“If you prefer the illusion of a romantic wooing, Miss Murdock,” he countered, “then I am afraid I can not accommodate you. For I can not and will not go into this marriage with you believing there is a feeling there which can not be. Neither do I wish for that feeling from you. It is precisely these restrictions that have made me, yes, choose you!”
His words hit her like a slap in the face. Oh, she had always been plain, had accepted it long before, but to be told outright that the very reason, now, that her hand was being sought in marriage was because her unlikely suitor had determined that she would never be a threat to his heart or his libido, and for some unknown reason sought that sad state of affairs, was going just a tad too far. “Then I suggest you travel on down the lane, milord St. James, for although I am above calling any person ugly, there is a lady just above a mile from here that would shock even you.”
Her words took him by surprise. “I am not sure that I follow you, Miss Murdock.”
“No? Well, it little matters. If you are loathe to point out your own 'desirable' qualities, I am equally as loathe to point out my own 'less than desirable' ones. I am going to bed now, milord, for I have had quite enough of this ill-advised conversation. Where you sleep, or how you spend your time before your leaving, I really do not care.”
With those words, she left the room, half-afraid that he would make some retort that would stop her once again in her tracks, so she turned a deaf ear when he called out after her. Once in the hall, she moved quicker still, holding her hurt hand in front of her and feeling a stinging in her eyes that she tried hard to convince herself was from tiredness and her injury, and she hurried up the stairs, and once she made her room, she closed the door behind her and slumped against it. She blinked back any tears that had the temerity to even think about falling, swiped her hair from her face, when and how it had fallen there she was not certain, and when she at last glanced out the window, she saw that dawn had come after all, or was well on its way, for the horizon was just beginning to lighten.
She could have cried then with frustration and fatigue, for instead of being able to throw herself on her bed, sleep away the headache that odious man had given her, she would only have time to bathe and dress, and then she would have to start her day's work. Well, she certainly intended to dawdle, for her father would not be up for hours yet at any rate, and she wanted to give the duke plenty of time to clear out before she was forced to once again go downstairs.
With that thought, she removed her robe and sleeping costume, bathed herself in the cold water she poured from her pitcher and into her basin. She welcomed the iciness of it, even in the chill of her room, feeling as though she were cleaning off the filth that man had somehow heaped into her mind.
She gave a slight shiver, toweled off more quickly than she had bathed. As if she didn't have enough to worry about, she thought with exasperation, without some fool of a fop coming in and upsetting her for half the night. She wished she had taken that iron skillet to his skull rather than cook him eggs in it.
No wonder he had thought that she would swallow his outrageous tale. He had only had to look around and see the drudgery that was her life. He must have deemed her very ripe indeed for what she could see now as nothing more than some cruel jest, designed to tease a naive country maiden with few prospects.
Curious that, that he had not once asked, where is your maid? Where is your cook? Where is your butler? Why do you eat in the kitchen? Why are you the one preparing the food? One would think that a man such as he could barely fathom a life without servants.
She pulled on a dress, it was her best, just in case he had not left before she was forced to go down, and she was not going to give him another opportunity to mock her for being dirty or disheveled. Not that there was much difference between her worst and her best. They were all out-moded and faded, and as they had been her mother's, too large, for she hadn't the time nor the skill to take them in.
But she needn't have worried, for as she was buttoning the last pesky buttons up the back of it, she heard sounds from below in front of the house, and moving to the window, she saw that the duke's curricle had been brought around by his groom, the same team of horses at its front and an additional horse tied by a lead to the back.
She gave a single nod of satisfaction, thinking goodbye and good riddance, when something made her remember that she did not recall seeing a spare horse when he had arrived. She drew back the sheer from the window, enabling her to see the tied horse more clearly and with a gasp of dismay, feeling as though the air had been beat from her chest, she cried, “Leaf!” and turned and ran from the room.
She reached the bottom of the steps and flung open the front entrance door. “What are you doing?” she demanded. “That is my horse, milord Duke, and I do not take kindly to having it removed from its stall and tied to the back of your curricle!”
St. James turned to her. He had on his great coat, buttoned to the top, and Lizzie had a moment's thought that once again she was out in the cold with no proper protection and he was again warm and comfortable. “Ah, there you are, Miss Murdock. I have been awaiting you.”
She went past him, deigning him with only a glare from her brown eyes, and went to the back of the curricle, where she gave the quick release knot a single, angry yank, freeing her horse from the vehicle. Then she turned on the duke, holding the lead in her uninjured hand. “I do not know what bargain you think you struck with my father last night after getting him drunk, but he was not at liberty to sell this horse, for she is, in essence, mine!”
“So he told me, Miss Murdock,” he said. “He explained quite poignantly that she is, in fact, your dowry.”
His words came at her like a board to her head. Her cheeks paled from the flush that had been staining them, and her eyes looked at the man in front of her unseeingly for a long moment. At last she said the words, words she knew to be true, but could hardly believe them long enough to even speak them. “It was the filly then,” she choked. She looked at him accusingly. “You wanted my horse.”
