at the world around them, choose courses and forks in the road! Maggie has chosen to take a few risks. Of course, this is just the half of it! She’s really quite remarkable, you know.”

“Jacques!” Maggie said quietly.

“Oh, yes, quite remarkable,” Jamie agreed.

She looked out the window again. Mireau remained uncomfortably silent. “Ah!” he said at last. “The house is coming up!”

They stopped. Mireau jumped out of the cab before Darby could come around. “Thank you, old chap. The carriage was a far better ride than trying to flag down a cabbie in the East End. Why, the one earlier was quite a bad bargain, the grisly old fellow asking way more than he should have for such a ride, and the poor horse appearing as if it hadn’t had a drink in quite some time.”

Maggie started to move toward the door.

“I think we should take a ride alone, don’t you?” Jamie said.

She froze in a rather uncomfortable position, sliding over to exit the carriage. She stared at him. “Should we?” she managed at last, straightening and looking at him. “Why on earth should we do so?”

“To clear the air?” he suggested politely.

“I don’t think the air can be cleared,” she told him flatly.

He reached over, swinging the carriage door closed, and the smile he gave her was grim. “Let’s try.”

He tapped on the carriage roof with his knuckles, but then leaned out. “Back in a bit, Mireau,” he said pleasantly. Apparently, Darby had already retaken his seat; the carriage rolled into action with the smallest of jolts.

Maggie sat back irritably. “And just where are we going?”

“Not far. Let’s speak honestly and quickly.”

“Please, go right ahead.”

“You’re marrying Charles for his money.”

“What an insult to a man to whom you claim such fidelity!”

He sat back. “Apparently, it’s going to be a long ride.”

“What in God’s name do you want from me?” she demanded.

“Let’s see; you were hesitant, but Charles came to your house, you took one look at him and fell madly in love, as reportedly you did with your first husband.”

“Only husband thus far,” she reminded him icily.

“Ah, so are you saying that you did meet Charles and suddenly fell into a passionate fit of love and desire?”

“I saw Charles, and remembered him. And remembered that he was always kind, intelligent, and dear on those occasions when I had seen him before.”

He leaned forward, uncomfortably close now in the tight confines of the carriage. “You didn’t think, aha! but he has aged . . . surely he cannot have many years left in him?”

“You are crass and disgusting—and all regarding a man you pretend to serve with love.”

“I serve no one. I stand behind Charles because he is my kin, my elder, and an exceptional man. I’m being honest and practical. I’ve seen you give speeches and I can hardly imagine that I’m shocking you.”

“Perhaps I don’t care to accept such impropriety from you,” she said.