The carriage ride into the heart of London isn't nearly as bad as Hamish had first feared, what with being in such close quarters (really, Hamish had never before realized just how much a carriage resembled a large box, and each and every jostle has him on edge, waiting for the sudden movement to cause Hatta to jump, a thought he knows isn't fair to the man, but really, a slight bit of paranoia concerning the ginger is very much called for, even expected, so no one can fault Hamish for it) with so many people (Hamish had been sure to place Hatta by the window, and put himself at his side, and then direct the women so that Helen is across from Hatta, Margaret in the middle, and Lowell at her side, so that Lowell is as far as possible in the carriage from the Hatter so as to minimize any possible conflict) of such diverse colors. He is pleasantly surprised to find that Margaret absolutely loves to hear Hatta's tales of his homeland, and Alice's childhood adventures there (for there are times when Margaret can even recount the story as well as Hatta can, as Hatta only knows his own encounters and those he's been told of by others who'd been there—including the Queen of this Underland!—but Margaret knows the whole series of wild tales from Alice's tellings). Even Helen knows a bit here and there, from Alice's dreams.
Hatta is extremely interested in the nightmares that have plagued Alice almost all her life. Memories, he says, not bad dreams. He doesn't comment too much on them, however, and when he does, he is hardly understandable, but Hamish sees a great change come over Mrs. Kingsleigh the more they converse.
Helen stays silent through most of the conversation, except for the dream tellings, of course, and only watches her eldest daughter and the strange man with interest. With every word, the Hatter verifies the truth of the events that have haunted Alice's whole life, and Helen is having a great weight lifted off her shoulders with what is happening.
Alice Kingsleigh is not, and has never been, mad.
She'd had a rather trying experience lost in a foreign country as a child, and no one had known or been able to help her through the shock of it. They'd thought her a dreamer, childish even in her teens, fanciful and not at all proper. They'd all been wrong.
Alice is Alice, and she is strong.
And Helen is proud. Almost to the point of relieved tears, she is proud of her youngest child.
Margaret, too, is thrilled for the truth in her sister's life, but she is also enthralled with this completely new world that Alice's and Hatta's tales are spinning in her mind. Most don't know it, but Margaret, too, has been a dreamer. She'd never let the dreams run away with her like they all thought Alice had, oh no, she'd been a right proper young lady, down to the "T", but she's always, always, wished she could have lost herself in an adventure like Alice had.
There is no hard envy in Margaret, no, just a sweet longing to have had what her sister did. There isn't a mean bone in Margaret's body, in Hamish's opinion (an opinion greatly influenced by Alice, Helen, and Lowell, but still partly his own observance), but here in the carriage, on a simple ride to the Kingsleigh house, he sees a new side to the sister of the woman he loves. The shine in her eyes, the laugh and the clap and the little jumps of excitement with the story. Margaret Manchester has found a way to free herself from the confines of propriety, just a little bit, in Tarrant Hightopp, friend of The Alice.
Hamish turns his eyes away from the motherly pride shining in Helen's eyes, skims past the childish joy practically radiating from the Milliner and Margaret, and lets his gaze rest appraisingly on Margaret's husband.
Lowell has his back slumping against the carriage door, his body turned so that the Hatter stays in the corner of his vision, always in sight, and yet his eyes could also fix on the only thing he finds important. His arms are crossed over his chest in general rebellion, one leg resting on his other knee, and his face is assembled in an expression that Hamish can only describe in one word: Torn.
There is a hardness to the lines around his mouth, a stubborn dislike he is holding onto and still not ready to let go, and this is obviously directed towards the Hatter. Tarrant is wild, unpredictable, and completely out of Lowell's control—and thus his comfort zone. He is new, unknown, and in his own way, scary (Hamish is glad that Lowell doesn't have any experience to support this belief, because then there would probably be no hope at all of Lowell giving the crazy man a chance. It is this sudden thought that makes Hamish aware he wants to give Hatta a chance, despite barely knowing the man, and knowing what he does making him warier still. How strange...). And then there is the fact that he has already won over Margaret and Helen with what seems complete ease. Helen has always been proper and seemingly caring towards Lowell, but she's never been this open with him (nor, again, with Hamish), not the way she is with Hatta. And then with Margaret...
Well, Lowell just doesn't like it at all that Margaret seems to find a kindred spirit in this strange man, has revealed a whole new side to herself that he's never seen in her before to a man who, as well as strange, is a stranger to boot!
Shifting his shoulders uncomfortably, Lowell tries to jostle away the thought that is trying to identify this new feeling he is dealing with.
Jealousy.
Margaret is his wife. He has nothing to be jealous of, he reasons with himself. Of course, the ties of matrimony haven't stopped his infidelity, of which he is sure the discovery of would shatter Margaret's precious heart into a million little, tiny bits. It is a thought that has bothered him before, when he had been seeing other women, so he had taken precautions, been careful, shielded her and protected her from his... questionable behavior as best he could. Margaret is wonderful, she really is, but she had made it too easy for him to seek more conquests elsewhere, to use other women for more fun, more thrill, to feel more of a man than just a simple husband with a simple wife and a simple life. She has been kind, cheerful, and... a bit plain. She is everything he had expected his wife would be: attentive, understanding, beautiful—and clueless. That had been the way he'd wanted it. That had been his dream life.
