Ghost Gum Valley (57 page)

‘It was,' she admitted, ‘but I didn't know you then.'

She noticed Marmaduke register a faint flicker of surprise before he asked the question softly, ‘So what's my little shrew been up to?'

Isabel could feel the power in his half-closed eyes drawing her towards him.

‘A lot has happened in your absence. Ugly things you need to know, but I decided it was best to wait for your return to discuss Garnet. I'm sorry for the loss of your friend, but you might have written to put my mind at rest – about things that matter.'

He took a step towards her. ‘The only thing that matters to me is us. The outside world can go hang.'

Marmaduke beckoned her with a theatrical gesture as he quoted Petrucchio's command, ‘Come. Kiss me, Kate.'

He reached out and held her face in his hands. Isabel met his lips and drank deeply from a kiss that was gentle but very much on his terms. She knew they were both playing a scene. Yet she also felt her body was dissolving into his. Never to be free again – if she didn't fight it. The desire to surrender completely struggled with her sense of panic.

She broke free of the kiss but kept her fingers entwined in the wet coils of his hair.

Marmaduke's voice sounded as parched as a man in the desert. ‘Do you want what I want?'

I don't really know what that means.
Isabel shrugged. ‘All right. I'm willing, that is – just get it over with.'

Marmaduke pushed her away from him to hold her at arms' length but his fingers dug into her shoulders. Despite his laughter she knew he was very angry.

‘You're unbelievable. I invite you to share a night of ecstasy with me, to take you with me to paradise. And all you can say is, “just get it over with!”' Marmaduke emphasised each word individually. ‘Just – get – it – over – with? Jesus, woman, you sure know how to quench a man's fire.'

He brushed her aside and moved to the kitchen table. ‘So what's this then? Summer Pudding. Queenie's welcome home present. I'm glad
someone
missed me.'

Humiliated by her awkwardness, Isabel gestured to the dish. ‘I was Queenie's apprentice. I've made one of your puddings every day for weeks, to make sure one would be perfect on whatever day you decided to grace us with your presence. It's easy for you to be generous. I didn't have any money of my own to buy you a present. It's the only thing I could think of to please you. Why did I bother?'

‘To please me, huh?'

He picked up the carving knife and was about to slash at the pie when Isabel swiftly stayed his hand.

‘No! This one must rest a day or two. There's one in the pantry that's ready to eat.'

He shook his head. ‘Can't wait, I'm hungry
now.'
He picked up her berry-stained hand and sucked gently at each finger in turn, murmuring satisfaction like a hungry child. ‘Are you game?' he asked. ‘To borrow Lord Byron's words, “You should have a softer pillow than my heart”.'

Isabel pulled her lips from his kiss long enough to say, ‘Byron also said, “All tragedies are finish'd by a death. All comedies are ended by a marriage.” So are
you
game?'

‘John Donne was right! “For God's sake hold your tongue, and let me love!”'

Before Isabel had time to retaliate in their duel of poets, in one fell swoop Marmaduke hoisted her over his shoulder and ran with her down the length of the house, while Isabel, struggled, yelled to be released and thumped his back with her fists.

She felt mortified at the sight of two giggling housemaids running after them, not to come to her aid but for their own amusement. ‘Put me down immediately, Marmaduke,' she hissed. ‘I did not consent to this!'

‘Too late,' he yelled back. ‘I'm out of control. You've driven me nuts.'

From her upside down view of the world she saw the black-and-white checked tiles of the entrance hall and, when Marmaduke paused at the foot of the stairs, she raised her head to see a tableau of amazed faces watching them. Garnet, Elise, Rhys and every house servant under the roof.

Garnet bellowed out, ‘What the hell do you think you're doing, Marmaduke?'

‘What does it look like, Garnet? I'm demanding my marital rights!'

Isabel called back to reassure him. ‘Don't worry, Garnet. We're just rehearsing a scene from
The Taming of the Shrew.'

Marmaduke took the stairs two at a time, pausing only to deliver a heavy thump on Isabel's backside.

