The Honorable Marksley

by Sherry Lynn Ferguson

  Hallie Ashton shivered, whether with dread at the prospect or not, Richard could not have said. He had, he realized, actually been enjoying her company. But now, with Reggie’s death and the burdens ahead, sparring with her no longer afforded an amusing, if strangely strained, game. The situation was now quite suffocatingly serious. She had best be aware of that fact.

  “You are cold,” he said. “You should retire.”

  “Yes, only … Is it true, then? That you do truly believe marriage is our only course?”

  “Of a certainty, my dear. Unless another suitor lays claim to your affections?” As she slowly shook her head, he added, “Reggie was to be our savior. I fear no additional eager prospects have presented themselves. And you and your uncle deserve more than mere purchase”

  At that she blanched, which made him feel a brute.

  “You will find that a good reputation does matter in life, Miss Hallie. More so, unfairly so, perhaps, for a young lady. But preserving one’s good name provides a measure of freedom as well-that is, if one has any intention of living as anything other than a hermit. I cannot pretend it is an optimal arrangement, but, speaking from my relatively lofty experience, it can prove sufficient.”

  She took a step closer to him. “I am sorry that this has happened, my lord. I am sorry that my … my actions have led to your distress.”

  “Distress?” He raised an eyebrow as he watched her face, so close to his own. “I am not in distress, Miss Hallie. I am too numb”

  “I suspect that is the brandy talking, my lord”

  “And now you are already sounding like a wife.”

  She looked as though he had slapped her. Then she wheeled to flee the room. As he watched her retreating figure, he had the bittersweet satisfaction of knowing that he had at last offended her.

  “The devil,” he muttered, and contemplated the fire.

  She had come too close, seen too much. Reggie had made his youth a misery, his antics had threatened to plague Richard into his dotage, yet he would never have wished his cousin dead. He was long past envy of Geneve’s excessive affection for her own. No, what he felt was sadness at the waste of a life, and the abrupt end of promise.

  But it was also true that a heavy dose of self-pity was affecting him. He was not at all certain he would be able to maintain his dedication to The Tantalus, at least not to the former degree. He was fond of his work-his little hobby, as Geneve termed it. And a nagging mystery, the unresolved business with Henry Beecham, was vastly troubling. He had to accept that he might never meet that particular gentleman. Beecham might have to find anoth er sponsor. And Richard would be left with a lingering dissatisfaction, the result of an unfulfilled quest. What had she termed it? Expectation never gratified. Indeed.

  There was something else he had scarcely dared admit: that beyond his stated purpose in forwarding the wedding, something had taken root in him that was curiously possessive, something he was not at all certain he liked and that certainly was not comfortable or soothing. He had felt it at the mill, he felt it now-a fierce determination to wed Hallie Ashton, as a means to remove her from her despot of an uncle, and to erase any memory of Reggie.

  Staring at the flames he resolved to direct his steps to London immediately after the funeral. He had much to arrange. And it was best to leave her.

  Reginald Falsworth Marksley’s funeral took place three days later in the village church he had not visited for years. The mourners accompanied his remains to the Penham plot, listened dutifully to Vicar Mayhew’s service, and subsequently stayed to offer their condolences to the family. The Earl of Penham did not attend his own son’s funeral, being himself bedridden and, some said, too sickly to recognize fully the enormity of his loss.

  Hallie had carefully avoided Richard Marksley’s company after their interview in the drawing room, and he, in any event, was busy helping his aunt prepare for the funeral. The day after its observance he had departed, as scheduled, for London. Hallie could only assume he was planning their nuptials. Certainly no one else, not her uncle, not the Countess, not Miss Binkin nor Hallie herself, had given any thought to the demands of another ceremony. The new Viscount Langsford would handle all the niceties. This wedding was in all ways, she thought, a travesty-a painful mingling of tragedy and burlesque.

  The skies did not clear. Hallie spent most of her time in the library, where she could escape her uncle and Millicent. The Countess retired for much of each day to her own rooms where, one could only assume, she wept. Alfred Ashton ventured out every morning to shoot at any living creature that dared show itself on the Earl’s estate. At meals, conversation was absent or desultory. After dinner, Hallie played the pianoforte in the parlor, though the effort was for her ears alone.

