The Honorable Marksley (13 page)

“I have sent the groom back for the carriage,”
Marksley said as he came into the room. Then he
seemed to notice her thoughtful regard for their surroundings. He ran one finger along a dusty table edge
and examined the residue with lifted brows. “Haskell
abandoned the place some years ago. I had no idea it
was such a shambles”

“From the outside it has … presence,” Hallie said.
Her gaze returned to the rain-pocked river and the subdued foliage along the shore. “Indeed, it could not have
been sited with greater mastery, just here at river’s
bend, with veiled hills sleeping at lee, and these pensive oaks to attend” When she turned to him, she would
have said more. But the arrested look on his face forestalled further comment. For a moment she met his
dark gaze, then she glanced distractedly back at the
river. She frowned as she tried to recall what she had
said-what slip she must have made-to have silenced
him so thoroughly.

“Beauty does not often bear dissection,” he said at
last. He had moved closer. “As we see, the mill is now
little more than a storehouse, and a dusty one at that.
The first impression may indeed be charming, but close
inspection yields,” he blew the dust from his glove,
“fairy powder.”

She smiled. “I cannot credit such an opinion to you, sir.
Where would all of your authors be without discoursing
on beauty? You would deprive them of a favorite subject”

“Assuredly. Which is why their editor must cling to
whatever cold reason prevails.” When he smiled back
Hallie’s breath caught in her throat. She had been fighting the attraction he held for her. Somehow, in the close
confines of this dim and musty room, that smile was a
beacon.

“Surely,” he said, holding her gaze as he moved
toward her, “you have something germane to quote me
on the subject? Given the ease with which you riposted last night, you have the poets of the ages at your command” His voice coaxed, but the expression in his eyes
held enough of a challenge to force Hallie’s own gaze
away.

“You grant me too ready a wit, sir.” The air seemed
not only stale, but stifling. “I said the one thing that
came to mind.”

That he disbelieved her was evident from his
silence-and from the betraying rhythm of Hallie’s
own duplicitous heart. Yet he would not move away.

The rain gathered force, drumming on the old shingle roof, stinging the surface of the river.

“‘For where is any author in the world,’ ” he quoted
softly, “‘teaches such beauty as a woman’s eye?’” His
gloved hand moved to turn her face to his. “It intrigues
me,” he said, as his thumb moved lightly against her
chin, “how some part of you always seems to be dreaming. It’s in your eyes. Even now.” His gaze would not
permit her to hide. “What are you dreaming about, my
dear?”

He asked so softly that at first Hallie believed she
had not heard him correctly. She could catch the scent
of his skin and of his rain-dampened wool coat. As
close as he was, heaven help her, she wanted him that
much closer.

“The groom-”

“Should be halfway to Penham by now. Where he
will dutifully report to Miss Binkin.” Marksley smiled,
then startled her by asking, “Did Reggie kiss you?”

Hallie answered with a proud tilt of her chin.

“Did he kiss you?” Marksley repeated softly.

“Yes … But he was-”

“So you have been kissed before”

Before? She watched his lips, which seemed so
unaccountably close. Some small, still thinking part of
her protested that no, she had never been kissed before.

He bent his head. Her lips caught his breath. She was
scarcely aware of her own action in moving to press her
open palms against the lapels of his coat. But he must
have thought she intended to push him away.

To her dismay he stepped back too many inches. As
Hallie looked at her betraying hands, she knew his gaze
was on her still. Now was the time to tell him.

“There is something,” she began, “something that
you must know”

“About Reginald?” he asked, and his gaze hardened.

“Not precisely. Although he is the reason-”
Footsteps in the parlor beyond sounded loud in the
empty building, immediately silencing her.

“Well, dash it all,” Archie Cavendish’s supercilious
voice was unmistakable, “They seem to have vanished,
if they were ever-ah!”

