The Hourglass

by Barbara Metzger

  She stepped back, out of his embrace, embarrassed at the scene she had enacted for him, a total stranger, and a toplofty one at that. “But you have not contributed to my problems. They are not yours to resolve.”

  “Ah, but knights always rescue maidens in distress.”

  “Not in this day and age. Further, I am no maiden, and you are no knight-errant.”

  “Are you sure? I do have a quest. No matter, I aim to be worthy.”

  “Of…?”

  He ignored her question. “Besides, I admire you. Few ladies would soil their hands as you did, despite your distress and your delicate condition. Few enough men could help as much. You deserve a cavalier, Mrs. Macklin, Genie. There’s magic in your name, you know.”

  “I cannot grant any wishes, not even my own.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Time will tell. Meanwhile, I shall make everything right.”

  She accepted the handkerchief he offered her, and blew her nose, not a very ladylike gesture, but a necessary one. Then she smiled again. “I thank you, and admire your confidence in return, but even you cannot move mountains. I fear my good name is hopelessly destroyed. No one will take me in or hire me. No decent man would accept my child, and no decent woman would permit me near hers. My family has betrayed me. I fear my situation is hopeless.”

  But at least five soldiers still breathed due solely to his skill. Heaven alone knew what he could manage with an earl’s influence and money.

  —

  They were both right.

  His gold rescued her belongings and secured better accommodations and purchased her a black gown. His title and haughty manner landed her an appointment with the general’s aide to show her papers. She would be accorded whatever provisions the War Office made for its widows, and transport home.

  Nothing could sway the wives, however. They were busy in the aftermath of the bloody battle, but so were their tongues. They had been deceived, and they were not going to be forgiving. Miss Macklin might be Mrs. Macklin, but now she had taken up with an unknown, unholy earl, with her husband, if such he was, barely cold.

  Lady Willeford turned her back on Genie outside the general’s office. Her husband sneered when he saw the earl at her side. Then he had to skip to the side when the black bird swooped down and snatched at the gold tassel on the major’s right boot.

  Willeford tried to kick the flying thief and ended up stumbling against his wife, who shrieked and slapped at him while the crow plucked at the boot.

  “Tassels remind it of the whips in Hell,” Ardeth muttered softly while the major and his wife gathered themselves.

  Furious, Lady Willeford addressed Genie: “And Hell is where you shall find yourself, Miss Macklin. Or Mrs. Macklin. Or whatever you call yourself. I call you strumpet. You and your new protector shall never be welcomed among decent people. You are a disgrace.”

  Genie had not recovered from the hours spent in the hospital, or the shock of finding herself a widow, or of being befriended by an earl. She swayed on her feet.

  “Do not dare to swoon,” Ardeth ordered, his arm holding her steady. “You are not going to faint. You are going to show that she-witch the backbone I saw last night. Show her, for your self-respect and your future. And your son’s future.”

  Genie closed her eyes for a moment, then raised her chin, absorbing his strength and his support. She showed more than her backbone; she showed her redhead’s temper. “You dare call me names, madam, but you were not ministering to the men your husband abandoned on the field. You were here drinking tea. You stayed on at the parties when the brave young soldiers were marching into battle. You do not seek to understand my plight, only condemn it. So your opinion does not mean this much.” She snapped her fingers. “Because you do not matter.” Then she did what the major’s wife had done before. She turned her back, giving Lady Willeford the cut direct.

  Then that lady shrieked. “Spider!”

  “Spider?” What manner of insult was that? Genie wondered, but the woman was batting at the air, slapping at her clothes. Ardeth was smiling.

  “Did you…?” Genie tried to ask.

  He merely took her arm and led her farther away, saying, “Brava!” as they left the headquarters.

  Genie was glad for his support; she was trembling so violently in reaction. “Brave but foolhardy. I am still scourged by scandal. Forgive me, but your assistance, however appreciated, only adds to my ruination. Everyone knows that there is nothing a highborn gentleman such as you could want with a poor widow of uncertain past. Nothing proper, at any rate.”

