The Honorable Marksley (15 page)

She took a step closer to him. “I am sorry that this
has happened, my lord. I am sorry that my … my
actions have led to your distress.”

“Distress?” He raised an eyebrow as he watched her
face, so close to his own. “I am not in distress, Miss
Hallie. I am too numb”

“I suspect that is the brandy talking, my lord”

“And now you are already sounding like a wife.”

She looked as though he had slapped her. Then she
wheeled to flee the room. As he watched her retreating
figure, he had the bittersweet satisfaction of knowing
that he had at last offended her.

“The devil,” he muttered, and contemplated the fire.

She had come too close, seen too much. Reggie had
made his youth a misery, his antics had threatened to
plague Richard into his dotage, yet he would never
have wished his cousin dead. He was long past envy of
Geneve’s excessive affection for her own. No, what he
felt was sadness at the waste of a life, and the abrupt
end of promise.

But it was also true that a heavy dose of self-pity was
affecting him. He was not at all certain he would be able
to maintain his dedication to The Tantalus, at least not to
the former degree. He was fond of his work-his little
hobby, as Geneve termed it. And a nagging mystery, the
unresolved business with Henry Beecham, was vastly
troubling. He had to accept that he might never meet that
particular gentleman. Beecham might have to find anoth er sponsor. And Richard would be left with a lingering
dissatisfaction, the result of an unfulfilled quest. What
had she termed it? Expectation never gratified. Indeed.

There was something else he had scarcely dared
admit: that beyond his stated purpose in forwarding the
wedding, something had taken root in him that was
curiously possessive, something he was not at all certain he liked and that certainly was not comfortable or
soothing. He had felt it at the mill, he felt it now-a
fierce determination to wed Hallie Ashton, as a means
to remove her from her despot of an uncle, and to erase
any memory of Reggie.

Staring at the flames he resolved to direct his steps to
London immediately after the funeral. He had much to
arrange. And it was best to leave her.

Reginald Falsworth Marksley’s funeral took place
three days later in the village church he had not visited
for years. The mourners accompanied his remains to the
Penham plot, listened dutifully to Vicar Mayhew’s service, and subsequently stayed to offer their condolences
to the family. The Earl of Penham did not attend his own
son’s funeral, being himself bedridden and, some said,
too sickly to recognize fully the enormity of his loss.

Hallie had carefully avoided Richard Marksley’s
company after their interview in the drawing room, and
he, in any event, was busy helping his aunt prepare for
the funeral. The day after its observance he had departed, as scheduled, for London. Hallie could only assume
he was planning their nuptials. Certainly no one else, not her uncle, not the Countess, not Miss Binkin nor Hallie
herself, had given any thought to the demands of another
ceremony. The new Viscount Langsford would handle all
the niceties. This wedding was in all ways, she thought, a
travesty-a painful mingling of tragedy and burlesque.

The skies did not clear. Hallie spent most of her time
in the library, where she could escape her uncle and
Millicent. The Countess retired for much of each day to
her own rooms where, one could only assume, she
wept. Alfred Ashton ventured out every morning to
shoot at any living creature that dared show itself on the
Earl’s estate. At meals, conversation was absent or
desultory. After dinner, Hallie played the pianoforte in
the parlor, though the effort was for her ears alone.

In such relative solitude she was again able to read
and to write in her journal. She applied herself once
more to that persistently teasing notion of a poem, the
birth of which promised to ease an unaccountable anxiety. She occasionally watched the front drive from the
library windows for any sign of a messenger or of
Jeremy’s return. The sooner she heard that Jeremy had
successfully located George Partridge, the better.

She moved away from the window and once again
took a seat by the library fire. The servants at Penham,
now familiar with her habits, prepared the blaze early
each morning. Only Miss Binkin dared interrupt the
quiet, but she never stayed long, claiming as she did
that the library was too dark and drafty for her joints.
Hallie did not find the room chilly, though she knew
that her reception of her cousin was markedly so.

If only he would come!

She meant Marksley, not Jeremy, and with the realization, she frowned.

