“So, what must we do?” Christina asked as Lady Newfield began to smile, clearly delighted with this news. “You say that we must meet with Mr. Markham and that, then, everything will become clear?”
Lord Harlow nodded. “I am certain of it,” he replied, speaking with such confidence that Christina had no other choice but to believe him. “You say that you went to speak to Lady Burroughs this afternoon?”
Lady Newfield laughed, her eyes sparkling as she looked from Christina to Lord Harlow. “You and I are in agreement, I think, Lord Harlow.” Lord Harlow looked towards her and began to chuckle, the sound making Christina begin to smile despite not fully understanding what they meant.
“I think you are correct, Lady Newfield,” Lord Harlow replied, looking towards Christina. “Lady Christina, after your meeting today with Lady Burroughs, and after what we witnessed between Mr. Markham and Lady Burroughs at the ball, I must tell you that I believe there is a deep and unbreakable affection between them.”
Christina took a moment before she replied, things beginning to twine together, to piece themselves one by one until, finally, she was able to understand completely what was being suggested.
“So you mean to suggest that, should we bring Lady Burroughs and Mr. Markham together and perhaps confront them—”
“In a gentle manner,” Lady Newfield interjected.
Christina laughed. “Indeed, in a gentle manner, great-aunt, then Mr. Markham will have no other choice but to speak the truth?”
“And confess to us,” Lord Harlow added, “that he is desperate to marry Lady Burroughs but has not been able to due to his father’s demands and his manipulations.”
Lady Newfield nodded. “And because she is without great wealth,” she said, gesturing to Christina. “Whereas you, my dear, will bring an excellent dowry, as well as increased status for the family name.” She smiled softly. “And, no doubt, Lord Fulham believes that he will be able to force your father into giving him—or Mr. Markham—more coin when he should need it.”
“Indeed,” Lord Harlow agreed, a little more solemnly. “He has blackmailed and manipulated your father once. There is no reason he would not attempt to do so again—most likely, using you as the leverage he requires to get what he wants.”
A cold shiver brushed across Christina’s skin. “So you blame this on Lord Fulham entirely,” she said, as Lord Harlow nodded. “Therefore, even if we persuade Mr. Markham and Lady Burroughs to speak the truth, to confess their connection, then what can be done?”
Something flickered in Lord Harlow’s eyes, and the corner of his mouth tipped up into a small smile. “I have another plan thereafter, Lady Christina,” he said gently. “But you must trust me. Let us take one step at a time.” His smile grew, and the tenderness in his eyes seemed to reach out and grasp her heart, pushing aside her worry and concern. “Do you think you can trust me enough to wait?”
The answer on her lips was immediate. “Of course I can,” she said quickly, as Lady Newfield reached forward to pour a little more tea. “Then let us plan what we must do to bring Lady Burroughs and Mr. Markham together. The sooner we can do this, the happier I shall be.”
“The happier we all shall be,” her great-aunt replied, looking happier than Christina had seen her in some time. “Now, Christina, should you care for more tea?”
Chapter Thirteen
It was an effort for Christina to remain just as she had been before with Mr. Markham, not when she now believed that he was not as he appeared.
“I do not intend to stay long, Lady Christina,” Mr. Markham said, sniffing and looking about him with evident disdain as though being in her company was not at all enjoyable. “It is not as though I am grateful for your eagerness to have my company.”
Christina stiffened despite herself, wanting to bite back a remark but forcing herself not to do so. Sitting down, she gestured for him to do the same, glancing towards Lady Newfield, who sat in the corner of the room as the chaperone.
“It is not too much, I hope,” she said as gently as she could. “After all, taking tea is something that we ought to do since we are soon to be wed. There should be time for us to converse, time for us to—”
“Might I ask what it is that you wish to speak of?” Mr. Markham asked, a little irritably. “It is better to come directly to such a conversation rather than to engage in dull and unhelpful remarks that mean very little before one finally comes to what one wishes to say.”
It was, Christina realized, a roundabout way of stating that he did not want to speak to her at great length. A practical desire to speak of whatever was on her mind so that he could then depart.
