Bound with Honor

by Megan Mulry

  She saw the words, but they hardly registered. Her mind wandered, imagining the upcoming days and weeks and months. Would his ardor fade without her prodding encouragement? Would Beatrix’s return signal the end of whatever it was between Archie and Selina in any case? Would Archie ever be able to accept the arrangement of her dreams, that would give her the comfort and solidity of a happy home with him—children and a rich family life—as well as the recurrent intimacy with Beatrix that satisfied some integral part of her constitution?

  The words of the novel flew past as these thoughts crowded her brain. Who was she to want such self-determination, to demand so much out of life? Who was she to want the world to revolve around her desires?

  Who was she? This was her life, damn it! It was worth wanting and demanding and wringing out every possibility! In the past, she had fought hard for far less; she would fight even harder for this.

  The stop at Rockingham proved to be a blessing in at least one regard. Her mother’s cousin, the earl’s wife, Lady Charlotte Ponsonby FitzWilliam, was charming and warm, welcoming her with what could only be interpreted as the greatest pleasure. Lady FitzWilliam assigned her to a splendid guest suite a few doors down and across the hall from where she had put the marquess.

  Before dinner, Lady FitzWilliam came to see if she had everything she needed. “Not that it is any of my concern, but you and the marquess would be a wonderful match in so many ways. Such a boon for you, of course, and such a delight for your parents.”

  “I daresay my parents have no interest in my future, Lady FitzWilliam.”

  “Oh, but there you are quite mistaken. Your supposed failure in their eyes would be all but remedied, would it not? Were you to become the Marchioness of Camburton?” The elegant countess turned from the flowers she’d been adjusting and awaited a reply.

  Selina knew she was being tested. Lord and Lady FitzWilliam had been close friends of Archie’s father, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that the woman was trying to sort out whether she was merely seeking the protection of a title, or had deeper feelings for the unique marquess.

  “You must know I have a modest income that affords me all the independence I require. Were I to become the Marchioness of Camburton—which is a possibility of such a remote nature that it hardly bears thinking about—such a decision would have nothing to do with anything except my feelings for the marquess.”

  “So you do have feelings for the marquess?” Lady FitzWilliam returned her attention to the delicate plant until it was exactly the angle she wished.

  “Of course I do. I hold him in the highest regard. He has become a true friend during my stay at Camburton this summer, and I respect him immensely.”

  Lady FitzWilliam faced her with a kind smile. “The earl was also a true friend of mine before we decided to marry. Mutual respect is the best foundation for marriage, I believe. Shall we go down to supper?”

  After following the countess down the immense staircase, Selina entered the drawing room and the two women were immediately greeted with collective enthusiasm. The earl was one of those rare aristocrats who was unabashedly in love with his wife. He excused himself from his conversation with Archie and crossed the large room to greet his countess.

  “Don’t you look lovely, Charlotte.” The earl kissed his lady wife’s hand, and they shared a brief, hot glance that made a flush creep up Selina’s chest.

  “Miss Ashby?” Archie was there a moment later to likewise greet her. It was far too easy to imagine him greeting her in just such a way if they were married, if they were . . . She shook her head to cast away the thoughts.

  “Yes, my lord?” She gave him her prettiest curtsey and lowered her eyes.

  Placing her hand on his forearm, he guided her into the room. “Please allow me to introduce you to my esteemed colleagues.”

  Archie proceeded to a group of four men and two women, who had their backs to her. As he told her the name of each man, she spoke politely and curtseyed. When he introduced the second woman, Selina’s head shot up.

  “Selina? Is it you?”

  “Constance?”

  They gripped their hands and smiled broadly at one another. “It has been three or four years, at least—”

  “It was six years last month,” Constance said quickly.

  “Oh, you look wonderful! Are you studying?”

  “Yes, well, as much as I am allowed, with women not being actual students. Professor Stroughton and I are recently engaged. We met in Edinburgh while I was helping Professor Jameson with his work there.”