  Ardeth stroked his chin. “A wedding would be proper.”

  Genie stopped walking. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Your reputation would be restored if you married me.”

  “May I faint now?”

  Chapter 3

  “No, you shall not faint. I have seen you under fire. You are strong.”

  Strong? Genie did not think her legs would hold her up. Her brains and her body alike were turned to blancmange. As if he understood, Lord Ardeth led her to a bench outside headquarters. She sank down, because she could not run. If she could not faint, perhaps she should just throw herself under a passing cart. Here she was, alone in a foreign city, and her only… friend was this tall stranger of commanding presence and unknown past. He was handsome, for certain, in a dark, brooding, serious way, far unlike Elgin with his fair boyish looks and ready laugh. Lord Ardeth appeared to be older, perhaps thirty, or perhaps forty with his weary eyes, or twenty with his smooth skin. He was a puzzle, one Genie had no interest in solving. He had shown her nothing but kindness, yet she still feared him. With just cause, it seemed, for the earl had to be a madman.

  “I must have misunderstood, my lord.”

  “No, you heard correctly. I am proposing marriage. Awkwardly, obviously, but marriage all the same.” He was pacing in front of the bench in long, athletic strides. The crow took up a perch on a nearby railing, his head cocked to one side as if the creature was as confused as Genie.

  “I realize that a maiden wishes to be wooed, but we have no time for ballads and bouquets.”

  Ballads and bouquets? Maidens? He definitely had been out of England too long, Genie decided, unless he had been locked in his family’s attics, where no one could see their demented disgrace.

  “It is the best solution,” Lord Ardeth continued. “No one shuns a countess.”

  Genie was no longer worried about being ostracized by polite society. Now she feared for her very life. Thank goodness enough officers and soldiers were entering and exiting the building that she did not have to consider herself alone with a lunatic. The men were looking at them with curiosity, but surely one would come to her aid if she cried out. “Forgive me, my lord, but you do not even know me.”

  “Nor you me.” Lord Ardeth waved one long hand in the air in dismissal. He had never met his first wife until the day of the wedding. “That does not matter.”

  He was worse than crazy. Wed a total stranger after a day or two of acquaintance? How could he think that a marriage could succeed that way? Genie had had a hard enough time accommodating herself to Elgin’s quirks, and she had known him nearly her entire life. She firmly believed that women should know what they were getting when they gave their hands and their lives into some man’s keeping. She stood up, hoping her feet were ready to carry her away. She would worry about her future later. “Thank you for the, ah, honor, my lord. But I am afraid—”

  “Do not be. I would not hurt you. No one else would, were you my wife. Think on it, lady. What other choices have you? You said your family will not take you in, nor your dead husband’s relatives. Would you seek a position, in your condition? No one would hire you, were you able to keep working. Or do you believe the British government will pay you a pension? Ha! My wife would still be waiting for six hun—”

  “You have a wife?”

  “If I had a wife, I meant. She would be long dead before the government thought to look after her. You a
nd the babe would starve waiting for official promises to turn to gold.”

  He was right and Genie knew it. Still, marriage? She shook her head.

  Ardeth watched the sunlight flicker through the reddish curls that were not hidden by her black bonnet. “Do not say no. Sit. Hear me out.”

  Against her better judgment, Genie sat again, clutching her reticule as if the paltry contents could bash in the earl’s skull if he turned dangerous.

  “I am rich,” he began as if his apparel, to say nothing of the funds he had already expended on her behalf, did not proclaim his wealth and his generosity. “And I am titled. It means naught to me except that I will have entree to all levels of society. As my wife you will be welcomed also.”

  If not welcomed, his countess would be tolerated, Genie knew, for such was the power of an earldom and money.

  “I do not know if I can make your son heir to the earldom. Too many people will know the circumstances of your previous marriage and the dates.”

