In the Brief Eternal Silence

by Rebecca Melvin

  Miss Murdock rose from where she had been sitting, opened her wardrobe. “I appreciate your candor, milord Duke,” she said. “I hope that if nothing else, this indicates that I can expect honesty from you, however unpleasant it may be.” She took down one of her four remaining dresses, inspected it, folded it and placed it in the traveling bag.

  St. James moved through the doorway then, a restriction of propriety that he crossed with no evident regard to it. He walked over to her and Miss Murdock paused in her packing. “I did not expect this to be pleasant, Miss Murdock,” he told her. “And although many other crimes have been laid at my door, real and imagined, no one has ever dared call me a liar. That, Miss Murdock, is because I will tell you the truth. If you find it unpleasant, I do not apologize.”

  She raised her brown eyes to his. Her words were soft but dripped with distaste. “And the truth is you wanted my horse and as there was no other way to attain it as it is my dowry, you offered for me.”

  He gave a small sigh before saying, “In part, that is true. Do not ask for the rest of it, Miss Murdock, for it will only interrupt your peace of mind.”

  She let out a little, bitter laugh at the end of his words. “I'm afraid my peace of mind has been well interrupted already.”

  “I imagine that is so, which I do regret, Miss Murdock. But I would wager that in a very short time after our wedding you will be counting yourself a lucky lass indeed.”

  “You have a very high opinion of yourself, sir,” she was stung into retorting.

  “Not at all, Miss Murdock. I simply believe there is a very good possibility that you shall become a widow at an extremely young age.” He paused letting his words sink in, then continued, “So you see, if you can merely bear my presence for a short while, you shall in the end be a duchess and very rich, and free to choose another. If nothing else, I can guarantee that you will have no end of suitors then, plain little mouse or no.”

  He did not wait for her to respond, but turned on his booted heel and went to the door. Miss Murdock, whose hand had been reaching for her toiletry items on her vanity and had stilled at his pronouncement, listened to his retreating steps. She was not surprised when they paused at the door, and he told her over his shoulder in a self-mocking voice. “So be a sport, Miss Murdock. I can not guarantee that I shall die, and you will forgive me if I try mightily not to, but if I were laying odds, I would have to put them against me. Now doesn't that make the prospect of marrying me much more pleasant?”

  Lizzie listened to his footsteps as he moved again, echoing down the hallway and fading. “No. It doesn’t.” She shoved her hair brush, comb and mirror into the bag.

  “Well, milord,” Tyler asked when his employer came once again down the flagstone steps alone. “Is she coming?”

  St. James came up beside him. He took the filly's lead from his groom and led it to the back of the curricle. “Damned if I know! I'll give her exactly ten minutes before I go up and throw her over my shoulder and carry her down!”

  Tyler could not resist a wide grin which he did not even attempt to hide. “Aye, milord, she's got you a tad riled, I see!”

  At which the duke gave him a sharp glance from his gold eyes. He tied Miss Murdock's horse to the rear of the curricle once again, ran a gloved hand through his disarrayed hair, and said, “It is only that I am devilishly tired, and hung-over on top of it. I can at least say that she spared me the hysterics and did not faint. Of which I should be forever grateful. But she has a damned shrewish tongue and is not hesitant to use it in the least. Now, Tyler, if you will wipe that grin from your face and remain here for another few moments, I'll return shortly. If Miss Murdock arrives out before I do, please endeavor to make her comfortable, and tie her to the seat if she seems inclined to be difficult.”

  “Aye, milord,” Tyler answered, and although he was happy to follow the duke's instruction of remaining, he could not obey in removing his smile.

  “Bugger you, Tyler! I should knock that grin from you if I were not feeling so damnedably out of sorts.” But even as St. James turned to make his way up, once more, to the entrance of the house, a smile flashed across his face, lightening his features for that brief instance, and then all the groom saw was his back.

