The Honorable Marksley (11 page)

“A heavenly paradise is that place, and so on and so
on,” he finished rudely. “Yes, yes, Campion had a certain panache, but now, don’t you know, that business
about ripe beauty isn’t at all the thing.”

Augusta Lawes’s stricken gaze sought Richard’s.
“Oh dear, Richard, is that truly the case? I have always
thought it so lovely.”

“It is unquestionably lovely, ma’am,” Richard
assured her. He intended then to direct his attention
across the table to Archie Cavendish, but his gaze
sought his betrothed. How was he to interpret that look
in her eyes? She had no reason to appear as wounded as
Augusta Lawes, nor as outraged as he himself felt, yet
somehow she managed both.

“Perhaps, Mr. Cavendish,” he said to the offender,
“you might set an example for the rest of us and carry
on? We are loath to try your patience much longer.”

The young fool beamed. “Why, of course. I shall be
delighted. Ladies and gentlemen, my own selection.” He drew breath, holding it as though preparing to dive,
then launched:

As Archie gazed triumphantly around the group, several guests looked down uncomfortably. Others turned
toward Richard, though this was a burden he would
rather not assume. His teeth had been so tightly
clenched that he had difficulty speaking.

“I have not come across this before, Mr. Cavendish.”

“It is my own, sir,” he boasted. “As yet unpublished.”

Richard wondered if the unbridled pup expected him
to offer for it. He could not help his troubled frown, or
his silence.

“It is most … moving, Archie,” Augusta Lawes said
at last, with greater courtesy than Cavendish had shown
to her.

“I think it’s terrible,” Phoebe said bluntly, her nose in
the air. “A dead, cold child! How awful!”

“It is meant to be awful,” Archie protested.

“Well, I think you were awful for writing it.”

“You have no knowledge of great poetry! Why,
you’re barely out of the schoolroom!”

“Children,” Squire Lawes said mildly, “this squabbling is affecting the digestion. Perhaps we had best
stop-”

“Oh no, Papa!” Phoebe cried. “‘Tis my turn! And I
do know fine poetry” She defiantly tossed her curls as
she flounced in her seat and leaned close to Richard.
“‘Come live with me and be my love,’” she began,
with a speed and determination that jarred,

“That’s sleepy mountain,” Archie corrected loudly.

But Phoebe chose not to hear him. As the girl ogled
him, Richard inched away. Phoebe’s pert rendering had
robbed the lines of any subtlety, of even the faintest
hint of invitation. He would never have believed
Marlowe could so repel him.

“Lovely, my dear,” Augusta Lawes said. “Richard,
what do you have for us?” She intended to be kind. But
at that moment Richard wanted only for the torturous
game to end. And he blamed his discomfort-he
blamed the fact that he was here at all-on Hallie
Ashton. He stared accusingly across at her.

“‘Married in haste, we may repent at leisure.”’

Her cheeks flushed. Was she embarrassed? Good.
The whole evening had been an embarrassment.

“Good heavens, Richard, you cannot mean it,”
Augusta Lawes laughed. “But you are a sly one, are you
not? Do not tease us now. You must give us something
else. Here is Miss Ashton hoping to hear more romantical stuff.”

Romantical? Surely not, with those pale, clenched
fists. Miss Ashton looked as though she would have
much preferred something martial. Only the eager
Phoebe, who was once again pressing her arm against
his own, wanted something “romantical.” He was in the
mood to disoblige her.

” `If thou be’st borne to strange sights,’ ” he began
slowly, pleased by the recognition in Hallie Ashton’s
gaze-

He read the silent, angry message from his intended.
Then Phoebe Lawes leaned close to whisper, “Caroline Chalmers truly did break your heart, did she not,
Richard?”

His withering glance at least sent the peagoose back
to her seat.

“I protest, Richard, these sentiments are not at all the
thing,” Augusta Lawes lightly tapped him on the arm.
“Not at all the thing for an affianced gentleman. You are
much too hard, and I fear I shall never forgive you” But
her smile robbed the threat of any sting. “Now, Mr.
Ashton, perhaps you have some words for us?”

Harriet’s uncle muttered something much like a
“harrumph!” Richard expected the old goat to refuse to
participate, but Ashton surprised him with a firm and
forceful:

He earned applause from the table and the smallest
of smiles from Hallie. Richard was gratified to know
Alfred Ashton could feel affection for his country, if
not for his niece.

“Well done, sir,” his host acknowledged. “And now
perhaps-Eleanor?”

Mrs. Mayhew demurred. “I cannot hope to contribute anything near as grand as the rest of the company,” she said.

“My dear Eleanor,” Augusta Lawes advised. “This is
not a competition. You simply must say something, for I know you have a memory for such things so much
better than my own.”

Mrs. Mayhew smiled sweetly. “Well then, this is
from Mr. Coleridge, and I think it rather special:

She stopped, and modestly covered her lips with one
hand.

“Oh, Mrs. Mayhew,” Phoebe enthused. “That is so
beautiful. Do you not think so, Richard?”

“I do,” Richard said with a smile. “And Mr.
Coleridge would no doubt thank you for saying so”

“Too fantastical for my taste,” Archie Cavendish
claimed irreverently. “Everyone knows Coleridge is not
quite to rights in his head. Opium eater too, as they
say.”

Richard looked at him with such severity that the
pretentious popinjay actually gaped.

“Perhaps we should draw this to a close then, shall
we?” Squire Lawes offered quickly. “We have only to
hear from you, Miss Ashton-saving the best for last,”
he smiled. “You have been observing all of us so quietly. I understand all the young ladies are entranced with
Lord Byron. Perhaps you recall some of his verses?”

“I do admire Lord Byron, sir,” Hallie said, “but if you do not object, I should like to respond to Mister
Marksley’s selection.”

“Respond?” The Squire looked amused. “That would
be a good bit of work. Had no idea that could be done
with this. By all means, m’dear.”

Richard watched Hallie Ashton’s face, aware of his
own expectant tension. What the deuce was the girl up
to? Her gaze was steady. It surprised him that he enjoyed
the sensation of holding her interest, however defiant.

“‘But true love,” she began softly,

She could not have been more direct-an ideal of
love to counter his own cynical choice. But Richard still
had to wonder what she meant by it. Was she in love
with Reggie after all? He raised his glass to her.

“I commend you, my dear,” he said. “We shall be a
family of Elizabethans.” It was not what he wanted to
say to her; he wanted to tell her she was too clever by
half. And he was thinking that she was certainly much
too subtle for vain cousin Reggie to comprehend.

“I admire that greatly, Miss Ashton,” Archie
Cavendish announced. “About another pilgrimage, but
unlike Mr. Marksley’s Donne, with a faith in love at its
close. And your Ralegh addresses whether the head and heart are one. `True love is a durable fire, in the mind
ever burning,”’ he repeated. “Splendid!”