She had wanted to meet Marksley, to have him know
her. The letters had not been enough. It had been natural
to want to meet the man. But having met him, it had perhaps not been entirely natural to want more. She remembered how he had helped her from the carriage at the
mill, the momentary shock and thrill of being clasped to
him, the certainty that he had been so very close to kissing her. Indeed, his gaze alone had kissed her.

When the butler knocked on the library door and
entered with a letter on a tray, Hallie glanced at him
guiltily, aware of her improper thoughts. For a confused second she anticipated something for Beecham
from Marksley. But the note was from Jeremy:

Dearest Hallie,

You must be wondering what has become of me.
The bird has proved difficult to flush; perhaps I am
not as skilled a hunter as you require. I have seen
enough of the country now, from Worcester to
Wilts., to sustain me for many seasons. Never
again doubt my dedication to your cause.

My search has brought me full circle. I have
tracked the wandering partridge to a region neighboring your own, whence it should be that much
easier to reach you once I am successful. Let us
hope you understand me, that you maintain your
good spirits, and that friend Richard has shown you all due respect and honor. I have every intention of seeing you shortly, certainly before your
anticipated nuptials.

I remain as ever, yours in friendship,

Jeremy Asquith

Hallie read the message several times. It was dated
only that morning. Jeremy might well return by the
weekend. And she would have to be ready to leave-to
catch a mail coach to Portsmouth and purchase passage.

She folded the note, then tucked it into her journal.
Perhaps she could ride to Denhurst, there to hire a
chaise to the nearest posting inn. Even her uncle might
be relied upon to supply her, unknowingly, with information as to means. At this late stage, he would never
suspect where her inquiries tended.

Yet even as she adhered to her plans, Hallie knew she
had little will to realize them. She had thought she
could not impose herself on a man who did not love
her, on a man so beholden to honor. But surely there
were worse situations.

Hoskins interrupted her reverie once more to inform
her that Mrs. Lawes and her daughter had come to call.
As the countess was indisposed, he asked whether Miss
Ashton would care to receive them.

Hallie agreed, rallying to her obligation. Mrs. Lawes
had been kind and Phoebe could be endured. She
joined them in the drawing room, where Augusta
Lawes’s cheery greeting met her at the door.

“Miss Ashton, how delightful to see you again!
Whatever have you been doing with yourself in all this
dreadful weather?”

“I have been biding my time in the library, ma’am,”
Hallie said with a smile.

Phoebe raised her pert little nose.

“How dull you must find it!” She sniffed, moving to
a side table to examine a miniature portrait of Reginald
Marksley.

“It is in truth quite stimulating, Miss Lawes. There is
a fine volume of Marlowe.” That drew Phoebe’s startled attention, but Hallie merely smiled again and
moved to the sofa. “It is most kind of you to call,” she
said, letting Augusta Lawes take the seat beside her.
“These have been unhappy times here at Penham. But I
did enjoy your dinner last week. What news have you
of your other guests? I understand Mr. Cavendish has
gone up to Oxford?”

“Oh yes. Dear Archie. The Mayhews sorely miss the
lad, I assure you. Though lately he has tended to be a
bit listless and out-of-sorts. Eleanor Mayhew even
feared he might have a brain disorder. But Michael
assured her such was not the case.”

“I am … glad to hear it.”

“That was a moving service Michael Mayhew gave
for Lord Reginald, did you not think so, Miss Ashton?”

“Yes indeed.”

“Did you ever meet Richard’s cousin, Miss Ashton?”
Phoebe asked. She had abandoned the portrait, and now fingered a porcelain figurine on a side table. “He was
most handsome. But apart from that, he and Richard
were not at all alike.”

“I … never had the pleasure of meeting the Viscount
Langsford,” Hallie lied.

“But now you plan to marry the Viscount Langsford,”
Phoebe suggested slyly. “How long must you postpone
the wedding?”

“We do not intend to postpone it,” Hallie said. “In
fact, Mr.-Lord Langsford is most determined that we
not change our plans.”

Phoebe’s eyebrows rose as Mrs. Lawes exclaimed,
“My dear, how surprising! Surely the family are all in
mourning?”

“I believe the Countess does indeed find the situation
difficult. But the Viscount believes it for the best.”

“Well, of course, it is his choice.” Augusta affirmed.
“And he is a most sensible young man.”

