Mary and the Marquis

by Janice Preston

‘And you would rather stomach being his wife?’

  ‘No! That is not what—’

  ‘I heard you, Mary.’ He took her by the shoulders. How could he convey his anguish? He felt his fingers dig into her and abruptly he put her from him. He would not risk hurting her, not physically. But he had his words and he lashed out. ‘You were bargaining with him, like the strumpet you swore you were not. I thought you different, but I was wrong. You have betrayed me, just like her! You have no concept of the truth and I am all kinds of a fool for allowing myself to be taken in by your lies.’

  He spun round and strode to the window to gaze unseeingly at the view. ‘Go! Take your belongings and your children and leave this house. I don’t want to see you ever again.’

  ‘Lucas, no!’

  He heard her move, sensed her approach. Felt her hand, hesitant, on his arm. He shrugged her off.

  ‘Did I not make myself clear? You are no longer welcome in my house.’

  ‘But...Lucas...last night...’

  How long had they been planning this? Had she known, last night when she came to him? Every muscle locked tight as he fought the urge to grab her...shake her...kiss her...beg her...

  ‘Go,’ he roared. ‘Now!’

  ‘Please. Let me explain. I did not know...I knew him before...’

  He did not want to hear any more. That she had known him in the past—somehow, it made it worse. It made her choice even harder to stomach. She must know what manner of man she dealt with. He could no longer bear to be near her. He strode for the door, knocking her aside in his haste.

  In the hall, Trant hovered. ‘Brandy, Trant. Now. In my study. And Mrs Vale is leaving. This afternoon.’ He slammed the study door behind him and sank into his chair, burying his head in his hands.

  * * *

  Mary could not move. Lucas’s words echoed as the door slammed. How could he ever believe she would go with Quartly? How could he even think...after last night...? She wrapped her arms around her waist, shivering, until the sound of Trant going into his master’s study roused her.

  What should she do? What could she do? Wait and hope Lucas would calm down and listen to her? But if she stayed, against his wishes, and Quartly came back? No, she could not risk staying.

  Where to go? Her father... The shock of Quartly’s revelation still reverberated through her. Remarried? Where did that leave her? And Toby? And Emily? Tears scalded her eyes. She shook her head.

  She must move; do something; take action.

  She rushed from the room, almost cannoning into Trant in her haste. She mumbled an apology as she slipped past him, then ran up the stairs, seeking the sanctuary of her room.

  One step at a time. She would gather their belongings. Then find the children. Then...?

  Her thoughts slammed into the stone wall of her dilemma. They could not remain, not with Lucas so very furious. Why did he still not trust her? What had he overheard? He must have heard her trying to pacify Quartly, in order to escape him. He had accused her of betrayal.

  ‘Just like her,’ he had said.

  Like Julia?

  In her room, she leant back against the door, her breath hitching. She dug her nails into her palms to keep the tears at bay, but to no avail. An avalanche of grief swept over her and, before she knew it, she was face down on the bed, sobbing her heart out.

  * * *

  Some time later, a hand on her shoulder brought her back to reality. How long had she lain there? She was exhausted: her mind fuzzy, her body drained, her throat raw and her face hot and wet with tears. She lifted her head, to peer into the kindly, worried features of Mrs Lindley.

  ‘Oh, Lindy,’ she gasped. She sat up and felt the cook’s arms go around her as a fresh bout of tears overwhelmed her.

  ‘There, there, my dear.’

  Mrs Lindley rocked Mary until she was all cried out. Then listened as she stuttered her story, telling her about her father and Quartly, and what Lucas had overheard.

  ‘I have nowhere to go, Lindy. If it was only me, I could manage, but the children are so young. None of this is their fault. And if my own father will not help me, what can I do?’

  ‘Come now, ma’am, don’t you despair. We’ll come up with some plan between us. We must, for the sake of those dear sweet bairns of yours. Maybe you can hide in the Hall? It is certainly big enough.’

  Mary sat up, scrubbing at her face with her hands. She felt grubby and unkempt. Without a word, Mrs Lindley went to the washstand, tipped water into the basin and wet Mary’s washcloth. Walking back to the bed, she came to an abrupt halt, her eyes on Mary’s neck.