  Tyler had a few minutes to consider all the strange goings-on of that morning before the door opened again, and a diminutive Miss in a very plain brown cloak came down the steps toward him. Her bonnet was the same lamentable brown, and as she drew closer, he saw that her face was a good deal brown, and her eyes, although finely shaped and rather solemnly large, were brown also, of no particularly remarkable shade, so that one could not say that they were chocolate brown or cider brown or nutmeg brown, but where one could only say: they were brown. And her brows above them were brown, indicating that the hair done up beneath her bonnet was also brown.

  And although Tyler recognized her from when they arrived, and then her brief rescuing of her horse, he had to admit that any attractiveness he remembered about her must have been washed out by the morning's sun, for when she set down her valise and extended her hand to make a formal acknowledgment of his presence, rather unusual as he was only a groom, he answered by saying, “Pleased to meet you again, Miss Brown, ahem, I mean Murdock.”

  “And I am pleased to renew your acquaintance, Mr. Tobacco, oh dear me, I do mean, Tyler!” she returned.

  Tyler made a startled little noise in his throat, and then seeing her eyes twinkling, began to laugh, of which she joined him. “You're having me on a bit, are you, miss?”

  “Oh, do forgive me, but I was,” she said. “But I have often thought it would be so much easier to remember names if we could only call people by their most distinguishing feature. Take Mr. Ryan Tempton that I met yesterday. Would it not be so much easier if his name were Mr. Red?”

  “Aye, Miss! I wouldn't argue with you,” Tyler agreed. “And his brother, Lord Tempton, I should think t'would be easier if his name were Lord Peacock.”

  Of which Miss Murdock gave a helpless laugh, knowing it was most unseemly, but finding it most gratifying to be entertained by the likable groom rather than think another moment about the predicament she was in. “And my father, he should be Squire Indulges, for he over-indulges on everything.”

  “And the Duke, miss, he should be called Lord—”

  “Habitual Ill-Humor.”

  And they were both laughing, much to his lordship's puzzlement when he came up beside them, and instead of acknowledging his presence, the two of them set off into fresh gales of mirth, Miss Murdock putting a hand on Tyler's arm to steady herself.

  “Tyler, if you can leave off whatever entertainment yourself and Miss Murdock have managed to manufacture in my brief absence, you may fetch a saddle from the stables and tack up Miss Murdock's filly.”

  Miss Murdock released Tyler's arm, said to neither of them in particular, “Good God, but he can wipe the smile off anyone's face with a single sentence! What is this, milord? I thought the filly would be traveling with us to London?”

  “London? No, Miss Murdock, we are not traveling to London as of yet.” He turned from her as though he did not care to spend the time nor the energy with debating over yet another point. Miss Murdock stood a little huffily behind him, feeling helpless to stop whatever plans he was putting into action now. Really! The man was exhausting her, and she had only known him but a scarce few hours.

  “Tyler, I have two letters here,” St. James was saying and Miss Murdock could see that while she and the groom had been busy giggling he must have been busy penning them, for they were in his hand, sealed and addressed, and he was going over them with Tyler as he spoke. “This one is to my grandmother, deliver it first. Then, you will go to my solicitor to deliver the second. Then you will hire a conveyance, a carriage, not too flashy, and hire a team also, again not too flashy, and you will meet us in Gretna Greene as early as is possible. Do you have all that?”

  Tyler tugged his cap. “Aye, milord. And if your grandmother asks wh
ere you are?”

  “Tell her I am about procuring a horse. Nothing more.” His lordship handed him the letters, unbuttoned his greatcoat and reached beneath it into an inner pocket. “And here, this will finance the journey and all your needs,” he said, and handed a purse over to his groom.

  Tyler took it, pocketed it. He glanced once at Miss Murdock, his earlier humor gone from his now serious face. “And t'miss, milord?”

  “She goes with me as planned, to where I have already stated, and you shall find her and myself in good order there awaiting you. So please do not tarry. I do not expect you to kill yourself with a superhuman effort, but I want all of this done in as short a time possible.”

