“I believe you have promised me another drive tomorrow, Miss Ashton,” he said, knowing nothing of the sort had been arranged. “I shall plan to be at Penham at three … if that is still to your taste?”
A fleeting panic crossed her features. “Oh, but I … I fear that will not be possible.”
“Why ever not?” Miss Binkin demanded. She turned to Richard. “Miss Ashton and I will be pleased to accompany you, Mr. Marksley.”
“Thank you, Miss Binkin,” he said, though he had every intention of leaving the dour duenna behind. “Until tomorrow, then.” And with a low bow he made his own departure.
Her face must have betrayed her resignation to company. She could think of no other reason for the knowing look with which Richard Marksley greeted her the next afternoon.
“Well met, Miss Ashton,” he said, bowing low. “And where is your dedicated shadow, Miss Binkin?”
“Miss Binkin has been invited to tea with the Countess. We shall have a groom to attend us instead.”
“Indeed?” Marksley raised an eyebrow. “We would only tolerate surrendering Miss Binkin’s bewitching company to the demands of a higher authority.” Hallie suspected he had planned the Countess’s hasty invitation. When his lips barely restrained a smile, she was certain of it.
For courage, she reminded herself she still had the company of a groom.
“I … am ready now, Mr. Marksley.”
“At your service, Miss Ashton,” he said, offering his arm. “Shall we take some air?”
Her hand rested on his coat sleeve with only the slightest pressure, yet her fingers still trembled against the soft serge.
The day was cool and gray. Lowering clouds highlighted the changing foliage along the drive. A breeze chased leaves across the gravel, leading the horses to toss their heads warily.
“Looks like we be in fer a spot o’ weather, sir,” the head groom warned Marksley as they crossed to the curricle. A younger groom calmed the skittish team as a sudden gust swirled about their legs.
“We might at that, Tom,” Marksley said. He looked down at Hallie. “Would you prefer to delay the outing, Miss Ashton? Tom has an enviable record of forecasting, though I doubt we shall have more than a drizzle within the hour.”
Hallie glanced at the spirited horses. They looked as eager for release, for some period of air and motion, as she herself felt.
“If you are amenable to the drive, Mr. Marksley,” she said, at last meeting his gaze, “I should like to go out”
She thought his eyes lit briefly in approval. Perhaps he had anticipated her apologies. Any other well-bred young lady would have cried off under similar circumstances. It was never proper to willfully risk one’s person or, more particularly, one’s wardrobe to the vagaries of the elements. Richard Marksley, whose good manners were so nearly innate, would have known that.
He helped her up onto the seat. As she settled her skirts, he followed and called the young groom to ride behind. Then, with a brief salute from Tom, they were off down the drive at a brisk trot. Hallie checked her bonnet to make certain she would not lose it to the breezes.
“I thought we might head for the river this afternoon,” Marksley said. “Squire Lawes seemed to believe the trees along the route to the mill were particularly beautiful this year.” His attention settled on her face for some time longer than she found entirely comfortable. As she felt the color mount in her cheeks, she looked away. Of course the groom was riding behind. How absurd of her to forget.
“Did you enjoy the Laweses’ dinner last night, Miss Hallie?”
“Yes,” she said, reluctantly glancing back at him. “They were pleasant and courteous. And the vicar and Mrs. Mayhew were very kind.”
“Their nephew was most generous in his attentions to you, m’dear.”
“I found him no more attentive than Squire Lawes, who was also seated beside me.”
Richard Marksley smiled, but at the heads of the horses. Hallie found it difficult not to watch his face. She forced her attention away.
“Mr. Cavendish’s attempt to enliven the company was most welcome,” she said, with more conviction than she felt.
“And his choice of verse?”
“It was, under the circumstances, quite acceptable.”
“Ha!” Marksley urged the team to greater speed. “You cannot convince me of that, Hallie Ashton. You were as appalled by that treacle as I was.”
“It … rhymed,” she said, stubbornly seeking refuge once more in falsity. She felt that she might strangle. The world, and Richard Marksley, seemed mad for poetry.
