The Hired Wife (23 page)

“You like my
voice?”

“There is no
voice I’d rather hear whispering words of love. If any be hovering
on the tip of your tongue do spill them into my eager ear.”

“You’re
incorrigible.”

“No, I’m
determined to win your heart, even if I do occasionally trip and
fall on my face. After this afternoon I’ll have to do something
special to stack the cards in my favour. If you think I’m going to
accept defeat you’ve been forewarned. For now I’ll savour the
knowledge you find me desirable and hope that in two months time my
nose will be free of handkerchiefs and I’ll be able to make you my
wife. Prop the book on my chest and rest your head near my ear and
read me some Donne.”

“Which one
would you like?”

“Choose a love
poem and read it with conviction so I can pretend the words come
from your heart.”

“I long to
talk with some old lover’s ghost,

Who died
before the god of love was born:

I cannot think
that he, that men loved most,

Sunk so low as
to love one which did scorn.

But since this
god produced a destiny,

And that
vice-nature, custom, lets it be,

I must love
her that loves not me…”

Marshall
groaned in horror, “No not that one!”

“Batter my heart…
”

“For pity sake
woman read the last few lines before you choose one!”

“Take mee to
you, imprison mee, for I

Except
you’enthrall mee, never shall be free.

Nor ever
chaste, except you ravish me.”

“Merciful
Heavens!” The words were tight as if they’d had to be squeeze from
Marshall’s throat. “I meant read it silently before taunting
me…”

“Perhaps I
should read one of Donne’s religious poems…”

“I need a love
poem; one without death or despair.”

“Stay, O
sweet, and do not rise!

The light that
shines comes from thy eyes;

The day breaks
not: it is my heart,

Because that
you and I must part…”

A deep growl
rumbled through the mattress. “Give me the book.” Marshall flipped
through the pages. “Read ‘Lover’s Infiniteness’.” He pushed the
open book back into her hands and sighed in resignation.

“If yet I have
not all thy love,

Dear, I shall
never have it all,

I cannot
breathe one other sigh, to move,

Nor can
entreat one other tear to fall.

And all my
treasure, which should purchase thee,

Sighs, tears,
and oaths, and letters I have spent,

Yet no more
can be due to me,

Than at the
bargain made was meant;

If then thy
gift of love were partial,

That some to
me, some should to others fall,

Dear, I shall
never have thee all.

Or if then
thou gavest me all,

All was but
all, which thou hadst then;

But if in thy
heart, since, there be or shall,

New love
created be, by other men,

Which have
their stocks entire, and can in tears,

In sighs, in
oaths, and letters outbid me,

This new love
may beget new fears,

For, this love
was not vowed by thee.

And yet it
was, thy gift being general,

The ground,
thy heart is mine, whatever shall

Grow there,
dear, I should have it all.

Yet I would
not have all yet,

He that hath
all can have no more,

And since my
love doth every day admit

New growth,
thou shoudst have new rewards in store;

Thou canst not
every day give me thy heart,

If thou canst
give it, then thou never gavest it;

Love’s riddles
are, that though thy heart depart,

It stays at
home, and thou with losing savest it:

But we will
have a way more liberal,

Than changing
hearts, to join them, so we shall

Be one, and
one another’s all”

“Would you like
me to read it again? Marshall?”

He scowled as
she gently tugged a clump of his hair, “Ouch! You’ve already
flattened my nose; must you tear out my hair?”

“I asked you if
you’d like me to read the poem again and you stared at the ceiling
with that look you give the footman when he asks you on rainy days
if you desire to use your umbrella. Is your face in much pain?
Shall I go find some laudanum?”

“No! Stay where
you are, Henry might try to hurt you. It makes me ill to think what
might have happened if the Smirkes hadn’t come to your rescue
yesterday and today you were right behind me and I still couldn’t
protect you. I should annul the marriage so you can marry someone
who’ll hear you cry for help, but I can’t. I won’t. I don’t want to
give you up.”

Mary rose up on
an elbow and looked him in the eyes, “And I should let you drown
yourself in melancholy; you’d forget you married me. I wouldn’t
have to decide to leave or stay because you’d be too busy wallowing
in self-pity to ask me to make up my mind. I’d eat as much as I
wanted and get big and fat and you wouldn’t notice because you’d be
saying to yourself, ‘Oh woe is me, I don’t deserve a wife.’ My life
would be spent consuming a mountain of jam tarts and gallons of
chocolate…”

“I’m not
wallowing in self-pity. I hate self-pity!”