He sucked in a deep breath, but his eyes did not flinch from her face. “Yes, Miss Murdock,” he told her. “I wanted your horse.”
A spasm went through her, making her rigid. “You—you are more despicable and disgusting than anyone I could ever imagine.”
“You are probably correct on both points, Miss Murdock,” he said in cool agreement.
“My father was drunk. He would have never agreed to this otherwise.”
“Your father should be sobering by now. Ask him if you wish. See if he still is willing to stand by his agreement.”
She clutched the lead, undecided, and he prompted her, taking the lead from her hand and beckoning to his groom. “Come, Miss Murdock. I don't wish there to be any doubts in your mind, any thinking on your part that I am abducting you against your father's wishes. Tyler will hold your horse, will not steal her off from you while we go inside. Shall we?” he asked, and his voice was soothing to her ears, as though he regretted very much the tactics he had taken.
“You have no heart,” she said. “For I can see in your eyes that you know exactly what you are doing and do it all the same.”
“Yes. I know exactly what I am doing. Never doubt that, either, Miss Murdock.”
Tyler took the lead, and St. James took her elbow. He wore his driving gloves, and the leather of them dug through the thin material of her sleeve. They went in silence up the steps together, the groom behind them spitting a long stream of tobacco with a loud pththttt. Then they were through the door that she had left standing open in her urgency, and went again to the parlor off the hall.
“Father,” Miss Murdock called when they came within a few feet of the sofa and the duke dropped his hand from her arm. Her father stirred. The sun, now peeking above the horizon, shone a beam in and upon his eyes, making him blink when he at last opened them in his drink swollen face.
He looked with incomprehension at the two of them standing there, the
n sat up, groaning. He ran a hand through his thick, gray hair. “Aye, Lizzie, I'll be needing your special coffee this morning, luv, for I surely indulged myself a bit too much last night.”
“Oh, whenever did you not?” she asked. “Father. . . there is something I must ask you.” But she could not frame the words, afraid that her father had done as the duke suggested and agreed to a marriage designed for his lordship to obtain a horse.
At her hesitancy, St. James stepped forward. “Squire?”
Her father focused on his lordship. His expression changed from lazy waking to full cumbersome alertness. “Ah, yes. That business. Is it time?” He looked at his daughter's face, the wide open, pleading eyes, the shadows beneath them, and the paleness of her normally dark skin. “Ahhhh,” he said. He turned to the duke. “I was to pave the way, you know.”
Lizzie dropped her chin to her chest. “Oh, God, father, do not tell me it is true?”
“And why would you say it like that, lass?” he asked in sudden anger, as though she had accused him of an unspeakable crime. “I have made you a brilliant match, with no help from you. You should be well-pleased, instead of standing there looking as though the fireplace is smoking again.”
“Oh, father! How could you?” She brought her chin up and held her hands out before her in supplication. “You have bartered me off as part of a horse bargain!”
“That horse is your dowry, and don't you forget it! No one says anything if a man marries to gain his new wife's cash or lands or jewels, but if it's a horse, suddenly there's something evil in it?” Her father pointed his finger, his face turning red which indicated that he would be impossible to deal with. “T'is a duke, you know! You could have never done better.”
She turned once to look at the object of their conversation. “T'is St. James!”
“Oh, ho,” her father exclaimed, “and of course you have a dozen more duke's lined up at the door and can afford to be choosy.”
“I'd rather not marry at all than marry him!”
“Well, you hit that nail right on the head, missy, for that's the
only choice I see that you have. Either him or no one, for you're twenty summers old and haven't had a suitor yet!”
She opened her mouth to berate him, but he waved a hand at her, shutting her off. “Oh, do not start, I'm not blaming you, by any means. Lord knows I have failed in my duty up to this point in getting you up to snuff and out the starting gate,” he told her. “So do not get on your high horse. The offer was there, I fully apprised him of your short-comings and he was not put off. Who is to blame me for snagging him while I could?”
“Fully apprised him—! Oh, God, I wish the floor would open up and swallow me! I want no husband through trickery. I'd rather have no husband at all.”
“Do you feel tricked, miduke?” the Squire asked.
“Not in the least. If I had not wished to offer for your daughter, I would not have done so. Believe me, I have been under rather more pressure in the past,” and his lips twitched, “and you can see that I came out unscathed.”
The Squire nodded. “There you go, Lizzie. The man wished for a wife and he offered for you. You have no complaint.”
“I have no complaint?” she asked. “You are both out of your heads!”
“Please do not shriek, Lizzie, dear,” the Squire implored, holding his head. “For you are making me sick with it.”
