Chapter 7 : Marquess In Shining Armor

Two hours later, Maggie fled from Huntington. Her usually composed appearance was in tatters, mirroring the wreckage in her heart. The dignity she was born and raised with now lay shattered in the dust of her escape.

The only thing that propelled her forward was her strong will to live.

She had to survive.

She wouldn't succumb to such a degrading end.

Not this way!

Despite the white-hot spark of determination burning in her chest, Maggie was outmatched. The lumbering Bullmastiffs, muscles rippling beneath their brindle fur, were gaining fast in distance.

A guttural growl ripped from the lead dog's throat as it launched itself at her back. The impact slammed her into the unforgiving ground, the air knocked from her lungs. The pack surged forward, a snarling wave of gnashing teeth and slavering jaws, closing the gap between them and her torn flesh.

Maggie closed her eyes in the last moment, one last breath escaping her lips, one last apology toward her father resonating in her mind.

Just as she thought that she was done for, the sound of a gunshot ripped through the air, startling the giant dogs off their prey.

Whimpering, they stood around, unsure what to do at first, until the person who shot into the air made his appearance, galloping on a mighty steed and sending another shot into the air.

The Bullmastiffs fled.

Maggie lifted her head slightly to see the face of her savior. Before she could take a good look, the world swam before her eyes, dissolving into an inky blackness.

It did not at all surprise her when she opened her eyes to find herself lying in the same chaise lounge at the Crown Office the second time around.

Only that this time the Marquess of Canterbury was not around to watch over her.

Maggie lay still for several minutes, listening to her own heartbeat and the ragged sounds of her breathing.

In and out.

In and out.

She was still alive after all.

Slowly, the tears accumulating in her eyes began their descent down her cheeks, yet again.

Right now, her greatest fear was looking into the mirror and seeing her own reflection. Forget the Countess title. Was she even still Lady Marguerite Delaney Antoine Blanchard?

What was she right now?

Where was she supposed to go?

What was she supposed to do?

She didn't know, and the only person who could tell her all that had already left.

Intensive sobs wracked her body, guttural cries like those of a wounded beast escaped her throat.

Right now she just wanted to cry.

No, that was all she could do right now. Cry.

"Ahem."

Maggie's head snapped upward in an instant. Aghast, she stared at the Marquess of Canterbury, who wore an indifferent expression and held several scrolls in his hand.

"I…"

"You are awake," the gentleman walked into the room and set the scrolls onto the desk. "Unfortunately, the Crown Office is not used to hosting a lady in distress. If you don't mind, I can take you to one of the houses under my name, so you can wash up and rest for the night."

Maggie's fingers grazed the rough fabric of her dress, caked by dried mud and blood. Though it remained the same tattered garment, the gaping wounds on her body, both large and small, had been meticulously dressed.

The soles of her feet, swollen and torn, had already been bandaged in the most skillful manner.

Blood crept up her face in shame.

Despite her wildly inappropriate behavior, the supposedly cold Marquess had, inexplicably, cared for her injuries.

"Thank you very much, Your Grace," she choked out with difficulties. "But I have inconvenienced you enough."

Marquess of Canterbury leaned against the polished rosewood desk and cocked his head to the side, his eyes pinning her with a scrutinizing gaze.

"If you don't mind me asking, do you have other places to go other than Huntington Hall?"

"…"

That was a very good question.

Had someone asked Maggie this question yesterday, she would have listed at least two more places she lived. One was a cozy cottage in the countryside, and the other a townhouse in London. Unfortunately, all these belonged to the Earldom of Huntington, and she no longer had the right to live in any of them.

Maggie's forlorn expression was all the answer the Marquess needed.

"Truth be told, the situation is not as grave as you think."

Maggie's head snapped upward, her eyes locking onto the Marquess's cool, emerald eyes.

"It's not?" she repeated, hope blooming like a small white flower in her heart.

Marquess of Canterbury picked up a scroll and smacked it against his palm.

"I have studied your case while you were, ahem, beside yourself. If you recall, the second letter the Crown Office sent indeed revoked your appointment as Countess of Huntington, but the Lord Chancellor had yet to name an official heir to the earldom."

"Which means?"

Maggie willed herself to stand. But as she pushed down on her feet, a wave of stinging agony lanced through them, sending her sprawling back onto the chaise lounge.

The Marquess heaved a sigh.

"It means that until the official heir is appointed, you should be allowed to live in any dwelling under Huntington Hall."

"But I… My uncle, he…"

Marquess of Canterbury narrowed his eyes at the unfortunate lady in front of him.

"So he was the one who chased you away in the most disgraceful manner."

Maggie's head dipped forward, the weight of weariness dragging it down until it nearly touched her chest.

"You warned me, Your Grace," she slowly said. "I wished I heeded your warning."

"My words were not meant to castigate you. Your uncle had no right to chase you out."

"But he already did."

"So he did. This shall naturally be considered by the Crown Office before appointing the official heir to the earldom," the Marquess concluded.

Maggie picked at her muddied dress, her gaze trained on the damask carpet beneath her feet.

"My uncle sent his dogs to chase after me. He might do worse if I dare show up at Huntington Hall, or any other residences within the earldom's scope."

"My offer is still valid," the Marquess said. "Be assured, the residence is typically unoccupied, with only a minimal staff of maids and a butler present to cater to occasional guests. You are welcome to remain there until you have formulated a plan for your future endeavors."

Maggie sniffled slightly in the face of such generosity.

"Thank you, Your Grace," she bowed her head full of gratitude. "I shall repay this debt one day."