  In such relative solitude she was again able to read and to write in her journal. She applied herself once more to that persistently teasing notion of a poem, the birth of which promised to ease an unaccountable anxiety. She occasionally watched the front drive from the library windows for any sign of a messenger or of Jeremy’s return. The sooner she heard that Jeremy had successfully located George Partridge, the better.

  She moved away from the window and once again took a seat by the library fire. The servants at Penham, now familiar with her habits, prepared the blaze early each morning. Only Miss Binkin dared interrupt the quiet, but she never stayed long, claiming as she did that the library was too dark and drafty for her joints. Hallie did not find the room chilly, though she knew that her reception of her cousin was markedly so.

  If only he would come!

  She meant Marksley, not Jeremy, and with the realization, she frowned.

  She had wanted to meet Marksley, to have him know her. The letters had not been enough. It had been natural to want to meet the man. But having met him, it had perhaps not been entirely natural to want more. She remembered how he had helped her from the carriage at the mill, the momentary shock and thrill of being clasped to him, the certainty that he had been so very close to kissing her. Indeed, his gaze alone had kissed her.

  When the butler knocked on the library door and entered with a letter on a tray, Hallie glanced at him guiltily, aware of her improper thoughts. For a confused second she anticipated something for Beecham from Marksley. But the note was from Jeremy:

  Dearest Hallie,

  You must be wondering what has become of me. The bird has proved difficult to flush; perhaps I am not as skilled a hunter as you require. I have seen enough of the country now, from Worcester to Wilts., to sustain me for many seasons. Never again doubt my dedication to your cause.

  My search has brought me full circle. I have tracked the wandering partridge to a region neighboring your own, whence it should be that much easier to reach you once I am successful. Let us hope you understand me, that you maintain your good spirits, and that friend Richard has shown you all due respect and honor. I have every intention of seeing you shortly, certainly before your anticipated nuptials.

  I remain as ever, yours in friendship,

  Jeremy Asquith

  Hallie read the message several times. It was dated only that morning. Jeremy might well return by the weekend. And she would have to be ready to leave-to catch a mail coach to Portsmouth and purchase passage.

  She folded the note, then tucked it into her journal. Perhaps she could ride to Denhurst, there to hire a chaise to the nearest posting inn. Even her uncle might be relied upon to supply her, unknowingly, with information as to means. At this late stage, he would never suspect where her inquiries tended.

  Yet even as she adhered to her plans, Hallie knew she had little will to realize them. She had thought she could not impose herself on a man who did not love her, on a man so beholden to honor. But surely there were worse situations.

  Hoskins interrupted her reverie once more to inform her that Mrs. Lawes and her daughter had come to call. As the countess was indisposed, he asked whether Miss Ashton would care to receive them.

  Hallie agreed, rallying to her
obligation. Mrs. Lawes had been kind and Phoebe could be endured. She joined them in the drawing room, where Augusta Lawes’s cheery greeting met her at the door.

  “Miss Ashton, how delightful to see you again! Whatever have you been doing with yourself in all this dreadful weather?”

  “I have been biding my time in the library, ma’am,” Hallie said with a smile.

  Phoebe raised her pert little nose.

  “How dull you must find it!” She sniffed, moving to a side table to examine a miniature portrait of Reginald Marksley.

  “It is in truth quite stimulating, Miss Lawes. There is a fine volume of Marlowe.” That drew Phoebe’s startled attention, but Hallie merely smiled again and moved to the sofa. “It is most kind of you to call,” she said, letting Augusta Lawes take the seat beside her. “These have been unhappy times here at Penham. But I did enjoy your dinner last week. What news have you of your other guests? I understand Mr. Cavendish has gone up to Oxford?”

  “Oh yes. Dear Archie. The Mayhews sorely miss the lad, I assure you. Though lately he has tended to be a bit listless and out-of-sorts. Eleanor Mayhew even feared he might have a brain disorder. But Michael assured her such was not the case.”

