The Honorable Marksley (24 page)

She considered his words as she glanced out the window at the deepening darkness. The bare branches of
trees were stark against the sky.

“In each moment the moment past,” she agreed softly. At his silence she turned to meet his stare. His
expression was most peculiar. In the dim light, he
looked as though he were in pain.

“Richard,” she leaned towards him, “what is wrong?”

The carriage lurched, propelling her forward against
the squabs. She felt for a second as though her neck had
snapped from her shoulders. As she collected her wits,
she realized Marksley had grasped her arms and still
held her firmly.

“Are you injured?” he asked quickly.

When she shook her head, he released her to rap
sharply on the carriage roof. “Peters, whatever is the
matter?”

“Lamed, he is, my lord,” came the gruff reply from
the front. “Must be a stone. Pulled up right sudden”
The carriage rocked gently as Peters climbed down.

“Pardon me, my dear.” Marksley rose to follow the
driver to the ground. Hallie heard a few angry words,
then the murmur of conversation and the sound of
horses being released from their harnesses. Marksley
came back to look at her through the open door.

“Peters will ride back for another leader,” he told
her, “but I fear we will be delayed here for a little while.
We have the good fortune, however, of being only a few
steps from Haskell’s mill.”

Hallie, glancing quickly at her beautiful new gown,
hesitated to test it in the neglected building.

“The mill is … rather dusty, Richard-”

“No longer. After finding it in such a sorry state, I
ordered it cleaned and repaired. Come … help me
inspect it.”

He lifted her lightly from the carriage, then collected
one of the lanterns from the side of the door. Hallie
stepped carefully beside him. Her soft slippers had been
fashioned for ballrooms, not country walks. The path
was uneven, littered with small stones. But once they
reached the door to the mill she noticed immediately the
improvements Marksley had claimed. The floor had
been swept and scrubbed, shutters hung true on their
hinges, a glazier had carefully replaced every broken
pane. No sign of a cobweb was to be seen. Oddly, a fire
blazed at the front parlor’s wide stone hearth.

“You are as good as your word, my lord. You have set
the place to rights. You might almost host your elegant
soiree in such a spot.”

“How curious that you should think so” Marksley
moved closer to her and reached to light another lantern
on the table. “Most curious indeed. Because I intend to
do just that”

Until that moment, it had not occurred to her that
Haskell’s mill was not on the road to Penham. As she
looked her bewilderment, he smiled, but did not
explain.

“Puzzling, is it not?” he asked instead. “I seem to
have devilishly bad luck on this stretch of road”

“It is … simply coincidence.” Hallie found it difficult not to stare at him, he looked so very handsome in
the warm lamplight. And she recalled too vividly what
had almost happened at the mill.

“I believe you will find the place comfortable enough
now, my dear, which will suit my purposes admirably.
We have some weighty matters to discuss.”

“But your plans for the evening. We are expected-”

“I expect only one person, and he,” Marksley’s
glance moved beyond her to the front door, “is here.
Welcome, Henry Beecham,” he said with a smile. “Do
come meet my wife.” And Hallie wheeled to face the
entrance.

Even as she swayed, Marksley clasped her shoulders,
holding her loosely but securely from behind.

“Yes, Harriet Ashton Marksley.” The urgent words
tickled her cheek. “You of the dove-gray eyes and
capricious butterflies. This must end” His fingers tightened briefly before he released her.

Hallie turned slowly to face him. She could still
sense his touch, though he had no hold upon her.

“How long have you known?” she asked.

“Since your illness.”

“George Partridge told you?”

“George said nothing. I … read your journal” At
her gasp, he opened his palms to her. “An unforgivable
act, granted,” he said, “but I was beyond patience. You
must admit your own trespasses are considerable. And I would have my little revenge. It may gratify you to
know, though, how very empty it feels”

“There is no soiree,” she said slowly, reading his
gaze. “There are no guests from London” When
Marksley could not stop a small smile, she dared to feel
angry. “Why here?” She indicated the empty room.

“I have fond memories of the place.” He glanced
briefly at her lips, then leaned closer. “And you chose
to leave this matter so late. Here there will be no interruptions. No gypsy boys, no lepidopterists, no bullying
uncles, or insufferable Archies. No acts, I pray, of
God” He added softly, “My dear Beecham, your little
game is over.”

“‘Twas never a game, my lord. ‘Twas life for me.
And I never meant for it to continue this long.”

“You are not helpless, Hallie. You might have told
me at any time.”

“I did try”

“And what prevented you?”

Her lips rose. “Gypsy boys, insufferable Archies-”
But he was not smiling back at her. “I see I must tell
you the whole.”

“I would be most grateful” The comment was in the
nature of a plea.

She turned from his too-open gaze.

“I … have told you about my cousin, about Tolliver.
He was a dear brother to me, like a family in just the
one. Tolly had always enjoyed my `verses’ as he called
them; he wrote me from the Peninsula that he had even read some to his company. He claimed they were much
appreciated, but I thought little of it until after-until
after he died.

“Jeremy was with Tolly in France, and he sought me
out afterward to tell me … about how it had happened.
About those last days. I needed to know. He had heard
Tolly read from my letters. Jeremy witnessed my circumstances with uncle and he wanted to help. He
encouraged me to submit my poems to The Tantalus,
suggesting you would be pleased to publish them.
Jeremy said … you would consider only the quality of
the poems”

“Yes,” Marksley agreed, in such a tone that Hallie’s
attention shot to his face.

“‘Twas not Jeremy’s idea for me to assume the pen
name. He was a fair friend and argued that you would
not balk at publishing a woman”

“Bravo, Jeremy,” Marksley muttered. “Yet he honored your desire in the matter. I believe I shall have
much to say to him when next we meet. But do go on”

Hallie swallowed.