He stopped abruptly in the doorway, so abruptly that
Phoebe Lawes, following close behind him, collided
with his back. But Hallie thought Phoebe’s pout and
narrowed gaze had less to do with any affront to her
dignity than to the sight of Richard Marksley standing
so very close to Hallie.

She could sense the sudden tension in him, as though
he would shield her.

“Cavendish,” he acknowledged. “Miss Lawes. Have
you also sought shelter from the storm?” Both Archie
and Phoebe looked scarcely damp.

“Your groom informed us of your um … mishap,”
Cavendish said. He raised a quizzing glass to observe
the two of them with relish. “As we have Squire
Lawes’s carriage, we thought we might offer to take
you up, and thus spare you any further … inconvenience.” He simpered. “That is, if you would like to
return to Penham now?”

“Good heavens, Richard,” Phoebe said familiarly,
stepping into the room with a handkerchief to her nose.
“What a filthy place to stop. I wonder you could bear
it.” Her look dismissed Hallie before she moved to
Marksley’s side and casually laid her hand on one taut
sleeve. “Do come with us now. Papa’s carriage is so
delightfully appointed. I trust you will tell little difference between it and the Earl’s.” Her laugh was forced
as she started to urge him toward the doorway. “Do
come”

But Marksley turned to Hallie.

“It would be best, Miss Ashton,” he said. “We should
not keep their horses standing in the rain.”

She felt oddly forlorn. And she was conscious of
Phoebe’s open interest that her intended should sound
so very formal. He should have called her Hallie just
now, especially now, when they had been so very
close.

“Come, Miss Ashton,” Cavendish added, “You can only wish to vacate this hole.” Hallie walked toward the
doorway. She did not care for the look in Archie
Cavendish’s eyes; what little imagination he possessed
had attributed to her the most wanton behavior. He had
caught them in a delicate situation. But surely that was
not so startling for a betrothed couple?

Hallie refused his arm. They walked ahead of
Phoebe and Marksley, pausing only to draw their
cloaks about them before racing the rain to the carriage.

Joining Phoebe’s waiting maid, the ladies took the
seats facing forward. As Archie was directly across
from her, Hallie had to turn her head to catch Richard
Marksley’s expression. She was aware of him, however. Aware of his silence and of the occasional glance he
sent to her corner. She anticipated his looks, and managed to stare steadily out the window when they came.

Phoebe leaned forward to gaze appealingly at
Marksley. “The mill is in a dreadful state, do you not
think so, Richard?”

“‘Tis not congenial, Miss Lawes,” he agreed,
“though Haskell worked hard in his time. I shall make
inquiries. Perhaps there has been some trouble in the
family. The property is a fine one. Even if a working
mill is no longer viable, the place should be tended”

“Perhaps,” Archie suggested, with a mischievous look
at Hallie, “the mill should be left as it is. It seems suitable
for more unrefined purposes. Trysting, for example.”

Marksley sent him an icy glance, then turned to the
window. “I hope the weather will improve by the mor row,” he said. “I have business in London. I shouldn’t
care for the journey,” he added grimly, “with the roads
so impassable.”

“But Richard,” Phoebe cried. “Whatever can you
mean by this? When you are to be wed in two weeks’
time!”

“Miss Ashton knows that my responsibilities will not
cease upon our marriage. Indeed,” and Hallie caught
his look, “they can only increase.”

“Well, there are a good many events you shall miss,
and not a few of them planned in your honor.” Phoebe’s
tone was aggrieved. She had anticipated the social
whirl. But her subsequent look at Hallie was considering. “Whatever shall you do without him, Miss Harriet?
Or will you enjoy the escort of some of the other gentlemen of Denhurst?”

Hallie tried to believe the girl had not meant to
impugn her morals. “You flatter me, Miss Lawes. My
uncle will no doubt ensure that the next fortnight’s
entertainments will not be too diverting.”

Richard Marksley acknowledged that likelihood
with a contemptuous little breath.