‘'Owzat for realism, eh? Yell louder, Katherina, you're not convincing enough!'

Isabel's voice rose an octave. ‘Just you wait until we're alone! I'll give you realism. You Currency wife-beater!'

‘That doesn't sound like a line from Shakespeare!' Elise said petulantly.

Garnet was cheering the scene as enthusiastically as a member of a Colonial audience.

The final words Isabel heard bouncing off the walls of the vestibule were delivered by Garnet's booming voice as he watched their progress from the foot of the stairs.

‘I never thought I'd live to see this day. Marmaduke should kiss my boots. Isabel Gamble has brought light and laughter back into my house!'

As Marmaduke ran with her past Miranda's portrait he said politely, ‘Excuse us, Mother, I'll explain later.'

Isabel gave an uncertain smile as she watched Miranda's portrait diminish in size to a sliver at the far end of the gallery.
If God is willing I'll make Garnet's words come true. I'll do my damnedest to bring light and laughter back into this tragic house.

Marmaduke lowered Isabel to her feet with a theatrical flourish in front of the door to their chambers. His eyes, his face, the lines of his body and the inflections in his voice were subtly transformed. Another Marmaduke stood before her. She saw the uncertainty in his eyes as if this night would be different from all others. When Marmaduke entered the nursery that had become their private world, he would be an explorer in unfamiliar territory.

She broke the silence. ‘What's wrong? Is it locked?'

‘I never carried you over the threshold as a bride. That's bad luck, isn't it?'

‘It's not too late. I'm officially a bride for a year.'

‘So you are.' Marmaduke swept her up in his arms and, humming
The Wedding March,
he kicked open the door and carried her to the bed.

Isabel shed the bodice of her dress but hesitated and remained in her petticoat.

Lying on her belly on the bed, she bit her lip, unable to restrain
a giggle that sounded just like a nervous housemaids as Marmaduke struggled to remove a stubborn boot.

‘Shit! I can see why the Duchess of Marlborough wrote in her diary, “Last night my Lord returned from the wars and pleasured me twice with his boots on.” Sensible bloke, that Duke.'

Isabel watched him as he divested himself of his clothes with such deft grace it was almost as if the clothes were washed free from his body.

He's so beautiful he'd put ancient Greek athletes to shame.

But she tried to sound worldly to cover her confusion. ‘I can see you've had plenty of practice. Lesson one in the libertine's manual I expect? Always prepared for some irate husband to burst in, I imagine.'

Marmaduke looked almost wistful. ‘Must you always drag up my past follies? I've turned a new leaf. To prove I'm worthy to be the man you can trust to take care of you.'

Isabel felt the pulse on her temple jump at the joy of hearing those words, but she drew her knees up under her petticoat and cradled a pillow in her arms, needing to talk to forestall what was to come. She was now in the room alone with Adam, his body tanned lightly by the sun. No fig leaf. No bravado. Marmaduke stretched out across the foot of the bed and rested his head on the triangle of his bent arm. His body was relaxed but his hooded eyes watched her as if ready to spring.

Please God, don't let me be clumsy. Let the room be dark. Let me seem beautiful in his eyes
.
How can I win his heart?

She searched desperately for a question. ‘What do Masons do, exactly? Do they really have secret handshakes, wear funny clothes and make you swear never to tell your wife?'

Startled, Marmaduke's laugh was cut short by an intake of breath. ‘You know I've taken an oath. I can't tell you everything, soldier. Do you really need to know about Freemasonry
tonight
? I had other plans.'

Isabel nodded quickly – anything to postpone the moment.