“You sound
rather enamoured of the sentiment to me. If you don’t think you
deserve a wife perhaps you should annul me from your life and save
yourself two months of pointless waiting.”

“I never said
any such rot! Don’t be cruel; you’re making my nose ache.”

“Shall I read
you another love poem my Lord?”

“Wicked
mermaid; don’t think you can sing in my ear and numb my mind with
your honey voice. There will be no escape from my kisses if I win
your heart. Will I?”

“Perhaps.”

“Have you ever
noticed how the word perhaps has a positive ring to it?”

“No.”

“Wicked
mermaid, now you’ve dashed my hopes as well as my nose!”

“There’s no
reason to be hipped my Lord.”

“I have every
reason. In two months I’ll probably wake up one morning to find all
happiness has fled with my wife. The mere thought makes me feel
miserable.”

“Keep talking
like that and you’ll certainly wake up saddled with an ugly
wife.”

Marshall
snorted in contempt, “You’re not ugly.”

“If you say so
my Lord.”

“I do say so. I
like your face; it gives me pleasure when I see it.”

“And my
kisses?”

“If I had my
way Mrs Godfrey, you’d never share them with anyone but me and my
offspring.”

“I can’t
imagine any other man thinking my kisses were magical.”

Burning
sapphires singed her heart as she gently removed his cravat and
unbuttoned his shirt collar. “What are you doing?” Husky longing
crackled through his curiosity.

“I’m trying to
distract you from your hippish humour.”

“It’s working…”
Marshall forgot his aching nose and fears of eternal solitude as he
pulled his handkerchief from his nose and wrapped a possessive arm
around her waist. “I feel like I’m in a poem.”

“What kind of
poem?”

“I hope I’m in
a love poem.” Mesmerising sapphires drew her closer into his warmth
until her sigh of contentment was savoured by eager lips.

Moonlight
streamed in through half opened windows as the white lipped Marquis
of Morley dabbed his cuts and bruises with vinegar. The reflection
of Henry Fitzalan in his silk dressing gown was suddenly disturbed
by a healthy uninjured face. “If you must hover at my shoulder like
a starving whore wear a scent that doesn’t make me ill!”

His valet
obediently stepped away, “You gave me this scent for Christmas my
Lord.”

“I must have
been drunk, you stink. I want four bottles of sherry.”

“Lord
Buckingham is very particular about allowing…”

“Damn the
Bucktoothed bastard. Go get my wine!”

“Yes my
Lord…”

“And tell those
kitchen sluts I want a supper tray with something easy to chew and
swallow. My jaw…” Morley prodded his sore face and gently tested
his teeth. “Are you a manservant or a moving target? I want a glass
of wine in my hand in twenty minutes or I’ll hunt you down and
shoot you.”

“My Lord…” The
man disappeared at a run. Morley returned his attentions to the
unpleasant reflection in his toilet mirror. His aging handsome
features were blighted by a swollen eye, bruised jaw and painful
bluish handprints around his throat. Hissing curses through swollen
lips, Morley promised his reflection that the night would be long
enough for revenge. His pleasurable thoughts of killing Marshall
and making Mary his unwilling wife were interrupted by the return
of his servant. “Shall I decant a bottle my Lord?”

“Put them on my
commode and uncork all the bottles.” The four bottles clinked as
they were carefully set down. “In my medicinal cabinet is a small
green vial. Empty it into two of the bottles and set them
aside.”

“I thought the
laudanum was in the blue bottle.”

“I don’t pay
you to think. Do as you’re told.”

“Yes my Lord.”
With his back to his master, the valet rolled his eyes as he
uncorked the four bottles and then retrieved the green vial. If his
master was planning to drink himself into a stupor, it seemed more
sensible to even out the dosage of painkiller. His master had
clearly sustained an injury to his brain. The servant furtively
emptied the green vial into all four bottles in equal measures and
returned it empty to the cabinet.