  “I might have a daughter,” Genie put in, for the sake of argument in this absurd conversation.

  “No, your child is a son.”

  Both the crow and Genie shook their heads. The irrational man believed he could read the stars, or whatever addled, impossible notion it was that made him so confident.

  He was going on, as if there were nothing unusual about predicting births or proposing marriage to lost widows. “Someone would be sure to contest such an effort, although I believe he is legally my son if I am married to his mother at the time of his birth and I acknowledge him as mine. I will have to look into the law. Either way, he can bear my name with whatever authority it carries. I shall settle a goodly sum on him, and on you, of course. You would be left a wealthy widow this time, and soon.”

  “Soon?” The attics-to-let earl was not consulting any crystal ball, but again he sounded certain. She had seen him lifting the wounded soldiers, staying awake for hours with little sustenance or rest, yet she felt a pang at the thought of his weakness. “Have you a wasting disease, then?”

  “Yes. That is, no.”

  The crow gave a loud squawk. The earl glared at him, on the railing. “No, I am not ailing, but my time is measured, in all-too-short hours and weeks.” Reminded that his time was flying, he ordered the crow to fly, too, to keep looking.

  Which did not reassure Genie in the least of his soundness, his mental soundness, anyway. “Um, how old are you?”

  “In years or experience?” He turned and stared at her with his dark eyes, willing her to understand, knowing she could not. Now Ardeth was the one to shake his head. “I was one and thirty when I passed on—that is, when I passed my last birthday. It is enough that I am ancient in wisdom and I know marriage is the right thing for both of us.”

  “For both of us? I do not see how you can benefit.”

  “For one thing, I would gain the honor of a deed well-done, if only in my eyes. I could not leave a damsel unprotected, you see. That would be forsaking my vows.”

  “Are you a holy man, then?” That might explain his steadfast beliefs, Genie decided, and his selfless helping of the wounded soldiers when no other gentleman of his rank would attend to them. “I did not think such religious orders permitted marriage, though.”

  “I belong to neither cult nor congregation, yet my vows are no less sacred and binding.”

  “To whom? You made me no promises.”

  “To myself, like an oath of chivalry.”

  “Chivalry belongs in storybooks, with knights and white chargers.”

  “Black.”

  “Black?”

  “I always preferred black horses.”

  Now the conversation had gone totally beyond Genie’s control or comprehension. She stood again. “I will be all right. I have passage back to England—you heard the captain—and I shall find a solution on my own. You have been more than kind and have fulfilled any possible onus laid upon you by your, ah, code of honor.”

  He crossed his arms over his broad chest, an unmoving iron statue except for his black cape billowing behind him and a lock of dark hair lifting off his forehead. “No. Marriage is the only way of providing for your future.”

  Genie clucked her tongue. “Nonsense. You could simply ask me to become your mistress.” She would not accept, of course, but such arrangements were made all the time, wherever there were needy women and wealthy men with other needs. She prayed that her situation never became that desperate.

  His expression grew darker and sterner, if possible. “You insult both of us, and the memory of your husband. He wed you out of honor.”

  “Elgin Macklin wed me because my father threatened to shoot him.”

  “You will not become any man’s whore! I shall not permit it.”

  Genie almost expected to be burned by the fire in his voice and the sparks in his eyes, like lightning that appeared in the sudden clouds on this clear day. She would not show how much his anger frightened her, though, so she raised her chin. “You are not my keeper, my lord. No one made you responsible for me or my morals. You might have consulted higher powers for your oath, but you did not consult me.”

  “Forget my vows. Common decency dictates that a gentleman look after those in need. Marriage is how I can accomplish that most expeditiously.”

  Genie did not care to be the object of his misplaced noblesse oblige. Expeditiously, indeed! “Common decency also dictates a year of mourning. If you speak of insults, Elgin’s memory—and all of society—will be affronted if I wed without a proper mourning period.” That should end the ridiculous conversation, Genie decided, if he cared about propriety.