  ‘What happened?’ Her round face wrinkled with concern. ‘Not his lordship, surely?’

  Mary touched her neck, wincing. ‘No, of course not. It was Sir Gerald. He is a brute. And that is why I cannot remain here. If he were to find me...’ Her voice rose, hysteria close to the surface.

  ‘He’ll not find you, ma’am, not while I’ve got breath in my body.’ Mrs Lindley fell silent, tapping her finger against her teeth. Then she grinned. ‘I’ve an idea.’

  Mary gazed at her, a seed of hope taking root.

  ‘The Dower House.’

  ‘But...’

  ‘It’s perfect. It’s far enough away from the Hall that his lordship won’t notice anything amiss and it’s set well back from the lane, so there’ll be no curious neighbours to wonder who’s there when her ladyship’s still away.’ She fixed Mary with a knowing look. ‘We have to keep you somewhere close, ’til his lordship comes to his senses.’

  Mary stilled, the sound of her heartbeat ringing in her ears. ‘What do you mean, Lindy?’

  ‘Why, surely you won’t deny what the rest of us have known this past week or more?’

  The mattress sank as Mrs Lindley lowered her bulk on to the bed and began to wipe Mary’s face with the washcloth.

  ‘You were made for each other,’ she said gruffly. ‘Any fool can see it.’

  ‘I had hoped...’ Mary whispered, barely believing she was confessing even this much to the cook, ‘but, now...oh, Lindy, you should have seen the way he looked at me. It was as though he could not bear the sight of me!’

  ‘He’ll find the truth. He’s no fool, his lordship.’

  Mary was wise enough to conceal her silent hmmph from Mrs Lindley. Lucas might be no fool, but he could be stubborn and blind, and impetuous, and...and...irresistible and loving and adorable. She wished she could share the cook’s faith, but the vivid memory of his rage and pain did not allow her to believe. She forced her mind to more practical matters.

  ‘What about the others? Will any of them betray us? Trant?’

  ‘Trant won’t know, not from my lips; although, to be fair to the man, it was him that sent me to you this afternoon. We can trust Ellen, mind you. I’ll send her over there this afternoon to ready the house.’

  Mrs Lindley grinned, rubbing her hands together. Mary suspected she would enjoy playing the conspirator.

  ‘But for how long, Lindy? We cannot stay there for ever.’

  ‘I don’t know, ma’am, but we’ll think of something. The most important thing is to keep you and the bairns safe for tonight.’

  The children! Mary sat up with a jolt. What had she been thinking, wallowing in self-pity whilst her children were heaven knew where? She must find them, make sure they were safe. What if Quartly came back? He wouldn’t hesitate to use her children to coerce her. Or what if Lucas came across them? In his current mood, how might he react? She recalled the bite of his fingers into her arms, how he had immediately slackened his grasp. No, he would not hurt the children, she knew. But she must find them and leave.

  The sooner the better.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ‘Emily!’

  Lifting his head from the intense scrutiny of the surface of his desk, Lucas listened.

  There it was again. Frantic.

  ‘Emily!’

  What the...? Couldn’t a man get any peace in his own house? Cursing, he shoved h
is chair back and stood up, swaying as the half-bottle of brandy he had drunk made itself felt. He steadied himself against the desk for a moment, breathing deeply, then headed for the door.

  He was fine. Not drunk at all. Just betrayed.

  Her perfidy ripped at his heart, fuelling his wrath. He flung open his study door, opened his mouth to bellow at them all to keep quiet, but the sound of running footsteps above stayed him. He listened. Something was wrong. He thrust his anger aside. He ran up the stairs, two at a time. At the top, Susan, her face drawn with worry, hurried from a bedchamber on the right.

  ‘Susan? What is it?’

  ‘The little girl, m’lord. Emily. She’s missing.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir. We’ve been searching this past hour.’

  Trant emerged from a different bedchamber, shaking his head.

  ‘Where is Toby? Does he not know where his sister is?’