“Oh yes,” he agreed grimly, shooting her a considering look, “it rhymed” For a while, negotiating a series of curves, he fell silent. But he was not yet ready to abandon a review of the Laweses’ entertainment.
“Miss Lawes has become quite a lively young lady.”
Remembering the girl’s taunting manner, Hallie clenched her gloved hands.
“Her rendering of Marlowe was certainly lively,” she agreed.
“You did not care for it?”
“Did you?” she countered.
“I accepted it, Miss Ashton, in the spirit in which it was delivered.” When he glanced at her stony expression he added, “Phoebe Lawes is very young”
“She is but two years younger than I, Mr. Marksley”
“You are a woman” For a moment he was silent, then he suggested, “She was likely in a sentimental mood, since the dinner was intended to mark an engagement”
“She may well have been in a `sentimental mood’ as you term it, sir. But I very much doubt that she recalled the engagement was ours.”
At that he laughed, an open, relaxed laugh that pleased her. “If I did not know it for an impossibility, Miss Hallie,” he said, his dark eyes bright, “I might almost suspect my temporary fiancee of jealousy.”
“You would be imagining, sir,” she said, looking away. “You are quite thoroughly aware of my views in this matter.”
“Am I? I think not. I should like, for one, to receive some instruction from you with regard to Sir Walter Ralegh’s meaning. I am familiar with his Walsingham ballad, though not, perhaps, as familiar as your so erudite Mr. Cavendish appears to be. It is usually taken as an affirmation-of love or of fidelity, if you will, despite its misogynous passages. Do I misinterpret, Miss Ashton?”
“As you have noted, sir, the dinner was meant to celebrate our betrothal. I thought your choices unacceptably cynical. You chose to embarrass me, to show your contempt for me quite … quite publicly. If the Ralegh recalled you to more gentlemanly behavior I shall consider myself satisfied.”
As she finished her voice was unsteady. She dared not look at him for fear that her trembling lips might in fact be a prelude to tears. There was a certain relief in confronting him. The burdens of the past week weighed heavily upon her. But she feared she might only drive him to treat her all the more contemptuously. In her experience, limited though it was, men did not take kindly to any rebuke from a female.
The subsequent silence seemed long, though it could only have lasted a few minutes. They had crossed one bridge over a stream and were approaching another. She could see a mill ahead when Richard Marksley spoke again.
“I owe you an apology, Miss Ashton,” he said, his attention pointedly on the ribbons. “Although your reasons for associating with my feckless cousin remain a mystery to me, I have never known you to act with anything less than propriety. In such light, my treatment of you has indeed been ungentlemanly.” He paused, then turned to her. “You have given me every indication that you find our plight as unwelcome as I do. I have been unforgivably rude.”
His gaze held such intensity that Hallie was drawn to respond. His pride in his own judgment, in his own fairness, had clearly been set back. His sincerity served to provoke her own. She would be as honest and tell him the truth.
“Mr. Marksley … Richard, I … Oh!” The curricle lurched, a hard jolt that tilted the vehicle immediately and dangerously t
o the side. Hallie slid abruptly against Richard Marksley’s arm, an arm as hard as iron as he fought to control the frightened team. Hallie grabbed for the rail behind the seat and tried to pull herself away from him. As she did so she noticed the groom had been tossed to the roadway, and now sat sprawled in the dirt.
“Are you hurt, lad?” Marksley called to him.
The boy looked dazed, but shook his head.
“See if you can take their heads, then. I must help Miss Ashton down.”
The boy quickly leapt to his feet.
“‘Tis the wheel what’s broke, sir,” he gasped as he took the horses’ mouths. “Cracked right through it is.”
“Deuce take it,” Marksley muttered. He eased himself carefully from the high bench to stand in the road. “Miss Ashton,” he said, raising his arms toward her. “If you will.”