  “I cannot wait a year. Neither can your son.”

  “Daughter.” The man might be an earl, but Genie was growing weary of Ardeth’s arrogant manner.

  He raised one black eyebrow and quirked his lip in what might have been a smile. “You would not wish your child to face all the gossip and scorn of society.”

  “I do not wish it for myself, either, but it is bound to happen, and to you, too, if you continue with this mad scheme. You would be tarred with the same brush of scandal.”

  Now he did smile. “Believe me, I have been painted with far worse.”

  “You do not understand. With my history, I shall never be considered fit for polite society.”

  “You are far more fit than I, Mrs. Macklin, yet I am not afraid to face your ton.”

  “I am not afraid.”

  They both knew she was lying.

  “Then stop making your feeble excuses,” he said. “If you are concerned about the physical side of marriage, I swear I shall not importune you with unwanted intimacy.”

  Quick color flooded Genie’s fair complexion. She was so bemused by his lordship’s outrageous offer, she had not even considered all the ramifications. Sharing a stranger’s fortune and title was one thing; sharing his bed was another. Good grief, was she even considering such a preposterous proposal? The man was not in his right mind. She could not take advantage of his nobility, no matter how tempting. He’d saved countless lives in the field hospital, but she was not one of his forlorn hopes, even if everyone else had given up on her.

  “My lord—”

  “Ardeth,” he countered. “Or Coryn, if we are to wed.”

  “My lord,” she persisted. “You have been in the thick of battle and its aftermath. You cannot be thinking clearly. No gentleman of sense would make such an offer, and no lady of honor would accept.”

  “Are you implying that I am—what did that sergeant say?—cork-brained?”

  Well, she was, but Genie was too polite to say so. “Of course not, only that you must be too exhausted to have given the matter your full attention. Aside from easing your conscience, for whatever personal reasons you might have, there is absolutely no benefit to you in such an alliance with an impoverished widow of blemished reputation, bearing another man’s child. As a wealthy peer, you can seek a bride from the highest echelons of society, one with a rich dow
ry, an untarnished name, and great beauty. Why would you do anything else?”

  He studied the gathering clouds, as if waiting for the crow to come back, or a divine answer to her question. Finally he turned to her again. “I have enough money, and I care not for the petty posturing of your so-called quality. Beauty fades, although yours is the kind that lasts and grows more attractive with time.”

  Genie blushed again, that he thought she was pretty. Elgin had considered her red-tinged hair too gingery and garish, her figure too slim, her nose too short. Then again, he had loved her sister, a rounded blond goddess of a girl.

  Ardeth was still looking at her, as if he could see through her black gown, through her protests. “A woman’s spirit, her heart, and her soul are what matters. I have seen yours, and you are a true lady. Helping you will help me atone for past sins, verily. You ask what other benefit I will reap. In return I ask your assistance.”

  Genie laughed, but without humor, trying to encompass his strength, his confidence, the very aura of power that surrounded him. The passing soldiers gave him wide berth and downcast eyes; the officers nodded respectfully, from a distance. Women simply stared, licking their lips like dogs at a butcher shop. This man could need nothing from anyone, and she said so.

  “Nay, I do need aid in returning to your world. That is, to England. I do not know all of its ways.”

  She recalled that he’d told Major Lord Willeford of his family’s living abroad. That might explain some of his odd turns of speech and manners. “You will learn quickly enough from the gentlemen at the coffeehouses and men’s clubs.”

  “Pompous prigs and wastrels cannot help me find something I have lost. You can.”

  “Here, in Brussels?” Genie was prepared to search every square inch, in return for what he had already given her.

  “I hope not. If so, I must leave it behind, for my affairs require me to get to England. My investments, my estate and inheritance, all need my presence, to say nothing of the College of Arms, confirming my succession to the earldom.”

  Genie was confused, a not-unusual state when dealing with Lord Ardeth. “But if you leave, how will you find your, ah, missing treasure?”