“Well … you know my uncle and Millicent. I feared
my uncle’s temper. I had no one else-my father died
when I was fourteen-and no resources. The small
legacy due to me will not be mine until next year. You
have not read all my journals, my lord. You cannot
know how difficult it was for me. The poems were
relief, yes, they gave me purpose, but ‘twas like speaking into a gale. Someone stronger, or perhaps with less
to say, might have remained quiet. But I-” She drew a breath. “Jeremy trusted you would publish, but I did not
know you, so I dared not trust you. It was too important
to me to have someone listen. I am still not certain that
you would have published a woman’s poems.”

“I have published a woman’s poems.”

“But you did not know she was a woman.”

“Unfortunately not” He smiled, which she found she
could not abide.

“Sir,” she said sharply, “you cannot lie to me”

“No, my dear, I am quite certain I cannot. Or not
nearly as well as you can lie to me” He knew that had
hurt her, because he turned away. “Still … I would like
to believe that I’d have found a way. If not perhaps in
The Tantalus, then in a separate-”

“Precisely, my lord. In something separate and quite,
quite apart. In one of the publications for ladies-those
that are scarcely read and so easily disdained even
before reading. If you deemed such sufficient, my lord,
why do you not pen The Tantalus for the ladies?”

“I might yet, my dear. Now that I know there is so
much talent to be had.” His glance was amused and
something else she could not identify. Could he have
been proud of her? As her confidence faltered she
glanced down. She was conscious of the absurdity of
debating in this abandoned mill in her wedding gown.

“There were clues,” she said, “signs by which you
might have known Henry Beecham was a woman”

“Ah, Hallie! Do you truly believe so?” He smiled.
“You say there were clues. You see them because you
provided them. But try to understand the position of your reader, poor deluded R.E. Marksley. He believes in other
clues. He might think he knows his author, that by some
experience or insight all is revealed to him. If the writer
is good, that is. And when the writer is exceptional-”
he stopped, and his gaze sought hers, “as you are, poor
Marksley hears himself as well. He says: this writer
thinks as I think, feels as I feel.” He cleared his throat.

“I know so little of women-” Catching the incredulity in her gaze he amended, “in that respect. How could
I have supposed you so different from myself? And
someone as young as you are. You are quite correct; I
would not have believed it. But that is the irony. I also
dared imagine, and imagination is often false to reality.
Knowing you now, having seen your journal, all of this
seems not only plausible, but right. Do you comprehend,
though, how impossible it would have been to deduce? I
should set you a challenge, my dear, and have you guess
at authorship. I think you would be surprised.”

“I did not intend to fool anyone.”

“Didn’t you?” His smile disputed the claim. “Such
elaborate efforts seem calculated to fool someone.
Permit me to say that you seem confused.”

Confused! The word was inadequate.

“Tell me, Hallie,” he pursued. “What could have
compelled you to find so drastic an undertaking as
marriage to a virtual stranger, to me, to be preferable to
discovery?”

She could hear the edge to his voice. She must have
him understand.

“I did try to leave before this eventuality … before our agreement became permanent. If you read my journal, you may have seen the letters?” He nodded. “The
Tantalus-you, Richard Marksley-had paid me a
goodly sum. But Jeremy arrived too late and now … I
find I cannot”

“No, you certainly cannot,” Marksley agreed shortly.
“I’ve been determined to have you speak with me
before absconding.”

“Absconding!”

“Was that not your plan?”

“I-hardly absconding!”

“Nevertheless” He shrugged. “Pray continue. I find
myself intrigued after so many months of correspondence. Correspondence that, by the way, I thought genuine, and that I found eminently satisfactory in its candor and confiding friendship.” He held her gaze. “You
might have trusted me, Hallie. Or entertained the
notion that the rest of us have feelings, though not perhaps as delicately discriminating as your own. Did you
not once consider revealing your true identity to me?”
he asked bitterly.

“I did,” Hallie said, clasping her hands nervously
before her. “And I did.”

Marksley looked more patient than amused.

“You must explain your riddle, my dear. I find my
stumbling mind struggles to your pace.”

“Reginald,” she said. “‘Tis why I confronted your
cousin. At the inn at Tewsbury. I heard his two companions speaking with him. He made some quip they
found witty and one of them clapped him on the back and claimed it was `truly worthy of R.E. Marksley.’ I
did not suspect them of sarcasm. As they were served,
I overheard them making a toast `to literature.’ Even
then I had no thought to be bold. But we passed in the
corridor and I … I addressed him as Mr. Marksley, and
told him I was a friend of Henry Beecham’s. The rest
you know”

“No, I do not know,” he countered darkly. “He took
advantage of you?”

“He pulled me into a side room, asked me how old
Beecham was getting on, called me smart and saucy
and … kissed me. Millicent found us before I could
break away. Then he claimed to be Marksley of The
Tantalus.”

Marksley observed her as her hand covered her lips.
“I have been apologizing for Reggie for many years,”
he told her. “It seems I must continue to do so even
after his death”

“I was foolish and forward. I have not wanted to
admit to you just how foolish I was.”

Marksley shook his head and moved as though he
would reach for her. But his arm fell away. “How can I
fault you,” he said softly, “for at last seeking me out? I
never thought I would be grateful for Miss Binkin,
Hallie, but, in all honesty, she may have spared you
much. Reginald was known for worse. We can hardly
dispute, though, that the result was as undesirable as
anything else that he ever contrived. If you had only
turned to me at once-” His glance held hers. “Perhaps
your caution was understandable. I have behaved con temptibly. You must lay my bad temper at the door of
jealousy.”