In the Brief Eternal Silence

by Rebecca Melvin

  But she only tsked. “Certainly you can, milord. But I shall take them just for a moment, and then you may have them once again.”

  St. James nodded, closed his weary eyes, and his head lulled back and jounced as there was no support for it. “Make for the inn, Miss Murdock. I'll not have you turning the horses about and heading home.”

  “I am satisfied with the inn for now, milord.” She paused for a moment, then added, “Here. You may rest your head on my shoulder, for you will get a cramp in your neck having it bouncing about like that.”

  Without thought, he did move, found her shoulder with his eyes still closed. Thought once that for such a small shoulder, it remained quite steady with the added weight of him against it, and then he abandoned himself to the sleep that called with insistence out to him.

  He awoke at the noise of the inn's yard: the snorting of other horses, the rattle of their conveyances' wheels, the different sound his team's hooves made as they went from dirt road to the cobblestone of the yard. Voices were heard, the heavy country accent of grooms, the more cultured voices of patrons, and one voice in particular, “By Gad, there he is now! Told you, Ryan, if we waited but an hour or two, he would surely come past here, for there is no road out of this part of the county that does not come past this inn.”

  St. James sat up with a jerk, was shocked nearly senseless by the fact that Miss Murdock was driving his most prized team, and with not even a hair out of place beneath her ugly bonnet. “The devil take it!” he said, reaching and taking the ribbons from her. “I did not allow you to drive my bays?”

  “You were hardly in any condition to argue with me, milord, as I could have told you would happen since you insisted on having that last drink from your flask. Anyone could see that you were barely fit to drive before that, let alone after.”

  “I've driven while worse, you wretched lass. I would have managed.”

  “Be that as it may, I've contrived to get us here without any unfortunate incident, so you may quit glaring at me like that.” She rubbed her shoulder as she spoke, and it occurred to him what a sight they must have made pulling into the yard, she handling the ribbons, while he passed out and leaning upon her small shoulder.

  He glanced about the yard, his thoughts bringing him back to the familiar voice that shocked him into wakefulness. Seeing the source of that voice, he directed the team further into the yard and arrived to a halt a few feet from Lord Bertram Tempton and his younger brother Ryan. They were both in black riding breeches and bright red coats, lacy white cravats showing at their necks, and high black hats upon their heads. Beside them were two hunting horses, tacked and waiting, and they each held a quirt, Ryan tapping his against his high black boot.

  “St. James,” Bertie said as the curricle halted. “That's a bloody fine show to be putting on, leaning insensible against a young chit of a girl and making her drive your bloody monsters. Where, by the by, is Tyler? Surely he could have driven if you felt the need to pass out while on the road!”

  “Tyler had an errand to run. He will be meeting up with us later.”

  “Bloody soon, I hope! Needn't tell you, bad enough to ride about with a girl with only a groom as chaperone, but to have no chaperone at all! There will be no end to the scandal if someone else were to see you,” his friend advised him.

  “I am well aware of it, Bertie. Thank you for your concern.” St. James summoned one of the inn's grooms over to take the reins. “Can you handle them, boy?” he asked, as the groom was quite young.

  “Pardon me, milord, but if t'miss there can drive 'em, then I'm coiton I can hold 'em,” the groom said with a grin.

  St. James scowled, murmured under his breath, “My team's celebrity will never live this down, if word should get out.” He handed the reins to the boy, jumped down from the curricle in sharp contrast to his prior obliviousness of just moments before. Then he turned, reached up a hand to Miss Murdock, who placed her gloved one into it, and allowed him to assist her down.

  St. James gave her a critical scan then turned to Lord and Mister Tempton. “Allow me to properly introduce Miss Sara Elizabeth Murdock, whom you met yesterday under even less seemly circumstances.”

  “Ah, yes,” Bertie replied, taking her hand. “And you look much more. . . clean today, my dear. I am Lord Bertram Tempton, Earl of Edison.”

  Miss Murdock flushed slightly. “Pleased to make your acquaintance again, milord.”