  Tyler nodded. “As you say,” and without further 'aye's' or 'yes, milords' or 'you can count on me, milord', he turned and with a single glance at Lizzie, told her, “You'll be okay with his lordship, Miss, don't worry.”

  Miss Murdock, wondering that her concern had been that apparent on her face, only gave a brief nod, more to reassure the groom than that she believed it herself, and she watched him untie Leaf, and with the filly beside him, stride to the stables to procure a saddle as ordered.

  “Now, Miss Murdock, I shall assist you in mounting, if you please,” said St. James, and he took her valise, flung it up onto the floor boards of the curricle. Then he took her arm at the elbow, gave her a moment to gather her skirts, find a foothold and a handhold, and then Miss Murdock clambered up the tall skeletal frame of the curricle and found herself high above in the seat. The horses moved from the activity and St. James soothed them with his voice as he reached up and gathered the lines. Then, holding the lines in one hand, he swiftly climbed up and joined her. He settled himself, gave her a moment to rearrange her skirts, straighten her bonnet, and then he chirruped to the horses and the team moved out into a matched trot, their bay heads bobbing in unison.

  Miss Murdock turned once to look back toward her home, but her father was not in sight, and the house stood silent, impassive to her leaving.

  Chapter Six

  As the curricle traveled at a smart trot to the end of the lane from Miss Murdock's home, the sun was revealed above the further hill, and although the air was still cold, the sun's warm beams were a welcome respite from the raw rain of the last several days. Miss Murdock turned her face up to it, allowing its warmth full access to her face beneath the rim of her bonnet.

  With a little sigh, she closed her eyes, clasped her hands together in her lap, and tried to be oblivious to the man next to her, whose thigh, out of necessity on the narrow curricle's seat, was pressed against hers through their clothing.

  It was in her mind to once again reiterate that he was being foolish, his plans of marrying her ill-conceived, and that it would be best if he turned the curricle now, before they were too many miles from her home and it became a greater inconvenience. But she advised herself to be patient, for she was certain as the dawn came more fully upon them, and the light of day made its way more completely into his mind, that he would begin to rethink his position. From his attitude thus far, she believed that any idea that he could not claim his own was dismissed out of hand, and so it would behoove her to allow him to make the first opening remark that would allow him to admit that, just perhaps, he had made a mistake after all.

  Surely, it could not take over long.

  So Miss Murdock sat quietly, tried to focus her thoughts on the strengthening sun, and the enjoyable sensation of the wind snapping past her face, and resigned herself to waiting with fortitude for the dawning of reason in the duke's mind.

  It was only when they were some mile and a half from her home and she felt his lordship fumbling about his person in an annoying manner that she opened her eyes and glanced at him in an irritated way for interrupting her quiet reveries. He was unbuttoning his coat with one gloved hand while retaining the ribbons with the other, and as she watched, he dug inside some mysterious inner pocket of his coat and brought out at last, a small, silver flask. He uncapped it with a practiced proficiency that showed he had done this particular task many times before, and then took a deep drink from it.

  Miss Murdock's nose twitched as the strong odor of whiskey wafted over to her. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” she swore in exasperation, her visions of his regaining his senses evaporating with alarming swiftness. “Do not tell me you are going to continue to imbibe in that horrid stuff? Have you not done enough damage already because of your fondness for the drink?”

  At which point he turned to her. “Really, Miss Murdock. You can not just go about swearing like a sailor. You will shock every female in society once we finally reach London. I really must ask you to be more conservative.”

  “I find that a rich jest, milord. Whoever would have guessed that beneath your rakish exterior you were so strait-laced! Now kindly cap your flask and place it away,” she returned. “Better yet, you had better give it to me, so that you shall not be again tempted.” And she took her hand from the small warmth she had found in her lap and extended it palm up so that he could place the flask in it.

  He chuckled and did replace the cap, but rather than hand it to her, he deposited it once again in his coat pocket, to her dismay. Then he put one gloved finger between his teeth, pulled upon it and removed his glove. Then, dropping it in her still outstretched hand, surprising her, he switched the reins to his now bare hand and repeated the procedure with his other glove, depositing it also in her hand, to join its mate.

