It is at this point in my letters that I usually tell you that life at Powerscourt otherwise continues as usual, but that is not so! We are to have a rare visitor! Mr. Lewis Strange Wingfield, black sheep, bad penny, fop, as his elder brother variously refers to him, is to grace us with his (hopefully colourful) presence. He comes to us at a time when Lord Powerscourt is guaranteed to be absent. His lordship is once again abroad on one of his buying trips, so be warned, Donald, your services may yet be requested in the quest for a particularly elusive stag’s head. Julia is much put-out at having to play the hostess to this renegade youngest son and has warned me several times to beware of him. She has failed to enlighten me as to why I should be cautious of cultivating him, merely pursing her lips and informing me that he is “the antithesis of what the son of a viscount should be.” You will not be surprised to know that this intrigues me greatly. I have hopes that Mr. Lewis Strange Wingfield will live up to his middle name (in the interesting sense of the word, and not the odd sense, needless to say). If he does, I shall make the most of his company—and ignore Julia’s qualms about my reputation suffering for, as you well know, I cannot lose what I do not have!

There, now I have most likely alarmed you thoroughly, but you must not fret, I have not reached the grand old age of almost twenty-one without being able to take care of myself.

Margaret

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Six

June 1867

MARGARET HAD REMAINED BEHIND as usual to help put the classroom to rights before leaving the infant school to head back to Powerscourt. A young man was leaning nonchalantly against the wall of the playground when she emerged, but he straightened up when he saw her, making a flourishing bow.

“Lady Margaret Scott, I presume?”

She knew immediately who he must be. “The very same,” she said, dropping a small curtsy. “The Honourable Lewis Strange Wingfield, I presume? Lord Powerscourt’s youngest brother. We have been expecting you.”

“Please, I beg of you, drop the honourable. My title is neither welcome nor particularly accurate. I am considered the theatrical youngest brother, a description I much prefer. Now, it has been a long-held ambition of mine to walk a teacher home from school, rather than the other way round. May I have the honour?” He offered his arm, but seeing her hesitation immediately withdrew it. “Ah, I see my reputation precedes me.”

“I prefer to make my own mind up about people,” Margaret said. “Having said that, you must admit this is an unconventional way to be introduced. I’m not sure Julia would approve. Does she even know you are here?”