  “I am … glad to hear it.”

  “That was a moving service Michael Mayhew gave for Lord Reginald, did you not think so, Miss Ashton?”

  “Yes indeed.”

  “Did you ever meet Richard’s cousin, Miss Ashton?” Phoebe asked. She had abandoned the portrait, and now fingered a porcelain figurine on a side table. “He was most handsome. But apart from that, he and Richard were not at all alike.”

  “I … never had the pleasure of meeting the Viscount Langsford,” Hallie lied.

  “But now you plan to marry the Viscount Langsford,” Phoebe suggested slyly. “How long must you postpone the wedding?”

  “We do not intend to postpone it,” Hallie said. “In fact, Mr.-Lord Langsford is most determined that we not change our plans.”

  Phoebe’s eyebrows rose as Mrs. Lawes exclaimed, “My dear, how surprising! Surely the family are all in mourning?”

  “I believe the Countess does indeed find the situation difficult. But the Viscount believes it for the best.”

  “Well, of course, it is his choice.” Augusta affirmed. “And he is a most sensible young man.”

  “Oh, certainly,” Phoebe added. “I understand the gentlemen are often eager to marry or feel a certain … necessity.” Her mother pursed her lips, but Phoebe ignored her. “Will you marry in Denhurst?”

  “I believe so,” Hallie said. “Once the Viscount returns from London. Possibly as soon as next week.”

  Phoebe at once looked dejected. Perhaps she had not anticipated that her needling would elicit information that was quite so unpalatable. But you may have him after all, Hallie assured her silently, wondering why the thought made her feel so wretched.

  “We shall certainly wish you both the best,” Augusta Lawes said with a pointed look at her daughter, “won’t we Phoebe? And I know Squire Lawes would join me in saying so”

  “You are too kind, ma’am. And how is Squire Lawes?”

  “Tolerable, my dear, tolerable. But having these gypsies wander into the county has caused him a great deal of bother. Have you not heard?” she asked, meeting Hallie’s inquiring gaze.

  “No. They have camped near Denhurst?”

  Augusta Lawes nodded. “No more than a few miles out, which is as good as traipsing into town! We all know what gypsies mean”

  “It is exciting!” Phoebe gushed. “The men are all so dark and romantic, and the women dance and tell fortunes. I do wish the weather would clear. We could make a picnic out by the gypsy caravans and have our fortunes told.”

  Augusta Lawes clucked. “And have your purses stolen! No, Phoebe, you should not wish for such a thing.”

  Hallie turned to Augusta. “What is it that concerns your husband, ma’am?”

  “He serves as magistrate, as you know, my dear. It was his duty to warn the troupe not to cause trouble. Three years ago there was a kidnapping.”

  “A kidnapping!” Phoebe exclaimed. “Mama! I never heard!”

  “Little Arthur Wells, my dear. The twins’ playmate from Budgely Academy. But he was found to have vis ited a young friend, and not to have been with the gypsies at all.”

  “And yet, ma’am,” Hallie said. “You believe the gypsies were responsible?”

  “How could they not be? For he never would have wondered off had he not been enticed by example. Those roving gypsy ways! Arthur was always a most dutiful little boy”

  Hallie refrained from comment. “How likely are the gypsies to stay, Mrs. Lawes?” she asked instead.

  “Not long, my dear, if the Squire has his way. Though they will want to have their circuses or whatever before departing.”

  “I should dearly love to see the circus,” Phoebe said, with a toss of her plump curls. “I believe I shall go even if Papa forbids it.”

  Her mother looked at her in exasperation. “I do not understand you, Phoebe. There is nothing at all mysterious about these people. They live a poor, coarse, and unsettled life. Prophecies and fortunes! You must not disobey your father.”

  “But Mama, you were just reading Guy Mannering the other night!”

  Augusta Lawes turned bright pink, at which even brave Phoebe seemed to realize she had overstepped.

  “I have been most eager for company,” Hallie volunteered quickly. “I have been able to walk out for only the briefest periods in all this rain.”