Clearing her throat, Christina smiled tightly at him. “I should like to know a little of what our wedding is to be like,” she said as Lady Newfield shifted in her chair, perhaps attempting to remind Mr. Markham that she was present. “After all, you have told me very little, except for the day we are to be wed and where it shall take place.” She lifted her chin a notch. “I have asked you for permission to invite some of my closer acquaintances, and you have not, as yet, confirmed whether such invitations will be given to me.”
Mr. Markham shifted in his chair and opened his mouth to answer, only to be halted by the arrival of the maid with the tray of refreshments. Tutting under his breath at her evident sluggishness, he waited until she had left the room before speaking.
“There is no need for such invitations, Lady Christina,” he told her firmly. “The wedding will be a quiet one. Only those who are required will be present.”
Christina shook her head. “I am not contented with such a thing.”
“And yet, that is how it shall be,” he said in a commanding tone. “The most important details have been well accounted for and dealt with. There is nothing for you to do other than ensure you are prepared for our wedding day.”
A flare of irritation ran through Christina’s frame, but she stopped herself from saying a single word. Instead, she looked at Lady Newfield and noted the small flick of her eyebrow, which then turned into a frown. It was much easier to believe that Mr. Markham was wearing this outward appearance as a façade when she was being told of it, but much more difficult when he was directly in front of her and speaking to her in such an uncivilized and rude manner.
“If that is all that you wanted to speak of,” Mr. Markham said, abruptly rising from his chair, “then I think that I shall—”
“Do sit down, Mr. Markham.”
Lady Newfield’s voice was commanding, filling the room with her authority, and making Mr. Markham startle in surprise.
“You have come to take tea with your betrothed; there is no reason for you to hurry away like a frightened animal,” Lady Newfield continued, the words she chose to describe Mr. Markham making a cloud settle over his brow. “You have only been here for a few minutes!”
Christina held her breath, looking from Lady Newfield to Mr. Markham and wondering whether or not such a remark would have the desired effect. All was silent, tension flooding all around them—until, finally, Mr. Markham sat down.
“I thank you,” Lady Newfield said, briskly. “Now, Christina. A little more tea?”
Christina accepted quickly, wondering what they were now to say to continue a conversation that would keep Mr. Markham from leaving the room again. Both she and Lady Newfield were now eagerly awaiting the arrival of Lord Harlow and Lady Burroughs—although which one would attend the house first, Christina could not say.
“It has been a very fine few days, has it not?” Lady Newfield began, a sense of contentment in her voice as though she knew she had achieved a victory with Mr. Markham. “I do hope you will enjoy such fine weather on the day of your marriage. It is never a good sign, I think, when there is rain.”
This rambling monologue continued for some minutes, leaving Christina to sit nervously, waiting desperately for the door to open, for someone—either of the expected guests—to be announced by the butler. If Lady Burroughs did not appear, the
n there would be a good deal of wasted time and effort, which would then only have to be repeated for a second time.
And then, she heard a scratch at the door.
“Yes?” she called, her voice a little higher than usual. “Come in.”
The butler stepped in at once. “My lady, Lord Harlow.”
Knowing that the butler had been instructed to show any further guests into the room immediately, Christina rose at once, leaving Lady Newfield to join her whilst Mr. Markham frowned hard but remained in his seat.
“Good afternoon, Lord Harlow,” she said as he came into the room. Watching him closely, she saw his eyes flash across the room, taking in who was present and who was not.
“Good afternoon, Lady Christina, Lady Newfield.” He bowed and then looked at Mr. Markham. “And Mr. Markham, good afternoon.”
Mr. Markham did not rise but merely arched one eyebrow in Lord Harlow’s direction. “Good afternoon, Lord Harlow. I did not expect you to be calling on Lady Christina this afternoon.”
Lord Harlow chuckled and came to sit down, choosing the seat directly between Mr. Markham and the door. “I know it is unexpected for you, Mr. Markham, but I can assure you that I was quite certain you would be here this afternoon.”
Mr. Markham’s frown grew. “What can you mean?”