  ‘No. He’s with Mrs Lindley in the kitchen.’ Mary had materialised beside him: eyes swollen and red; face pale; hair awry. He longed to take her in his arms, comfort her. He huffed a silent, bitter laugh at his pathetic weakness. She was a strumpet. She deserved no pity. The children, though. They had done nothing wrong. Their mother’s character was not their fault. He pictured Emily’s face and his heart lurched with fear. She was so young, so vulnerable.

  ‘What happened? How can a two-year-old be missing? Was no one watching her?’

  ‘I...’ Her voice shook. He watched her take a steadying breath before she spoke again. ‘I was packing our belongings. The children were playing in the old nursery. When I went to find them, Emily was gone. They were playing hide-and-seek and Emily went to hide from Toby and we can’t...we can’t...’ A sob escaped her lips.

  Susan patted Mary’s shoulder. ‘There, ma’am. We’ll find her. She can’t have gone far. She can’t open the outside doors. She must be in the house somewhere.’

  ‘What if...what if Sir Gerald has taken her?’

  ‘Why on earth would Quartly need to take her? You will all be with him soon enough,’ Lucas said bitterly.

  ‘Don’t worry about that, ma’am. I saw Sir Gerald off the premises myself,’ Trant said, with an accusatory glance at Lucas. Such insolence! ‘Emily was not with him.’

  ‘Thank goodness,’ Mary said.

  ‘Where have you searched?’ Lucas asked.

  ‘Everywhere, my lord,’ Trant replied. ‘This is our second search. She’s nowhere to be found. We must continue on this floor, as we intended. We must follow a system, or we risk rushing around in a disorganised panic.’

  ‘Where is Ellen?’

  ‘No one seems to know, sir,’ Trant said.

  ‘Well, there is your answer. Emily is off somewhere with Ellen.’

  ‘No!’

  He looked at Mary in surprise but she evaded his gaze. ‘I beg your pardon, I did not mean to snap. I understand Ellen has gone on an errand. She wouldn’t take Emily without telling anyone. You are right, Trant, we should continue our search of this floor.’

  Lucas watched as the servants and Mary hurried down the landing and vanished through various doors.

  Where might a child hide? He frowned, thinking back to his own childhood and the games he and his brother had played—the sprawling old house a veritable playground when the weather had kept them indoors.

  Why would Emily not come out when she heard people calling her? Mayhap because she was scared and—the answer came to him in a flash—because she was somewhere she should not be. Where was it he and Hugo had dared each other to go—the place they were not allowed and where they had quaked with terror lest he discover them? The answer was their father’s rooms. And where might be Emily’s equivalent of that forbidden place? Lucas spun on his heel and ran for his own bedchamber.

  At the door, he turned the handle quietly and opened the door, peering around the edge. No sign of Emily. He slipped through the door and closed it again.

  ‘It’s all right, Emily. You can come out. No one is cross with you.’ He kept his voice quiet and calm.

  There was no response. Could he be wrong? He bent down and pulled the eiderdown up to peer under the bed. There was no one there. He looked around. The obvious hiding place was his wardrobe. He strode across, pulled open the door and was rewarded with a squeak of terror. A scared face stared up at him from the depths, eyes huge and fearful, brimming with tears.

  He bent down and lifted her hot little body. ‘Hush, now, sweeting. It’s all right.’

  Emily whimpered, but wrapped her arms trustingly around his neck and buried her face against his shoulder. His arms tightened around her, cuddling her close, his heart melting.

  ‘Why did you not come when you heard your mama calling, Emily? She is very worried about you.’

  Emily clung tighter, trembling. Lucas carried her to the door and opened it.

  ‘Bad door.’

  He pulled his head back and looked down at her. She was staring up at him. Her thumb stole into her mouth.

  ‘What do you mean: bad door?’

  She ducked her head against his shoulder again and mumbled around her thumb. Lucas popped one finger beneath her chin and raised it.

  ‘Tell me again, Emily. Which door was bad?’

  She looked back over his shoulder, pointing to the wardrobe with her free hand, and Lucas understood. When he had looked in the wardrobe, the door had been latched shut. Somehow, Emily had gone inside and the door had closed behind her, trapping her.

  ‘It was a bad door, indeed,’ Lucas said. ‘You must promise me not to hide in cupboards again. We were all very worried about you.’