‘Right. Well, in a nutshell, for years I rebelled against Garnet's pressure on me to follow in his footsteps. I made up my mind it was an absurd, antiquated tradition designed to suck up to royalty
and men in high places. I see now how wrong I was. My initiation really meant something to me. I can see why great men of many nationalities, like Mozart, Sir Joseph Banks, George Washington, the French tragedian Talma and other great minds past and present were drawn to it. And no doubt your father, too. The craft embodies the highest egalitarian principles – tolerance of all religions that practise the brotherhood of man. Open to all decent men, Catholics, Protestants, Hebrews and Emancipists like Sam Terry, Francis Greenway, Dr Bland. There's no stigma on them or on the sons of Emancipists. I'm proud to call fellow Masons my brothers. Just think, Isabel, it's the Masons here in this penal colony who've set a new example for Britain and the rest of the world to emulate.'

Isabel heard the excitement in his voice and she gazed at him with love.
Is this the same young man I considered rough and uncouth when first we met?
‘Thank you. I understand now. You must think me a fool asking questions at a time like this. It's laughable. Me! A fallen woman.'

Marmaduke moved with such swift, naked grace she was only belatedly aware he had tilted her face to meet his eyes. ‘Isabel! I forbid you to describe yourself as fallen. Unless one day you tell me that you have fallen in love.' He took a deep breath and added quickly, ‘Almost as deeply as I love you.'

Isabel felt her heart was ready to burst. She opened her mouth to speak those very words but Marmaduke trapped her lips in a kiss that banished her confession. She found herself trembling violently in fear that her memories of the terrible acts she had obliterated from her mind would flood back while she was in Marmaduke's arms.

‘Hush, my love, there's nothing to fear.'

Marmaduke gently drew her clothes from her body, smiling in discovery as he caressed and kissed each part of her. He tossed the last delicate item of silk underclothing over his shoulder and said lightly, ‘No more fig leaves between us, Eve.'

The candles flickered in some undetected current of air. A sliver of silver light stretched across the carpet through a gap in the curtains.

When he slipped his finger through the wedding ring that hung on the chain around her neck his eyes were serious.

‘The day we went through our Quaker wedding ritual, despite the beautiful words I had no intention of honouring the promises I made.'

‘Neither did I,' she agreed quickly, but knew that wasn't quite true.

‘But now I want to say things
my
way.' He placed her hand in his upturned palm and kissed her wedding ring. ‘Isabel Alizon, with this ring I thee wed. With my body I thee worship and with all my worldly goods I thee endow. And from this day forward, the past is dead – mine and thine. I shall forsake all other and keep myself only unto thee...' He studied her intently. ‘On one condition. Tell me you
want
me.'

Isabel felt the words on her tongue but she could not force herself to say them.

‘Perhaps not yet, eh?' Marmaduke gave a shrug of acceptance. ‘What is your pleasure, my love? Shall we blow out the candles and invite moonlight to watch over us?' He stroked her hair. ‘You're trembling. It's warm tonight but you're cold. Please tell me you're not afraid of me.'

‘Not of you.
For
you. I can't dismiss the power of that witch's curse that I will destroy everyone I love.'

Marmaduke shook his head in adamant denial. ‘That is an evil lie. Your cousin abused you as a child. Tried to bind you to him body and soul. The past is dead. I promise you, my love, tonight we will create wondrous new memories you will never
want
to forget.'

The room was lit by ribbon threads of moonlight that filtered through the shadows of the trees, bringing the delicate perfume of eucalyptus blossoms into the room.

Moonbeams transformed the nursery into a magical fairy bower worthy of
A Midsummer Night's Dream.
She lay cradled in Marmaduke's arms listening to the pattern of his breathing, careful not to wake him. She wanted to relive every moment of the hours of the journey that had, as promised led her to Paradise. She had followed him, growing in confidence and hunger as he fuelled her passion in a series of escalating peaks that left her almost satiated – yet crying out because she felt cheated and did not know why. This Marmaduke
was lover, master, friend. Unwilling to deny him she had followed wherever his imagination beckoned. She was conscious of the way he watched her, murmuring sounds of encouragement, guiding her hands to explore his body, gauging the right time to increase the heat that burnt her or to allow her respite, exhausted in the circle of his arms. Time and time again he granted her a brief reprieve before he rolled her above him, below him, astride him, enticing her onwards to the next, even higher peak.