“Put the corks
back into the two bottles with the tincture and pour me a glass of
wine. Are those kitchen sluts making a tray?”

“Bread pudding
my Lord.”

Morley sniffed
his sweet wine before downing the whole glass. “Poor me another…”
He gulped down a second glass and licked his lips. “Where’s my
bath?”

“They’re
boiling the water my Lord. It may take an hour; I understand Lady
Raynham is bathing after her evening ordeal.”

Morley’s eyes
swivelled towards his valet with feverish interest, “What
ordeal?”

“Apparently
Lord Raynham has finally deflowered his wife. What sort of fool
would wait a month to bed his wife? Though I can’t imagine anyone
wanting to bed that half-starved…”

“What?” The
angry roar caught the valet off guard. “How do you know?”

“Her chemise
and the bedclothes were covered in blood. She sent them to be
cleaned.”

“It could be
the curse!”

“The maid said
she heard Lord Raynham moaning for her in the next room…are you
unwell? Do you need another glass of wine?”

Convulsed with
rage, Lord Morley turned and threw his glass at the window; the
sound of shattering glass producing a similar sensation in his
brain. All prospects of imminent pleasure had been destroyed.
Having missed his chance to rob Mary of her maidenhead, he’d now
have to wait until after he was sure she wasn’t with Marshall’s
child before taking his turn. He wasn’t going to have a Godfrey
brat become the next Marquis of Morley. Turning around, Morley’s
bloodshot eyes refocused on the white faced valet. Smelling fear,
Morley’s bleeding lips parted into an evil grimace. “Come here
Man!” Slapped by the satanic words, the valet regained his senses
and fled for his life. Morley’s sore throat and swollen lips hissed
curses down the empty corridor. After watering down his rage with
another glass of wine he rang for a servant to deliver the two
poisoned bottles to Lady Alyce’s chamber. Morley sighed with relief
as the bottles were carried away. It was the perfect scheme.
Without any further effort on his part it would produce endless
hours of amusement. By the end of the next day with any luck Lady
Alyce and Robert Smirke would be found dead in a lover’s embrace.
Hopefully the poison would take affect while the young whelp had
his breeches around his ankles. It would make the tale so much more
delectable to recount.

To celebrate
his scheme Morley poured himself another glass of wine and sipped
it slowly as he imagined Lord Adderbury’s horror on learning that
his youngest son had been found dead naked in the arms of a young
lady of the ton. The beautiful saintly man would have apoplexy. The
thought made Morley smile with pleasure. Tomorrow there’d be one
less Smirke in the world; reason enough to celebrate. He poured
himself another glass and raised it to his grisly reflection in the
mirror over the mantel. “You may be bruised Henry Fitzalan, but
you’ll have the last laugh; you always do.” After another mouthful
of wine his head was feeling pleasantly fuzzy. With a steady hand
he emptied the first bottle and started on the second. The
devil-eyed Smirkes were all going to pay for the humiliations
suffered by his mother after she was rudely jilted at the eleventh
hour by the previous Lord Adderbury. When he’d finished with the
Smirkes, Buckingham was going beg for mercy and then die in an
unfortunate accident; something painful.

Morley’s heart
beat faster as his thoughts drifted back to Mary’s terror. He’d
never wanted a woman so badly. His numerous attempts to momentarily
relieve the hunger had done nothing, but make him want the plain
woman all the more. He growled in impotent fury. He had to possess
her, own her, feel her writhing in fear underneath him or he’d go
mad. It was almost unbelievable that Marshall Godfrey had broken
his resolve to wait; the beast was normally as predictable as
clockwork. It wasn’t like the stupid man to change midcourse, but
it didn’t matter. Marshall would soon be dead and the delicious
Mary Godfrey would be too frightened and pregnant to refuse the
honour of being the next Lady Morley. Thoughts of the slender woman
were making his heart rate quicken further. There was something
inexplicably pleasing about the plain woman. She had no beauty, yet
there was something about her that made her seem beautiful. She
looked like she’d stepped out of a Dutch masterpiece as if oil and
canvas couldn’t hold her. An unstudied grace in her movements made
the blood boil, but it was the fear in her eyes that made his knees
weak with longing. She knew he was evil; she’d fight him to the
death. There would be no marital boredom with Mary Godfrey as his
wife.