  His gut clenched as he said the words. He would never know if she did such a thing again. She would be gone from his life. His arms tightened involuntarily, hugging Emily’s warm body closer. They would all be gone. They would go to live with Quartly and he would have to think of his Mary...

  He gritted his teeth.

  Don’t think about it. Don’t look back.

  He strode along the landing. The sooner he returned Emily to her mother, the sooner they would be gone from his life and he could get back to normal. He refused to examine what that normality might be.

  Standing at the head of the stairs, Susan saw him coming. She shrieked in delight.

  ‘Emily! Oh, you’re safe!’ She raised her voice in a shout. ‘Mrs Vale! Mrs Vale! Come quickly.’

  Running footsteps heralded the arrival of Mary, who snatched Emily from Lucas. His gut clenched anew as he watched her hugging her daughter, who was now sobbing her eyes out in earnest.

  ‘Where did you find her?’ Mary asked.

  ‘In my bedchamber, hiding in the wardrobe.’

  ‘Your bedchamber? But Trant looked in there, I am sure he did.’

  ‘I did. Twice.’ Trant had arrived, beaming when he saw Emily was safe.

  ‘Ah, but you didn’t reckon on young Emily not daring to get caught in there. You did not look hard enough. And as the wardrobe door had latched shut, she was trapped in there.’

  ‘Well, thank goodness she’s safe,’ Trant said. ‘Come along, young Susan, we must go and tell Mrs Lindley and Toby the good news.’

  Susan’s eyes swivelled between Lucas and Mary. ‘Shall we take Emily with us, ma’am?’

  ‘Yes, please, Susan. I shall be down shortly.’

  They started down the stairs, leaving Lucas and Mary facing each other. She lifted shining eyes to his.

  ‘Thank you, Lucas. I’m so grateful. I...’

  Her thanks tailed away as Lucas stiffened. He did not need a mirror to know his expression was forbidding.

  ‘Nothing has changed. I want you gone.’

  He turned on his heel. There was half a bottle of brandy waiting for him in his study.

  ‘Not tonight!’

  He halted. ‘I beg your pardon?’ He turned back slowly.

  Mary stood ramrod-straight in front of him, hands fisted by her side. ‘It is late. It is near dark. I wi
ll not subject my children to a long journey when they should be in bed asleep.’

  ‘Quartly only lives on the other side of the village. It is not very far. Hooper will drive you.’

  Something like contempt flickered in her eyes, stabbing at his heart. Every muscle in his face ached with the effort of maintaining his expression.

  ‘You will not even know we are here.’

  Yes, I will. How could I not know you are here, under my roof, when every bone in my body remembers you and aches for you?

  ‘We will leave at first light. You can remain in your bedchamber tomorrow, until Trant informs you we have gone, if it pleases you, but we will not leave tonight. Unless you intend to evict us with your own hands?’

  He yearned to do precisely that. But if he touched her now, if he felt her silken skin beneath his hands, how could he not take her in his arms? Try everything within his power to win her back from Quartly?

  He banished his weak, foolish longings. ‘I will leave word for Hooper to take you wherever you wish to go in the morning.’

  Now he desperately needed that brandy. He sauntered towards the stairs in a show of indifference, despite every nerve he possessed screaming at him to run.

  He could not bear her to suspect his heart had splintered into a million pieces.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Mary’s bedchamber door flew open with a crash. Terrified, she sat bolt upright in her bed.

  ‘What is it? What is wrong?’ she gasped, before realising the figure framed in the open doorway, illuminated by a single flickering candle flame, was Lucas.

  Sleep had eluded her since she had sought her bed at an earlier hour than usual. Her thoughts had chased round and round. Fear over what the future might hold for her and the children warred in her heart with the raw grief of unrequited love. Despite Mrs Lindley’s assurances that Lucas would realise the truth once he had calmed down, Mary could not believe it. Mrs Lindley had not seen him or heard the things he said. But she was also angry he could believe her capable of behaving in such a despicable way, particularly after the night before.

  Lucas clutched at the door frame with one hand as the other lifted the candlestick. Mary’s heart lurched as he released the frame and staggered into the room, coming to a swaying halt by the side of the bed.