  “And, of course, my younger brother, Mister Ryan Tempton.”

  “Mister Tempton,” Miss Murdock acknowledged.

  “Miss Murdock. I hope that we do not find you in any difficulty today,” Ryan said.

  His words were more intense than a casual greeting and Lizzie was a little taken aback at his concern. “I am well, thank you,” she stammered and could not help glancing at the duke who was frowning.

  “As I can see we are delaying you from your hunt, we shall bid you goodbye for now, as I have promised Miss Murdock breakfast here at the inn,” St. James interrupted.

  “Ah, yes,” Bertie returned. “We were, I confess, delaying our leaving on the chance that you may turn up here, as there could be no other logical way for you to go but past the inn. But, as I see you have all well in hand, we will be going now. Good day, Miss Murdock. Good luck, St. James.”

  “Thank you, Bertie. I appreciate the sentiment.”

  Lord Tempton turned to his brother. “Ryan? Are we ready?”

  “I—just a moment.” He turned to Lizzie. “Miss Murdock, I am not being presumptuous, I hope, but if you would care for a chaperone, I would be happy to remain with you and his lordship until his groom is able to arrive back.”

  Miss Murdock flushed at his words. “I, indeed! Thank you for the offer, Mister Tempton, but I really cannot see any harm if you go ahead with your hunt and not interrupt your pleasure on my account.”

  “It is just,” and Ryan glanced at the duke, who remained silent, before continuing, “I would understand if you were apprehensive of perhaps the wrong connotation being construed upon being in his lordship's company alone, and would wish to avoid any unpleasantness. . .”

  Feeling more equal to the task, Miss Murdock replied in a much surer voice, “Oh, I can not think that we would run into any one here that would matter, that is, assuming of course, that we can trust your and Lord Tempton's discretion to not go about blabbing some ludicrous tale of his lordship and I having a carte blanche or some other such unlikely silliness! For I can tell you that nothing could be further from the truth, as any one with two eyes in their head looking at me could see for themselves. I am confident that Tyler will return in good time and that we will be, if not entirely appropriate, at least passably respectable from that point, and that neither I nor my reputation will come to any irreparable harm.”

  At the end of her speech, Ryan gave a grave nod, said, “If you are certain. Of course, you can trust my and Lord Tempton's discretion, but I must add, Miss Murdock, that I really can't see it, what you were saying about anyone looking at you being able to see out of hand that such a tale would be ridiculous.” He looked more awkward than usual, and his ears reddened until they nearly matched the redness of his hair, but he turned with dignity then to the duke and added, “Milord St. James, I trust that you will behave appropriately in this situation?”

  To which St. James replied with matching seriousness, “You can have my hand upon it if you wish, young Ryan.” Ryan murmured that of course the duke's word was more than adequate for him.

  With that off his chest, Ryan mounted his horse, waited while a groom assisted his brother in mounting his. Then with a last penetrating stare at Miss Murdock from his young, earnest eyes, he tipped his hat to her and said, “Miss Murdock, milord Duke.” Bertie echoed his sentiments, and then they were off, trotting from the yard and into the chill of the morning.

  Miss Murdock turned to find St. James' eyes assessing her, which made her color heighten.

  “Well, Miss Murdock, as you can see, I am h
onor bound to behave myself, for I do not wish to have young Ryan calling me out in a duel if I were to perhaps sully you in any way.”

  “And I am sure, milord, that it was no hardship for you to promise such, so please do not make yourself sound in any way self-sacrificing.”

  He did not say anything for a long moment, but the gold of his eyes flared up, and he said, “Ah, it must be a comfort for you to believe that, Miss Murdock, so I shall not disabuse you of that idea. Not now at any rate.” He took her arm, made to escort her in to the inn, then hesitated. Instead, he added, and his words were husky as he spoke softly into her ear, “Do not forget that just a few hours past, I saw you when your hair was down and your eyes had the soft glow of the lamps' reflections in them, and you moved with surety and grace in your worn night gown and robe. And if there was nothing in your actions that was overtly seductive, there was still enough in your appearance to cause any man to have thoughts that are common at that time of the night.” His hand tightened on her arm, and his breath brushed off her bonnet and found a crevice between her cloak and neck. “Enough said, Miss Murdock?”