  “I am so happy for you.” Selina realized they were still holding hands and blushed despite herself. Miss Constance Forrester was several years older than she, and had been her neighbor throughout childhood. Selina had always harbored a secret (or perhaps not so secret) affection that went beyond neighborly.

  “And I for you, my dear.” Constance let go of her hands but stayed close. “You are looking so well.” The other men resumed their discussion of Jenner’s lecture, the details of which Archie had apparently been relaying before she and the countess made their entrance.

  Selina lifted her chin toward the men. “Do you wish to join the discussion?”

  “No, I attended the lecture.” Connie led her slightly away from the other group. “I’m far more interested in hearing what has brought you to Rockingham, with the inscrutable Marquess of Camburton, no less.”

  She and Constance sat down together near the fire and caught up on one another’s doings over the intervening years. Constance had always been the most agreeable, respectful child in the neighborhood, demure and soft-spoken, yet somehow she had always managed to pursue her rather unique ambitions. Botany. Anatomy. And finally, physiology. Selina had often wondered how different her own life would have been had her parents been as loving and encouraging as the Forresters. Or even half as loving. But they’d ceased to value her once it became clear she was neither demure nor soft-spoken, nor inclined to put her intelligence toward learning to manage a home.

  “So, your parents . . . they are well?” Constance asked hesitantly.

  “I wouldn’t know.” Selina didn’t want to be curt, but the mere mention of her parents always made her churlish. Perhaps that too would fade in time.

  “I understand. I shan’t press.” The dinner gong echoed in the hall. “Let us walk in the garden after supper. There is a meteor shower expected, and if I tell the countess we wish to observe it, I am sure she will excuse us from the ladies-in-the-drawing-room portion of the evening.”

  “Oh, I would love that.” Selina blushed again, damn it, and looked away quickly so Constance wouldn’t see the childish crush that lingered.

  Constance reached for her hand. “I would love that too.” Then Constance stood up and smiled at her fiancé, who was approaching to escort her into supper.

  Archie felt the slight tremor in Selina’s fingers as she rested them on his sleeve while he escorted her into the dining room. “Are you happy to see your childhood friend?”

  “Yes, very happy.”

  “So, perhaps your childhood was not entirely awful?”

  She looked up at him, and he wanted to get lost in her deep emerald eyes, to pull her into the alcove across the vast hall and smooth away every injustice that had ever befallen her. To soothe her with his kisses. He turned abruptly toward the dining room. It had been a glib, conversational thing to say, and he regretted it.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Perhaps not entirely. Constance was always a mystery to me, how she managed to do what she pleased while still pleasing her parents.”

  “Not all parents are draconian, Selina.” He couldn’t seem to rid himself of that pedantic tone in his voice, especially when he said her name.

  She scoffed. “I know that. One need only look at Vanessa.”

  It was his time to scoff. “Do not for one moment think Vanessa did not have her own ambitions for her children. She can be quite determined in her joyful way.”

 
; “But that’s different. That all rises up from a place of love.”

  He laughed quietly. “It can feel just as constricting under certain circumstances.”

  She glanced up at him briefly then took her place where Lady FitzWilliam had seated her, down toward the far end of the table near the earl. Archie was given the place of honor next to the countess, of course.

  Enjoying the meal immensely, he spoke at length with Lady FitzWilliam about her botanical garden and her extensive work in medicinal botany, and also conversed with several members of the Royal Academy who were in attendance. These men were in a position to ensure the smallpox vaccination was distributed throughout the kingdom in a concerted, thorough process, rather than the piecemeal allocation that had been happening for the past few years.

  Occasionally, his attention was drawn to the other end of the table when Selina would laugh or smile at her companions. She had offered everything he supposedly wanted in the carriage. First her body—her beautiful mouth still made him feel faint every time he saw it—and then her calm acceptance that he was not the type of man who could partake of a fleeting sensuality. And after all of that, she had offered her friendship, her respect. Would he ever be able to offer the same in return?