  “Put them on, Miss Murdock. Your hands must be cold.”

  For some peculiar reason, which she could not explain, she felt like boxing his ears. His careless concern for her welfare, and his equally careless disregard to her wishes was somehow infuriating, and where she had tried being patient before, her tongue now loosened. “I don't want your gloves, milord. I want you to turn this curricle around and take me home where I belong.”

  St. James gave a long, weary sigh, and when he again turned his head to look at her, she saw how exhausted he was. His gold eyes were dulled and his face was haggard as he contemplated her. “I shall make you a deal, Miss Murdock,” he told her at last. Miss Murdock clutched the gloves in her hand, feeling a large bubble of hope swell in her chest. “I am very tired, and as I still have to stop at the inn to settle my account from last night, we will remain there for a few hours. I shall get some rest, and then, after we have dined, for although I ate this morning, thanks to you, you did not, then we will go through this whole arrangement one final time, and I promise that I will listen to every complaint that you have, and answer them satisfactorily. Will that do for you, Miss Murdock?”

  Miss Murdock flushed at the condescension in his voice. “And if I

  am not satisfied, as you promise?”

  “Then we will come up with a mutually satisfying alternative.”

  “That is not the same as saying I may return home.”

  “No. It is not. But I promise that we shall hash all of this through

  in a mere few hours, so if you could restrain yourself until then?”

  Miss Murdock flounced in her seat. “I can hardly see how you will be more capable of seeing reason if you have that whiskey flask at your disposal, milord!”

  With barely controlled impatience, he unbuttoned his coat once again, with more ease this time as his hands were bare of gloves, and taking out the flask, thrust it at her rather rudely. “Take it, then, Miss Murdock, if it will make you quit your incessant nagging.”

  Miss Murdock took it with triumph, and rather than place it in her reticule or her valise as she had first intended, impulsively flung it out onto the side of the road, where it landed with a soggy splat in the ditch. St. James reined in the horses, looked back at the now mud splattered flask, gave her a single hateful glare from his expressive gold eyes, and then slapped the reins on his horses' haunches. His team took off into a hard canter that had the curricle jerking forward with such suddenness that Miss Murdock was knocked hard against the duke's side. She righted hers
elf, straightened her bonnet once again, and then with an air of calmness, put on his lordship's gloves that had remained in her lap. Once she had her fingers snug in their enveloping warmth, she said, “Thank you, milord. I feel much better now.”

  “I am certainly glad one of us may say so,” St. James replied, and he ran a delicate fingertip over his upper lip.

  Perhaps it had been that last drink he had consumed before Miss Murdock disposed of his flask, which being of a good grade of silver, was certain to make some passing local extremely happy, or perhaps it was the fact that the duke had been awake now for some twentysix hours, or perhaps it was because he found his new fiancé to be excessively wearying, or perhaps it was a combination of all of these, but St. James found himself unable to hold his eyes open for what seemed a moment longer.

  He struggled with them, reminded himself he had a bare two miles to go before they would reach the inn and he could have rest. To keep himself awake, he asked his companion, “Have you ever been out of the county before?”

  She answered in her soothing, solemn voice. “No. I am shockingly rural, never having been further than the local villages. But Froeburgh has a surprisingly well-stocked library, which I try to visit regularly, and the market at Blytown every second Saturday of the month is a sight to behold. I scarce credit even London has a larger display of goods for sale. And Sherrington is quite famous for its carnivals, which they have in the fall. . .” she continued, but St. James was having difficulty following even this simple conversation. He did have sense to pull the horses back, first into a trot, and then as even that were becoming difficult for him to handle them, into a walk.

  Miss Murdock left off talking, which he really did not notice, and then as he fought his ever heavier growing eyelids, he felt Miss Murdock's gloved hands over both of his, taking the ribbons from him. “I can manage,” he mumbled.