And then Alice had come along and, literally, walked in on what had been an exciting, dangerous moment of thrill and weakness. Get handsy with an attractive old girlfriend who still looked at him with that playful, sexy gleam in her eyes, at the engagement party of his wife's strange younger sister, with only a tall garden hedge between them and the rest of those prickly old aristocrats? It had lit the fire in him. Seeing it had also lit a different kind of fire in Alice.
She'd been confused then, easily influenced, he'd thought, to protect his secret if it protected Margaret's happy little daydream of a perfect life. When she came back after she'd run off from the proposal, however, she'd had no confusion in her whatsoever. Yes, Lowell had his secret safe for now, but Alice is his wife's protective sister, and she has kept her word about watching him very closely. She'd caught him again after that. And again. And again. And each time, she'd added to the small fire of fear that had begun to burn inside him.
Because no matter how many other women there had been or will be, Lowell has and will always come home to his Margaret. Her happy smile at seeing him step through the door, her totally sincere "how was your day?" while she does whatever he wants, fetches whatever he asks, and the way her eyes shine when they lie down together at night. There isn't as much thrill with Margaret as with other women, because looking at her always makes him be tender, no matter what other desires he brings to the bedroom, what else he is used to, expects, or even wants. With Margaret, he just has to be tender.
The difference, he realizes now, is that he is making love, not having sex. This is the woman he loves, truly, whom he has chosen to always be there for him for the rest of his life, to share everything with and to be there for him when he needs more than just flesh and an ego stroke.
And he was putting that in jeopardy with all these other girls. With every infidelity discovered, he was pushing Alice to believe her sister's happiness lay not with him and his lies, but with a broken heart and a chance to heal with someone new.
It was that thought that nearly broke Lowell Manchester. Margaret Manchester née Kingsleigh is his, and he will not give her up, not to any man, and not even to a simple life without him in it. Other women are playthings, Margaret is his wife, and in no way is one equal to the other. Playthings are not worth losing half of his very soul over—not when that half is Margaret.
Looking back, it seems like such an easy decision to come to. It hadn't been. Lowell had fought with himself, fought with his desires, and fought with those he'd shared a bed to get to this point, this final knowledge of love and dedication. He'd slipped up (more than once) and he'd struggled with ups and downs of "what Margaret doesn't know won't hurt her" and "I am the head of my family, I'll do as I please" to "what kind of man am I to betray my promises and vows?" and "I'd rather die than lose my Margaret."
His Margaret. Even when he hadn't known how deep he'd cared, he'd tried to protect her from his betrayals. His lies had been a pathetic shield, but they'd been the first clue that he had, truly, wanted to protect her smile and her innocence and her happiness. The high opinion she has of him, the pedestal she puts him on, has him slowly wanting to become the image she has of him.
Lowell Manchester is far from a perfect man, but he is a man changed from his erring ways. And it is this change that finally gave Alice the confidence in him not to hurt her sister that she left them and sailed away to China. They are not, and probably will never be, friends, but two of the three most important people in his wife's life have come to an understanding with one another, and Lowell has emerged a better man because of it. He even respects his sister-in-law now, just a bit.
Which had been one of the reasons why Hamish Ascot had been his first choice as a new "friend" when Lowell had dropped his old buddies (all of whom had shared similar activities as he had, and were thus both angry with him and an all-around bad influence, as loose women are easy to come by in their company). Because Hamish had gone through a similar change in himself. No, Hamish had never been a lying, cheating scoundrel (as Lowell is now willing to admit, though only to himself, that he had been) but he had his own faults that had, in the end, drove away the woman he loved, something Lowell is fighting not to do himself, and Hamish has emerged from the tragedy of it a better man (a less selfish, pompous, cookie-cut aristocratic pansy, at least. There is still room for improvement, in Lowell's opinion, and he intends to help Hamish grow a bit more of a backbone eventually). Thus, he is someone he can identify with, whether Hamish realizes it or not.
Hamish would do anything to protect Alice, Lowell knows. And Hamish is giving all the signs that this strange man has gained a bit of approval in the time they've known each other (and it has been a suspiciously short time, and Hamish is being rather jumpy despite his apparent confidence in this Tarrant Hightopp, Mr. Important-Somebody-of-Somewhere) so Lowell is still wary. It is obvious to him, as it is probably obvious to everybody else in the carriage, that despite being a bit older than usual to come calling on such a young woman, this man is, in fact, coming to call on Alice, so to speak. And having had his sister-in-law grow on him as of late, Lowell isn't at all sure he approves.
He pries his eyes away from Margaret's childish delight (of which he does thoroughly approve, though he begrudges the new man having caused it instead of himself) to meet Hamish's eyes (for he knows Hamish has been watching him for some time, like he is waiting for Lowell to dive, hands outstretched, for the Hatter's neck. ...a tempting thought, but an impossible one). Hamish looks tired, in Lowell's opinion, but determined. Wary, yes, and just a bit scared, as well.
Just like Lowell, Hamish isn't going to let Tarrant Hightopp near his precious Alice until he is certain, absolutely certain, of the man's motives and sanity. No dangerous madman is going near Margaret's sister, of that both men are decided.