Smiling, Lord Harlow shrugged. “I think that, in a few minutes, Mr. Markham, all will become quite clear.”
Silence fell for a few moments, and Christina swallowed hard, quite certain that Mr. Markham would rise and remove himself from the room in an instant—only for a scratch at the door to come again.
Everyone rose, save for Mr. Markham. Lady Newfield moved forward quickly, so that she might encourage Lady Burroughs into the room should she be a little unwilling to remain.
“Lady Burroughs, my lady,” the butler murmured before quickly standing aside to allow the lady entry.
Christina spoke words of greeting as Lady Burroughs entered the room, glancing at Mr. Markham for a moment. He had gone stock still, his hands gripping the arms of the chair and his eyes fixed to Lady Burroughs. There was a pale sheen to his cheeks that had not been there before, and his whole body seemed to be rigid with a tension. As Christina smiled at Lady Burroughs, she saw that she also had gone a pale shade and that her eyes were now fixed to Mr. Markham.
“Please, sit down,” Lady Newfield said firmly. “Tea?” She glanced down at the tray and then shook her head. “In fact, I shall send for another tray since we are now so many.”
Mr. Markham rose abruptly. “There is no need,” he said as Lord Harlow got to his feet also. “I shall take my leave.” He turned and inclined his head quickly towards Christina, but she shook her head and took a step towards him.
“You will not leave, Mr. Markham,” she said with more confidence in her voice than she felt within. “There are matters that must be discussed, and you must inform us of what you know.”
For a long moment, Mr. Markham said nothing, his eyes narrowing and his jaw tight. And then, he snorted with evident disdain, turned on his heel, and made to march from the room, only to be prevented by Lord Harlow.
“Please, Mr. Markham,” Lord Harlow said, putting his hand out directly in front of Mr. Markham. “Wait. There is more here at stake than you know.”
Lady Burroughs sat wide-eyed in her chair, looking from Lord Harlow to Christina and back again. “I do not understand what is happening,” she said softly. “Is this meant to be some kind of trick?”
Lady Newfield shook her head. “No, my dear Lady Burroughs. There is no deception here, save for the one that you and Mr. Markham have been playing with us.” The words were gentle and yet filled with meaning. Lady Burroughs startled visibly before turning her head sharply towards Mr. Markham, who was, by now, looking directly at Christina.
“What is the meaning of this, Christina?” he demanded, his eyes filled with anger. “How dare you try to manipulate me in this manner?”
Christina drew in a long breath and tightened her fists in order to steel herself. Now was the time for courage, for bravery. She had to speak the truth and tell him so without hesitation.
“I fear that you are the one being manipulated, Mr. Markham,” she said, the whole room falling into silence as she spoke. “Is that not so?” Rising to her feet, her skirts swishing gently, she took a few steps closer to her betrothed. “I know you do not want to marry me but are doing so simply because your father is forcing your hand. I am aware of the difficulties he has placed on you—and yes, you may blame Lord Harlow for my knowledge of this, for he has told me all.”
Mr. Markham’s jaw set, and for a moment, Christina feared he would swing at Lord Harlow, only for Lady Burroughs to let out a strangled sob, pulling everyone’s attention towards her.
“And we are aware that, should you be free to make your own choice, Mr. Markham,” Lady Newfield continued, her eyes kind, “you would seek to marry Lady Burroughs. Is that not so?”
Silence wrapped around them all as Mr. Markham stared furiously at Lady Newfield whilst Lady Burroughs lifted her hands to her mouth and pressed her fingers there as though trying to hold back the words that she knew would reveal the truth. Christina looked towards Lord Harlow and saw his gentle smile and the way that his eyes lifted to hers. Even in this most difficult of moments, even when there was a cloud of tension circling around them all, Christina knew that he felt confident of their victory.
“It does not matter,” Mr. Markham grated eventually. “The marriage will go ahead.”
Again, a sob came from Lady Burroughs, and she dropped her head—but not before Christina had seen a sheen of tears in her eyes. Her heart began to ache for the lady, knowing all too well the feelings of grief and sorrow that came with being kept from the gentleman you wished desperately to marry.