  He tried not to be distracted by her creamy skin, by the damnable strands of golden hair that refused to stay within the confines of her loosely styled coiffure, instead caressing the ivory of her neck. She was wearing another stylish gown, this one low cut and revealing, yet somehow innocent thanks to an inch or two of French lace trimming her bosom.

  Professor Stroughton lifted his glass of claret in the direction of Constance and Selina. “Some things are even more compelling than Edward Jenner’s thoughts on the subject, are they not?”

  “What’s that?’ Archie asked, trying to pick up the thread of the conversation.

  “My lovely wife-to-be and your lovely . . . friend . . . are very distracting together. A very charming pair.” Stroughton swirled his wine, then took a sip. And Archie despised him instantly, with his suave assessment of the two women, as if they were chattel or horseflesh for him to weigh and measure for his potential acquisition. As if they were lovers.

  He suffered through the rest of the meal, denying himself even the occasional pleasure of looking in Selina’s direction lest he elicit additional smarmy remarks from Stroughton. The tedium abated somewhat when the ladies left the men to their port, but he was barely able to hide his relief when the earl finally finished his discussion of the recent happenings in Parliament and indicated it was time to join the ladies in the drawing room.

  Crossing the wide hall, Archie scanned the drawing room quickly, only to be disappointed by Selina’s absence.

  Stroughton was right behind him. “The lovely Miss Ashby has gone to watch the meteor shower with Constance.” His overfamiliarity and accompanying jab to the ribs indicated joviality—or perhaps to imply something salacious about the idea of Constance and Selina being alone together under the stars. Archie wanted to punch him square in the mouth.

  “I believe I shall retire. Long trip from London today. I’m feeling the strain.” He bowed slightly to the irritating Professor Stroughton, then spoke to Lady FitzWilliam and begged her forgiveness for retiring so soon.

  “Please say you will remain a few extra days,” the countess implored kindly.

  “It is up to Miss Ashby. I welcome the opportunity to spend as much time at Rockingham as your hospitality will allow, but I don’t wish to prevent her from resuming her work. She is very focused on her new book at the moment.”

  As soon as the words had left his mouth, the French doors to his right swung open with a brisk autumnal gust and two laughing women tumbled into the room. Constance and Selina were bright with joy—each with an arm slung loosely around the other’s waist—both giddy from having seen the meteor shower.

  “It was stupendous, William!” Constance cried. “Oh you should have seen it!” She reached for her fiancé and kissed him on the lips—in front of the entire drawing room—while her other arm remained around Selina’s waist.

  Archie looked away from their affianced theatrics, and his gaze happened to fall on Selina. He hadn’t meant to appear so judgmental, but the combination of Stroughton’s overly familiar behavior earlier at dinner, the other man’s questionable implications then and now, and his own embarrassment at having depicted Selina as a hardworking novelist—only to have her blow into the room, as unthinking as a snowflake—well, all in all, he was ill pleased.

  “Miss Ashby.” He bowed formally in her direction, and then turned. “Lady FitzWilliam.” He bowed to the countess far more deeply than he had bowed to Selina, nodded to the earl, and then strode from the room.

  Was he really such a prig? He forced himself to take the stairs at a constant, respectable pace despite the urge to sprint to his chamber. Of course he was devoted to tradition, but he was not a prisoner of it. Who was he fooling? He was a prisoner to every convention, every thought. He couldn’t even run up a set of stairs if he felt like it. Suddenly, he started taking the stairs two at a time, running as fast as he could.

  When he reached the uppermost level of the castle, he kept running. He ran down a hall that must have been a nursery at some point. He ran past closed doors that smelled of cedar and storage. When he came to more steps, on he ran. Up a dark, circular set of stone stairs that must have dated back centuries, he sprinted, not caring that his jacket scuffed against the ancient walls. He reached a thick wooden door, and was surprised to find it unlocked. Panting and exhilarated, he turned the heavy, wrought iron knob, and pushed his way out.