Hallie inched along the skewed seat back, only to determine that there was no choice but to slide in an ungainly manner across the bench toward him. Once having made that move, she slipped easily off the vehicle and into Richard Marksley’s waiting arms.
He caught the momentum of her slide, for a brief moment clasping her to him. She could feel the length of him through her clothing. Then he was carefully putting her away from him.
“I hope you have survived intact, Miss Ashton”
“Yes.” She avoided his gaze. “Yes, I am fine. Just startled.”
“Indeed. I have lost wheels before, but one usually has some warning.” He looked at the fractured wheel, several spokes awry and the wood rim splintered. “We were devilishly lucky. You might have been tossed from the seat as well.”
It was starting to rain. Hallie noticed the first few darker drops against the shoulders of Marksley’s coat before she felt them herself. For a moment, she tilted her face to the fresh sprinkles, only to open her eyes to Richard Marksley’s perusal.
“We’d best take shelter in the mill,” he said. She thought he looked apologetic, as though he believed her so impressionable as to wish to experience a downpour.
He turned with determination to the groom. “Help me release the horses,” he said to him, moving quickly to the front of the curricle. “You must ride Balius and trail Xanthus. Rub them down well when you get back. There’s a good lad”
Hallie moved unbidden toward the mill. The shower had strengthened. As she felt water drip from her bonnet down into her collar, she raised her skirts and ran.
The old mill was dry, if not warm. From the outside it had appeared inhabited, but once through the door the unmistakable signs of neglect were everywhere. Hallie moved across a dusty, shuttered parlor to a back room that faced the river. Through dingy glass panes she could see that the rain was now heavy enough to disturb the surface of the water. Even the hills beyond were partially obscured by low clouds. For some time she lost herself in contemplating such an excess of gray in land and sky.
“I have sent the groom back for the carriage,” Marksley said as he came into the room. Then he seemed to notice her thoughtful regard for their surroundings. He ran one finger along a dusty table edge and examined the residue with lifted brows. “Haskell abandoned the place some years ago. I had no idea it was such a shambles”
“From the outside it has … presence,” Hallie said. Her gaze returned to the rain-pocked river and the subdued foliage along the shore. “Indeed, it could not have been sited with greater mastery, just here at river’s bend, with veiled hills sleeping at lee, and these pensive oaks to attend” When she turned to him, she would have said more. But the arrested look on his face forestalled further comment. For a moment she met his dark gaze, then she glanced distractedly back at the river. She frowned as she tried to recall what she had said-what slip she must have made-to have silenced him so thoroughly.
“Beauty does not often bear dissection,” he said at last. He had moved closer. “As we see, the mill is now little more than a storehouse, and a dusty one at that. The first impression may indeed be charming, but close inspection yields,” he blew the dust from his glove, “fairy powder.”
She smiled. “I cannot credit such an opinion to you, sir. Where would all of your authors be without discoursing on beauty? You would deprive them of a favorite subject”
“Assuredly. Which is why their editor must cling to whatever cold reason prevails.” When he smiled back Hallie’s breath caught in her throat. She had been fighting the attraction he held for her. Somehow, in the close confines of this dim and musty room, that smile was a beacon.
“Surely,” he said, holding her gaze as he moved toward her, “you have something germane to quote me on the subject? Given the ease with which you riposted last night, you have the poets of the ages at your command” His voice coaxed, but the expression in his eyes held enough of a challenge to force Hallie’s own gaze away.
“You grant me too ready a wit, sir.” The air seemed not only stale, but stifling. “I said the one thing that came to mind.”
That he disbelieved her was evident from his silence-and from the betraying rhythm of Hallie’s own duplicitous heart. Yet he would not move away.
The rain gathered force, drumming on the old shingle roof, stinging the surface of the river.
“‘For where is any author in the world,’ ” he quoted softly, “‘teaches such beauty as a woman’s eye?’” His gloved hand moved to turn her face to his. “It intrigues me,” he said, as his thumb moved lightly against her chin, “how some part of you always seems to be dreaming. It’s in your eyes. Even now.” His gaze would not permit her to hide. “What are you dreaming about, my dear?”