  And she nodded, mute, feeling her heart pound uncomfortably. In an abrupt tone, he added, “Come, for I am tired. And I do not wish to frighten you when I am not totally in control of what I say. If you are very hungry, you may dine privately, or if you wish to wait, I can join you for a meal in a little above an hour. It is up to you, Miss Murdock.”

  He moved with her to the door of the inn, and Miss Murdock fell into stride beside him, his hand still at her arm, and they entered the darkness of the inn's interior. “I shall wait with no hardship,” was all she could think to say and he nodded. He spoke with the innkeeper, advising him that he should like to retain his rooms from the night before for another few hours, and also a private salon for Miss Murdock, with tea, and any buns or other light snacks that she may wish.

  The innkeeper appeared happy to fulfill his lordship's wishes and St. James accompanied her to her salon door, apologized for the inconvenience to her of being left to her own devices, and then seeing her settled, excused himself to go to his room of before next door. “If any one disturbs you, Miss Murdock, you need only summon me. So please do not be afraid.”

  Miss Murdock, who was not in the least afraid, for she could not likely credit anyone bursting into her salon and offering to do her harm when she was but five miles from her own home and had spent a good deal of time alone there without incident, merely said, “Of course, milord.” Then he was gone. A chambermaid brought her in an assortment of buns, cakes, breads, biscuits, a steaming cup of tea, and a London newspaper on the side, a day old, but what matter, as it was all new to Miss Murdock, and she settled in to a comfortable respite from the duke and his disturbing presence and, she admitted to herself, his even more disturbing words.

  It was little more than an hour later when he returned. He was shaved, his dark locks tied back in a brief ponytail and he had on fresh clothing from his bag, which had evidently remained at the inn. Miss Murdock wished she looked half as fresh, for she had, to her chagrin, ended dozing on the settee, finding herself tired after being up at half past two that morning, and now she felt a good deal crumpled. She was in the act of repinning her hair into its severe bun at the nape of her neck when he knocked and then entered. With his appearance, she found her fingers clumsy, and when she wished to be done with the task with the most possible speed, she instead was fumbling beneath his gold eyes.

  He closed the door behind him, strode over to where she sat, still dealing with her rebellious hair, and he told her, “Turn slightly, Miss Murdock, and I will endeavor to help you. For frankly, you are making a mess of it. If we walk out of here with you looking like that, there will be no end to the ruination of your reputation.”

  “Oh, bother!” she said and allowed him to help.

  “Have you a brush?” She had taken a small one from her reticule when beginning her own efforts, and now she handed it to him, feeling foolish.

  He took the brush and showed a good deal of finesse in brushing out the long strands of her hair and then twisted them tight, wrapped them around and pinned them into place. She did not ask where he had attained his skill, guessing sourly that it was not the first time that it had been imperative that a young miss walk from a room appearing unmussed in his presence.

  There was a knock on the door, and he called enter and rose from where he had placed one knee on the settee as he had assisted her. The door opened and two men brought in a small table, set with two places, and a chambermaid followed with a tray holding several covered platters of food. The men put down the table, drew up two chairs to it from one side of the room, and the chambermaid placed the platters on the center of it. She asked milord if there would be anything else to which he replied that all looked well, and the three left without any further comment.

  St. James pulled out a chair for Miss Murdock, settled her at the table and then took his own place.

  Miss Murdock, who had eaten rather more of the buns and cakes than she had first expected, ate little, and St. James ate hardly more, causing her to wonder that he survived adequately, for she was far more used to her father's incessant appetite.

  In short order they were finished, and lingered only over their cups of tea, which she had been surprised to see him settle for, as there was an ample supply of brandy, whiskey, claret, sherry, and assorted schnapps on a sideboard in the room.

  “Now, Miss Murdock, we will have that promised conversation if you wish.”