“Oh, certainly,” Phoebe added. “I understand the
gentlemen are often eager to marry or feel a certain …
necessity.” Her mother pursed her lips, but Phoebe
ignored her. “Will you marry in Denhurst?”

“I believe so,” Hallie said. “Once the Viscount
returns from London. Possibly as soon as next week.”

Phoebe at once looked dejected. Perhaps she had not
anticipated that her needling would elicit information
that was quite so unpalatable. But you may have him
after all, Hallie assured her silently, wondering why the
thought made her feel so wretched.

“We shall certainly wish you both the best,” Augusta Lawes said with a pointed look at her daughter, “won’t
we Phoebe? And I know Squire Lawes would join me
in saying so”

“You are too kind, ma’am. And how is Squire
Lawes?”

“Tolerable, my dear, tolerable. But having these gypsies wander into the county has caused him a great deal
of bother. Have you not heard?” she asked, meeting
Hallie’s inquiring gaze.

“No. They have camped near Denhurst?”

Augusta Lawes nodded. “No more than a few miles
out, which is as good as traipsing into town! We all
know what gypsies mean”

“It is exciting!” Phoebe gushed. “The men are all so
dark and romantic, and the women dance and tell fortunes. I do wish the weather would clear. We could
make a picnic out by the gypsy caravans and have our
fortunes told.”

Augusta Lawes clucked. “And have your purses
stolen! No, Phoebe, you should not wish for such a
thing.”

Hallie turned to Augusta. “What is it that concerns
your husband, ma’am?”

“He serves as magistrate, as you know, my dear. It
was his duty to warn the troupe not to cause trouble.
Three years ago there was a kidnapping.”

“A kidnapping!” Phoebe exclaimed. “Mama! I never
heard!”

“Little Arthur Wells, my dear. The twins’ playmate
from Budgely Academy. But he was found to have vis ited a young friend, and not to have been with the gypsies at all.”

“And yet, ma’am,” Hallie said. “You believe the gypsies were responsible?”

“How could they not be? For he never would have
wondered off had he not been enticed by example.
Those roving gypsy ways! Arthur was always a most
dutiful little boy”

Hallie refrained from comment. “How likely are the
gypsies to stay, Mrs. Lawes?” she asked instead.

“Not long, my dear, if the Squire has his way.
Though they will want to have their circuses or whatever before departing.”

“I should dearly love to see the circus,” Phoebe said,
with a toss of her plump curls. “I believe I shall go even
if Papa forbids it.”

Her mother looked at her in exasperation. “I do not
understand you, Phoebe. There is nothing at all mysterious about these people. They live a poor, coarse, and
unsettled life. Prophecies and fortunes! You must not
disobey your father.”

“But Mama, you were just reading Guy Mannering
the other night!”

Augusta Lawes turned bright pink, at which even
brave Phoebe seemed to realize she had overstepped.

“I have been most eager for company,” Hallie volunteered quickly. “I have been able to walk out for only
the briefest periods in all this rain.”

“And what a shame that is,” August Lawes agreed. “‘Tis fine countryside. As fine as anywhere. Though I
will always cherish a special fondness for my own
native Yorkshire.”

There followed a polite, unfocused discussion of the
relative merits and delights of several counties, only
interrupted when Hoskins opened the door and
announced “the Viscount Langsford” When Richard
Marksley strode through to them, Hallie rose as though
compelled.

“Ladies,” he said. It was all he said. But with the
smile and look that followed, Hallie felt he had told her
a great deal more.

“Oh, Richard!” Phoebe flew to stand close to him.
“Was London dreadfully exciting?”

“At least in part, Miss Lawes,” he told her with an
indulgent quirk to his lips. “Mostly dreadful.”

Phoebe made a protesting moue and would have
questioned him further, but her mother had apparently
noticed what Hallie had as well-that despite his smile
Richard Marksley looked tired.

“Phoebe, we must not keep Lord Langsford. You
forget he has been traveling.” Augusta Lawes smiled as
she rose from the sofa. “You have been most gracious,
my dear. We wish you both the very best. My lord, Miss
Ashton tells us you intend to wed shortly.”