“But why should you do so?” Lord Harlow asked, his tone rather curious. “Should you continue on as your father demands, then you will not only break your own heart, but the hearts of three others present here today.”
Mr. Markham frowned, glancing at Lord Harlow. “I do not know what you mean.”
Lord Harlow’s expression gentled as he looked at Christina, holding out one hand to her. Christina hurried towards him and took it at once, aware of the astonishment on Mr. Markham’s face as he saw their joined hands.
“I love Lady Christina with all of my heart,” Lord Harlow said, his words capturing her full attention and making her gasp with delight. “I do not want to allow you to wed her, Markham, not when I know that I can make her happier than you ever could.”
Christina looked up at Lord Harlow, sighed, and smiled up into his eyes. “And I long to be Lady Harlow,” she said honestly. “I cannot abide the idea of wedding you, Mr. Markham—and,” she continued, turning her head to look at him, “I think that you dislike the idea of marriage to me also, given you have a great affection for Lady Burroughs.”
Mr. Markham shook his head, running one hand across his forehead. The arrogance and conceit seemed to be pushed from him in an instant, crumpling before her eyes. Christina could not take her eyes from him, astonished at the change in his demeanor. Lord Harlow had been quite right to state that Mr. Markham had been wearing a mask, for now, sitting down heavily in a chair with a dulled expression on his face, was the true Mr. Markham.
“I shall not ask how you have come about this knowledge,” Mr. Markham said, his voice low and heavy with frustration. “But I shall say that it is of no use. I may have the greatest of affection for Lady Burroughs, but I cannot wed her. My father has not permitted me to do so. When I first mentioned the lady, I was told, without hesitation, that she would not do. There was not enough wealth to make my father contented—and now that I know the extent of the debts he had placed upon my shoulders, I too can understand that there is no wisdom in the match.”
“Even though you care deeply for her?” Christina asked as Mr. Markham lifted his eyes to hers. “Is money all that concerns you?”
Mr. Mar
kham shook his head. “You cannot understand,” he said without any trace of spite or malice in his voice. “I would not be able to provide Lady Burroughs with anything other than debts, poverty, and shame. Not by my own hand, Lady Christina, but by the selfishness of my father.” His eyes ran towards Lady Burroughs, who, whilst not sobbing brokenly, was shedding silent tears that ran unabated down her cheeks.
“That is why I understand that the match made by my father—albeit through cruel and manipulative means—must go ahead.” One shoulder lifted in a half-shrug. “There is no other way for the Fulham title to remain restored.”
Christina’s heart began to sink, and she looked up at Lord Harlow in desperation. Were they to have Mr. Markham’s confession only for things to remain precisely as they were?
“That does not seem to be particularly fair, Mr. Markham,” Lady Newfield said quietly, “and I can assure you that it will not bring you happiness either.” Opening his mouth, Mr. Markham made to say something, only for Lady Newfield to hold up one hand, silently asking him to allow her to finish. After a moment, Mr. Markham closed his mouth and sat back again, his arms folded across his chest and his eyes a little hooded.
“It will be an unhappy marriage, Mr. Markham,” Lady Newfield continued quietly. “You will leave not only yourself and Lady Christina with sorrow seared into their hearts, but also Lady Burroughs and Lord Harlow.” She tilted her head. “Do you consider wealth and coin to be of a greater importance than that of your own heart? Of greater importance than Lady Burroughs’ heart?”
Christina held her breath as she saw Mr. Markham’s gaze slide, almost unwillingly, towards Lady Burroughs. His eyes closed tightly, his jaw working furiously and his forehead lined with pain as he saw the red eyes and the white face of the lady he cared for. Her own heart swelling with compassion, Christina leaned a little more into Lord Harlow, feeling as though they were coming ever closer to a precipice to which they might fall into and find no way to escape. Was this her last few moments with Lord Harlow? Would they never be able to grasp the happiness that seemed, at this very moment, only a little out of reach?
Betrayal and Lies: Convenient Arrangements (Book 4) Page 13