  “Yes. I am glad to see you have not forgotten.”

  He raised a brow, took a sip from his cup, set it down and waited for her to go on.

  Miss Murdock gathered her thoughts, wanting to approach the subject with firm diplomacy. “Milord,” she began. “As it is apparent that you entered this foolhardy agreement with the aim of acquiring my horse, perhaps that is where we should begin.” She waited for his comment but there was none, so she continued. “I admit it would cost me personally a good deal, for I prize Leaf highly, but I have come to the conclusion that the only way for me to be out of this predicament is to give her to you.”

  He gave a thin smile. “That desperate, Miss Murdock?”

  “No, milord. Merely that filled with misgivings. As surely you must be by now.”

  “I have been filled with misgivings from the start, Miss Murdock.”

  “Well! I am only surprised because you have not shown it. But now, with your admission, I am hopeful that you will take what I am offering you and leave this situation feeling completely satisfied, that in the end, you have attained your objective after all, and with a good deal less pain than what could have been otherwise.”

  “But I have not obtained my entire objective, Miss Murdock,” he countered.

  “Be that as it may, any further objective you may have, can not be, I regret but truthfully say, any concern of mine.”

  “But it does concern you, Miss Murdock. For my further objective is to marry you.”

  No, milord!” she returned, more heat in her voice than she thought was advisable, but unable to help herself. “If you are truly bent on marrying, your objective clearly can not be dependent upon my being your wife. I have come to the conclusion from what little I have been able to gather of your unfathomable motives, that you merely think you require a wife, not a particular wife. If I am correct and that is the case being, may I suggest, humbly but sincerely suggest, that you find another wife. Someone perhaps that is actively seeking a husband, and not myself, who is not actively seeking a husband.”

  His eyes narrowed, not from anger or even irritation she suspected, but more from his thoughts. “Let us leave my motives for seeking a wife be for a moment, Miss Murdock. Let us rather discuss why it is you are not seeking a husband. Can you elaborate on that please?”

  “I hardly see that it could make any difference to you, milord.”

  “You are curious of my motives, are you not?”

  And as muc
h as Miss Murdock wished to say she wasn't, she couldn't in truth reply in that manner, so she did admit, “I have wondered, yes, what would impel a duke, moneyed and privileged and, despite being of a certain disreputable renown, and rather disagreeable, I might add, but still extremely favored as a husband by most any female, to feel that he must obtain a wife in a highly unorthodox manner.”

  “So you are allowed to be curious of my motives, but I am not allowed to be curious of your own?”

  “Mayhaps I am curious, but I do not see you satisfying my curiosity, milord.”

  “Satisfy mine, Miss Murdock,” and he gave a delicate pause, a wicked little grin turning up the corners of his mouth, “and I shall satisfy yours.”

  Miss Murdock bowed her head, sipping from her tea cup in a shaking hand effort to hide her fluster. How could he know that she could be, in fact, curious about that, when she herself had not acknowledged it to herself? Or had he in his great egotism merely assumed that every woman he encountered under the age of eighty must have that thought flit through her mind at some point in his presence? And had probably had enough cloying attention to prove him right?

  “Miss Murdock,” he began, and his brief suggestive look was not evident in his voice, reassuring her, “let me suggest that you mayhaps envisioned yourself remaining on with your father well into his dotage, until at some unfortunate time in the future when he died. And that after that, assuming that he lived for a goodly amount of years and you were perhaps by then in your forties or mayhaps even fifties, you had envisioned yourself having a small bit put back, through diligence and economy, and bethought that you would perhaps sell the estate, your father having, I am guessing, no apparent heirs, for whatever sum it would get, and buying yourself a small cottage, and living the remainder of your life doing whatever small tasks you found pleasure in. Perhaps gardening, or reading, or being of some use nursing others in need.”

  “Vetting,” she said, her voice small. “I'm good with all animals, not just horses, and have learned quite a bit from our old groom, Kennedy, about poultices and herbs and drenching. I've nursed numerous hares and birds, pigs and calves, as well as horses. He says I have the knack for it.”