  He emerged onto one of the large circular keeps that were the defining architectural characteristics of Rockingham Castle. Looking up at the stars, he wondered at the stillness. His breath was coming in fast, satisfying pants from his exertions, but the celestial canopy appeared to be perfectly still. Of course it would be a riot of activity when Selina looked at it, and a staid gallery of immovable stars for him.

  Leaning the palms of his hands down on his knees, he caught his breath at last and let his mind rest. Thoughts of Selina Ashby would never resolve themselves in a single night. Perhaps, like his work on the smallpox vaccination, Selina would take many years for him to fathom. For now, he would take her at her word and be her friend.

  When he re-entered the castle and made his way down the stone stairs, he didn’t recall which way he’d come. He started to run again, lightly this time, leaping to touch a high chandelier, twisting in the air for the hell of it. He found another set of stairs and then wended his way through what must have been the servants’ quarters. He continued trotting down the back stairs until he careened, panting and probably red in the face, into a vast kitchen filled with about two dozen servants hard at work cleaning up the aftermath of the splendid meal.

  Silverware clanged and then a pristine silence descended on the entire white-tiled space.

  “My lord?” the head butler inquired carefully, while the remaining roomful of maids and footmen kept their heads bowed in quiet respect.

  “Yes.” Archie exhaled cheerfully. “I seem to have lost my way.”

  The butler looked at the nearest footman. “Please show the marquess to his chamber.”

  “Yes, sir. Right this way, my lord.”

  Following the deep burgundy of the footman’s livery, Archie steadied his breath and his pace. He didn’t bother paying close attention—as soon as they left the kitchen, he knew precisely where his room was. He’d been to Rockingham many times since he was a boy and hardly needed more than common sense to guide him around the main parts of the castle. But thoughts of Selina caused his common sense to evaporate.

  The footman and Archie turned the corner from the far end of the house into the larger hall on the first floor where the guest suites were located. In the shadows at the other end of the corridor, he saw the silhouette of Professor Stroughton and his fiancée, Constance, bidding Selina good-night. Constance leaned in
and kissed Selina on the lips, then patted her cheek with sisterly affection.

  He tried not to stare, or make a sound. The footman was equally inconspicuous, one of his primary functions being discretion. Neither of them made a peep as they walked along the Axminster carpet that covered the center of the hall. After Stroughton and his fiancée had continued around the corner, ostensibly down the next passage to their own separate rooms, Selina turned and looked him right in the eyes. Even though the hall was only dimly lit by candlelight, even though she shouldn’t have been able to see more than the shadowy outline of him as he walked behind the footman many yards away, he felt as though her gaze pierced his heart.

  She wanted him. Why did that thought unnerve him so? Perhaps because, just like her cruel parents, he feared she simply wanted. In her moments of flirtatious levity, when she’d referred to her high-strung nature, he’d hated himself for worrying, but he had worried nonetheless. Was her behavior indeed unhealthy? More of a craving? A desire borne of an uncontrollable, insatiable animal lust, rather than the elevation of the human spirit through tender lovemaking and physical communion?

  When she turned slowly and shut the door to her chamber, he felt as though a door was shutting on his heart. In his mind, he was left standing outside an imaginary home, the rest of his family and friends indoors, enjoying the comfort of the fire and one another’s company. Always on the perimeter, he remained. This was the life he had chosen, one of detached observation; this was the life he thought he wanted. A life of scientific inquiry and purpose. Not a life made up of meaningless late-night assignations at the ancestral home of one of the most respected peers of the realm.

  The footman opened the door to his guest room. “Do you have everything you need, my lord?”

  “Yes. Thank you. Good night.”

  The footman bowed and left. And Archie stood there, alone in the middle of the room, and thought he might cry for the first time since his father had died, when he and his twin sister were seven years old.

  He had never seen the bloated bodies of the Marquess of Camburton and his beloved brother after they’d been dragged from the ravages of the North Sea. He’d never seen his father nor his uncle in that morbid state, but he had envisioned them, imagined them inhaling water instead of air, struggling in the frigid water, sacrificing their own lives to save others.