“You made yourself sick with the drink you took last night, and now I am the one that must bear the foolishness of it,” she told him. “Oh, you have done folly before, father, but never as bad as this! You've gambled off the money for the winter's coal, and lost every decent mount I had besides Leaf. You bring home your cronies for pot-luck when there isn't much luck in the pot to begin with. You've scared off every maid we've ever retained that was under fifty with your groping ways, and agitated every one older than fifty with your ill-temper until they have left in a huff. You leave me the accounts to juggle when there is more money going out than coming in, and then gaily set down your bills for jewelry and perfume for payment to those women who would not have anything to do with your gouty, portly, black-toothed self if not otherwise, as though they were just another feed bill.
“Through it all, I've neither complained nor upbraided, but now you have gone too far! I swear, I could choke you where you sit,” she finished.
“Yes, yes, Lizzie. You are a saint and I am the first to say it,” her father returned. “But, now, go on. At the very least you shall not have to put up with me and my weaknesses, and even the dreaded Duke of St. James could be no worse, I wager.”
Miss Murdock, at her wit's end, placed a hand on her forehead, winced when she realized that it was the burnt one, which she had quite forgotten in all of her agitation. “Oh, damn this bloody hand,” she murmured, jerking it back down again. She turned on St. James. “Of which I have you to thank for, so you could look a little contrite instead of standing there smirking!”
St. James was, indeed, looking quite diverted as he witnessed the exchange between father and daughter, but at her words, he sobered enough to say, “Most certainly, I am contrite, Miss Murdock. I would be much too frightened not to be in your presence.” Of which he received a glare that was clearly meant to leave him dead.
St. James asked, “Have you any further doubts, Miss Murdock?”
Miss Murdock turned again to the Squire. “Father? I'm asking you once more. Can this be what you truly want?”
“Aye, lass. T'is for the best. Every woman should be married and have children to keep her occupied, instead of dreaming of training race horses and spending time caring for a rather unfit father.”
She kneeled in front of him, her anger gone and only worry in her voice. “But, father, whoever shall look after you?”
He chuckled, patted her head. “Oh, I shall be fine on my own, missy. I shall do what I have been longing to do but which I haven't been able to because of care for you. I shall drink myself silly and ride to hounds 'til I break my neck like all old widower's do. You need not worry about me.”
“Oh, father,” she moaned, “I love you dearly, even if you are an old fool.”
He gave her head a final pat. “Now get on with you, lass. Leave an old man to peace and quiet. You were always much too active and it has tired me to watch you work so hard for the last seven years.”
She was reluctant to leave him, and when she looked about, her eyes were tinged with tears and frantic. She was being sent away, her father obviously convinced that it was for the best. And although she could fight the duke to the end, she would not fight her father.
Then St. James was there, pulling her gently to her feet. He handed her a handkerchief from his coat pocket, and she stood staring at it dumbly for a moment.
He took it and wiped her eyes and it was only then that she realized she was crying. “Go now, Miss Murdock, and pack a valise. You shan't need much, for if your dress is any indication, you will need new in any event. Gather a warm cloak. I will be waiting for you in the hall.”
Miss Murdock, clutching the handkerchief he had returned to her hand, went to do as he bid, her mind numb so that she wondered if he had not told her what to do if she could have realized it herself. He followed her to the foot of the stairs, told her before she ascended, “It is for the best, Miss Murdock, I assure you.”
She turned to look at him, the gold eyes, the lithe figure, the impossible perfection of his face. “I cannot see how it could be for the best, milord, either for you or for me,” and she went up the stairs.
When she again reached her room, she dug a battered valise from her closet, unclasped it and opened its mouth wide. But something about its yawning emptiness, which she had been assigned to fill, defeated her, and she sat down on her bed beside the empty traveling case.
She wasn't certain how long she sat there motionless, only her mind racing, but it was enough time to pass for the duke to evidently become impatient, for there was a light tapping on her door. Miss
Murdock had not closed it, and now as she glanced up, not startled, more just dismayed, she saw St. James hesitating in the opening. “Miss Murdock? Is there anything I can assist you with?”
She took a moment to answer, and when she did, she spoke with a calmness that she in no way felt. “No. I'm sorry, but I just needed a moment to sit and think and allow myself to catch up with everything that is going on.” She gave him a baleful look. “Do you always move so quickly, milord, and expect others to merely follow your lead without question or delay?”
He rubbed his upper lip with his gloved finger, a habit, she was beginning to notice, that he did whenever he did not have his usual immediate and flip response handy. “I expect that, yes, I normally do.” He added a little more sharply, “I am not your father, Miss Murdock. I do not need looking after or a firm guiding hand.”
“So why take me from him when you can see that I am clearly needed here?”
He clasped his hands behind his back, still speaking from the doorframe. “There are many good reasons that I could list why it is better for you to go with me, Miss Murdock, than remain here. But as I in all honesty did not care two pins if this circumstance benefited you at the time I offered for your hand, I will not now attempt to make you believe that I had your best interests at heart from the beginning.”
In the Brief Eternal Silence Page 7