“I would be happy to serve as your escort in Mr.
Marksley’s absence, Miss Ashton,” Archie offered.
“That is, for the next few days. And with your permission, sir.” He tilted his head toward the aloof man next
to him. Hallie credited Marksley’s expression to the
distaste he felt for any reminder of their impending
wedding.

“Miss Ashton is free to do as she chooses,” he said,
“now, three weeks, or even three years hence”

Cavendish stared. “That is remarkably liberal thinking, I must say, sir. Though I should not be surprised,
given the views in our intellectual circles. Mary
Wollstonecraft’s contrary writings are much discussed,
are they not? And it is said that Lord Byron believes-”

“I honor the institution of marriage, and the sanctity
of marriage vows, Mr. Cavendish,” Marksley said coldly. “You mistook my meaning.”

“Pardon me, sir. But this talk of freedom for a
wife-”

“I hold that spouses should be equal partners in spirit, in the accommodation of each other’s wishes, even
if not deemed so in the letter of the law.”

Phoebe leaned forward again and playfully tapped
Richard Marksley on one knee. He shifted his leg
away.

“That is so very romantic, Richard. Although,” and
she lowered her gaze with belated modesty, “I should
have expected such from you”

“And do you share Mr. Marksley’s romantic views,
Miss Ashton?” Cavendish asked, leaning toward her.

“Naturally Mr. Marksley and I have reached a certain understanding of each other’s wishes,” she
replied carefully. “You might consider it `romantic’
that our understanding is confidential. I believe such
privacy,” she stressed, “is key to any true meaning of
the word.”

Apparently deaf to her reprimand, Cavendish gazed
admiringly at her, but Phoebe looked as though Hallie
had suddenly started to speak Chinese.

“Miss Ashton is impressively logical,” Marksley
remarked evenly, with a glance that was unreadable.
“Logic is rarely paired with romance”

“Miss Ashton is all that is charming,” Archie
enthused. Hallie felt him press the toe of his boot
against the hem of her skirt. She shot him a look of
angry amazement, and attempted to regain her hem, but
the young man was persistent.

“Our love is our bond,” he cried. “Not for the fainthearted, no! But proved beyond doubt, through fire and
snow!”

After a moment’s silence, Marksley said, “That is
most amusing doggerel, Mr. Cavendish.” His tone was
as haughty as Hallie had heard from him. “Where ever
did you hear it?”

Archie looked crestfallen, but having had her fill of
him, Hallie was grateful for the snub.

“Oh, never mind, Archie,” Phoebe said impatiently.
“It is not so very awful, but you really must stop imposing on Richard.” The comment did very little to restore
good will amongst the occupants of the carriage.

The ride continued in shared discomfort. The roads
were uneven due to the rain, which pummeled the carriage roof in ceaseless accompaniment to the splashing
of the horses’ hooves. As they at last pulled to the front
of Penham Hall, the rain became a deluge.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Lawes, Mr. Cavendish, if I do not suggest you stop with us” Marksley was pushing open the door even as he spoke. “In this flood, you
are no doubt eager to reach home. We are most grateful for your consideration. Another time, perhaps?”

Indecision and frustration warred on Phoebe’s face.
“Why I … no doubt you are right, Richard. Mama will
be worried. I had best be home for tea. And Archie must
ready himself. He departs Saturday for Oxford”

“Ah, do you, sir?” Marksley extended his hand.
“Until next time then. Miss Ashton, I believe we must
risk the damp” He transferred his hand to hers and
pulled her none too gently out of the carriage. Two
footmen, looking bedraggled, waited with umbrellas at
the bottom of the steps. Hallie murmured her thanks to
Phoebe Lawes before the carriage door shut with
alacrity behind her.

Burdened by her heavy skirts, she had difficulty
matching Marksley’s pace up the steps to the door. But
she arrived close beside him nonetheless, to see Lady
Penham’s tear-streaked face and hear her anguished
moan. She waved a sheet of paper in front of them.

“Richard, Richard! He is dead! My darling boy is
dead!”