  “And what a shame that is,” August Lawes agreed. “‘Tis fine countryside. As fine as anywhere. Though I will always cherish a special fondness for my own native Yorkshire.”

  There followed a polite, unfocused discussion of the relative merits and delights of several counties, only interrupted when Hoskins opened the door and announced “the Viscount Langsford” When Richard Marksley strode through to them, Hallie rose as though compelled.

  “Ladies,” he said. It was all he said. But with the smile and look that followed, Hallie felt he had told her a great deal more.

  “Oh, Richard!” Phoebe flew to stand close to him. “Was London dreadfully exciting?”

  “At least in part, Miss Lawes,” he told her with an indulgent quirk to his lips. “Mostly dreadful.”

  Phoebe made a protesting moue and would have questioned him further, but her mother had apparently noticed what Hallie had as well-that despite his smile Richard Marksley looked tired.

  “Phoebe, we must not keep Lord Langsford. You forget he has been traveling.” Augusta Lawes smiled as she rose from the sofa. “You have been most gracious, my dear. We wish you both the very best. My lord, Miss Ashton tells us you intend to wed shortly.”

  “Tomorrow, Mrs. Lawes,” Richard told her, though his gaze shot to Hallie. “I have a special license with me”

  Hallie drew a quick breath. Only Phoebe’s disappointed “Oh!” recalled her to her situation.

  “Well, my lord,” Augusta Lawes’s look was curious. “You are certainly forward. Your aunt must be … well, at least-”

  “She is resigned, Mrs. Lawes, which is all that we would ask of her and perhaps all of which she is capable at the moment. She has not come down?”

  “The countess has been indisposed,” Hallie supplied, her own voice sounding strangely husky to her ears. Richard Marksley’s gaze lingered on her face, as though he studied her anew. Had he been away only five days? It had seemed a lifetime.

  He turned to Mrs. Lawes. “I cannot persuade you and your daughter to stay to tea? I assure you I am not at all fatigued.”

  “Oh please, Mama! We must!” Phoebe urged. “There is so much to hear of town!”

  “You forget, dearest, that we are promised to the Begwitts for dinner. And Simon Begwitt asked particularly to see you. You would not wish to disappoint him.”

  Torn between a conquest and a prize, Phoebe could do little more than worry her lower lip.

 
“Perhaps the ladies might return when their engagements are less pressing,” Hallie suggested.

  “We would be delighted,” Mrs. Lawes said with a grateful look. Indeed, Richard Marksley looked grateful as well.

  “You must promise me, Richard,” Phoebe insisted as they moved with him to the door. “Even if you will be an old married man.”

  “I shall only be a few days older, Miss Lawes,” Hallie heard him say as he escorted them out into the hall. “Pray do not accelerate my decline.”

  Hallie vaguely heard the steps, the carriage, the farewells and closing doors. Then Richard Marksley had returned to her.

  He took her hand and raised it to his lips, teasing her fingers with a kiss so light it was little more than a breath.

  “‘Come live with me,’ ” he said softly, “‘and be my love-”’

  Hallie abruptly pulled her hand from his and stepped to the hearth.

  “Never say she quoted it to you again,” she said, striving for a composure she did not feel.

  The subsequent pause seemed long.

  “Phoebe Lawes is silly and harmless” His voice was low and reassuring. “She should not trouble you”

  Hallie turned to him in surprise. It was as though the man had decided to woo her in the few hours remaining at his disposal. How very ironic that would bethat he should have spent the past five days accommodating himself to the prospect of marriage, while she had believed him wishing for the opposite.

  “Phoebe Lawes does not trouble me,” Hallie said. “I merely find her rendering lacks … sensibility.”

  “And my rendering?” Somehow Richard Marksley had moved close to her again. “How do you find my rendering?”

  “I find it … unsettling.”

  “I see” He frowned and turned from her. “We have been apart for some days now, Miss Hallie. No doubt your thoughts with regard to our situation have intruded as often upon your peace as have mine. Yet we seem to have arrived at differing conclusions.” He ran one hand through his hair and moved to stare out at the slumbering garden.