He asked so softly that at first Hallie believed she had not heard him correctly. She could catch the scent of his skin and of his rain-dampened wool coat. As close as he was, heaven help her, she wanted him that much closer.
“The groom-”
“Should be halfway to Penham by now. Where he will dutifully report to Miss Binkin.” Marksley smiled, then startled her by asking, “Did Reggie kiss you?”
Hallie answered with a proud tilt of her chin.
“Did he kiss you?” Marksley repeated softly.
“Yes … But he was-”
“So you have been kissed before”
Before? She watched his lips, which seemed so unaccountably close. Some small, still thinking part of her protested that no, she had never been kissed before.
He bent his head. Her lips caught his breath. She was scarcely aware of her own action in moving to press her open palms against the lapels of his coat. But he must have thought she intended to push him away.
To her dismay he stepped back too many inches. As Hallie looked at her betraying hands, she knew his gaze was on her still. Now was the time to tell him.
“There is something,” she began, “something that you must know”
“About Reginald?” he asked, and his gaze hardened.
“Not precisely. Although he is the reason-” Footsteps in the parlor beyond sounded loud in the empty building, immediately silencing her.
“Well, dash it all,” Archie Cavendish’s supercilious voice was unmistakable, “They seem to have vanished, if they were ever-ah!”
He stopped abruptly in the doorway, so abruptly that Phoebe Lawes, following close behind him, collided with his back. But Hallie thought Phoebe’s pout and narrowed gaze had less to do with any affront to her dignity than to the sight of Richard Marksley standing so very close to Hallie.
She could sense the sudden tension in him, as though he would shield her.
“Cavendish,” he acknowledged. “Miss Lawes. Have you also sought shelter from the storm?” Both Archie and Phoebe looked scarcely damp.
“Your groom informed us of your um … mishap,” Cavendish said. He raised a quizzing glass to observe the two of them with relish. “As we have Squire Lawes’s carriage, we thought we might offer to take you up, and thus spare you any further … inconvenience.” He simpered. “That is, if you would like to return to Penham now?”
“Good heave
ns, Richard,” Phoebe said familiarly, stepping into the room with a handkerchief to her nose. “What a filthy place to stop. I wonder you could bear it.” Her look dismissed Hallie before she moved to Marksley’s side and casually laid her hand on one taut sleeve. “Do come with us now. Papa’s carriage is so delightfully appointed. I trust you will tell little difference between it and the Earl’s.” Her laugh was forced as she started to urge him toward the doorway. “Do come”
But Marksley turned to Hallie.
“It would be best, Miss Ashton,” he said. “We should not keep their horses standing in the rain.”
She felt oddly forlorn. And she was conscious of Phoebe’s open interest that her intended should sound so very formal. He should have called her Hallie just now, especially now, when they had been so very close.
“Come, Miss Ashton,” Cavendish added, “You can only wish to vacate this hole.” Hallie walked toward the doorway. She did not care for the look in Archie Cavendish’s eyes; what little imagination he possessed had attributed to her the most wanton behavior. He had caught them in a delicate situation. But surely that was not so startling for a betrothed couple?
Hallie refused his arm. They walked ahead of Phoebe and Marksley, pausing only to draw their cloaks about them before racing the rain to the carriage.
Joining Phoebe’s waiting maid, the ladies took the seats facing forward. As Archie was directly across from her, Hallie had to turn her head to catch Richard Marksley’s expression. She was aware of him, however. Aware of his silence and of the occasional glance he sent to her corner. She anticipated his looks, and managed to stare steadily out the window when they came.
Phoebe leaned forward to gaze appealingly at Marksley. “The mill is in a dreadful state, do you not think so, Richard?”
“‘Tis not congenial, Miss Lawes,” he agreed, “though Haskell worked hard in his time. I shall make inquiries. Perhaps there has been some trouble in the family. The property is a fine one. Even if a working mill is no longer viable, the place should be tended”
The Honorable Marksley Page 8