by Cari Hislop
“We all want love Marshall. Come off the bed, the maid will be here soon.”
“A pox on stains and maids.” Off the bed, he obediently handed over the chemise and slunk off to his own room with his handkerchief shoved in his nostrils.
As soon as Mary closed the door on the maid she hurried into Marshall’s room where she found him lying on his bed. His eyes lit up as she stepped into his line of vision. “I was hoping you’d come do your duty; read me some Donne. You’ll have to lie next to me on the bed. Don’t be alarmed, I can’t make love with linen hanging out of my nose. You’d laugh at me. I’d be…crumpled. You’re already laughing and I haven’t yet given you my Lord Byron impression.” He half sat up and raised an eyebrow and said with a heavy lisp, “Beware sneaking into my bedchamber; my pistol’s always ready to fire…” He laughed at his performance, but stopped on seeing Mary’s confused expression. “You’re supposed to laugh.”
“Why?”
“Because he keeps loaded pistols by his bed, but what he really means is that he’d bed…never mind Byron, come here and read me some Donne. He’s under my pillow.”
Mary slid onto the bed feeling sapphires study her face, “Read me a poem that describes your feelings for me.”
She blushed as she opened the well thumbed volume, “There are two whole months before you’ll hear about my feelings.”
“I can’t wait two months. Throw me a crumb, that’s an order…please?”
“Since you look so endearing with linen stuffed up your nose; there have been a number of moments today when I felt that I could easily spend my life with you.”
Sapphires shimmered like molten glass, “Truly?”
“Yes, but there were also moments I felt I could demand an immediate annulment.”
Marshall grunted in pain as he turned his head away to hide his eyes. “When…when did you feel you could spend your life with me? Tell me.”
“I think I’ve said too much.”
“Tell me, I beg you; something soothing and kind.”
“When you moved between me and the devil at breakfast, I felt you cared for my well being. I was very touched and heartily relieved.”
“Yes, you touched my leg and I nearly kissed you at the table. And?”
“And when we stood on the beach before we left for the island; I was very moved by your insistent admiration. No one has ever insisted…”
“And I insist you believe me. You looked so lovely leaning into the wind, pure magic. I wanted to wrap my arms around you…and another?”
“I think two is enough.”
Marshall’s face fell, “Don’t torture me woman, I have a broken nose.”
“You don’t have a broken nose.”
“It feels broken. I need at least three drops of happiness to make it better.”
“I’ll give one more, but no more…”
“Well? When else today did you feel you could be mine forever?”
“Hmmm…when you rowed us across to the island.”
“Why did being rowed to the island make you want to be my wife?”
“Ask me in two months time.”
Marshall growled in frustration, “Were you admiring your husband in his shirt sleeves? Hah! You blush. You find your ugly husband desirable…admit it.”
“I never thought you ugly…”
“Hah! She admits it; she admires me.”
“You’re putting words in my mouth my Lord.”
“And your cheeks look rouged with vermillion. You like my eyes. Which of my other parts do you admire Mrs Godfrey?”
“If I told you, your head would swell and that is all I’m going to say on the subject.”
“Hah! You admire all of me.” Mary felt her cheeks grow hotter as Marshall leaned towards her with a knowing smirk. “I dare you to deny it.”
“I’m going to read you some poetry…” She looked down at her book and started thumbing through the pages.
“I think your blushes read admiration for my various parts.”
“And I think your ranting reads an unhealthy vanity my Lord.”
“Read me some poetry…your voice is honey for the soul.”
“You like my voice?”
“There is no voice I’d rather hear whispering words of love. If any be hovering on the tip of your tongue do spill them into my eager ear.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“No, I’m determined to win your heart, even if I do occasionally trip and fall on my face. After this afternoon I’ll have to do something special to stack the cards in my favour. If you think I’m going to accept defeat you’ve been forewarned. For now I’ll savour the knowledge you find me desirable and hope that in two months time my nose will be free of handkerchiefs and I’ll be able to make you my wife. Prop the book on my chest and rest your head near my ear and read me some Donne.”
“Which one would you like?”
“Choose a love poem and read it with conviction so I can pretend the words come from your heart.”
“I long to talk with some old lover’s ghost,
Who died before the god of love was born:
I cannot think that he, that men loved most,
Sunk so low as to love one which did scorn.
But since this god produced a destiny,
And that vice-nature, custom, lets it be,
I must love her that loves not me…”
Marshall groaned in horror, “No not that one!”
“Batter my heart…”
“For pity sake woman read the last few lines before you choose one!”
“Take mee to you, imprison mee, for I
Except you’enthrall mee, never shall be free.
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.”
“Merciful Heavens!” The words were tight as if they’d had to be squeeze from Marshall’s throat. “I meant read it silently before taunting me…”
“Perhaps I should read one of Donne’s religious poems…”
“I need a love poem; one without death or despair.”
“Stay, O sweet, and do not rise!
The light that shines comes from thy eyes;
The day breaks not: it is my heart,
Because that you and I must part…”
A deep growl rumbled through the mattress. “Give me the book.” Marshall flipped through the pages. “Read ‘Lover’s Infiniteness’.” He pushed the open book back into her hands and sighed in resignation.
“If yet I have not all thy love,
Dear, I shall never have it all,
I cannot breathe one other sigh, to move,
Nor can entreat one other tear to fall.
And all my treasure, which should purchase thee,
Sighs, tears, and oaths, and letters I have spent,
Yet no more can be due to me,
Than at the bargain made was meant;
If then thy gift of love were partial,
That some to me, some should to others fall,
Dear, I shall never have thee all.
Or if then thou gavest me all,
All was but all, which thou hadst then;
But if in thy heart, since, there be or shall,
New love created be, by other men,
Which have their stocks entire, and can in tears,
In sighs, in oaths, and letters outbid me,
This new love may beget new fears,
For, this love was not vowed by thee.
And yet it was, thy gift being general,
The ground, thy heart is mine, whatever shall
Grow there, dear, I should have it all.
Yet I would not have all yet,
He that hath all can have no more,
And since my love doth every day admit
New growth, thou shoudst have new rewards in store;
Thou canst not every day give me thy heart,
If thou canst give it, then thou never gavest it;
Love’s riddles are, that though thy heart depart,
/>
It stays at home, and thou with losing savest it:
But we will have a way more liberal,
Than changing hearts, to join them, so we shall
Be one, and one another’s all”
“Would you like me to read it again? Marshall?”
He scowled as she gently tugged a clump of his hair, “Ouch! You’ve already flattened my nose; must you tear out my hair?”
“I asked you if you’d like me to read the poem again and you stared at the ceiling with that look you give the footman when he asks you on rainy days if you desire to use your umbrella. Is your face in much pain? Shall I go find some laudanum?”
“No! Stay where you are, Henry might try to hurt you. It makes me ill to think what might have happened if the Smirkes hadn’t come to your rescue yesterday and today you were right behind me and I still couldn’t protect you. I should annul the marriage so you can marry someone who’ll hear you cry for help, but I can’t. I won’t. I don’t want to give you up.”
Mary rose up on an elbow and looked him in the eyes, “And I should let you drown yourself in melancholy; you’d forget you married me. I wouldn’t have to decide to leave or stay because you’d be too busy wallowing in self-pity to ask me to make up my mind. I’d eat as much as I wanted and get big and fat and you wouldn’t notice because you’d be saying to yourself, ‘Oh woe is me, I don’t deserve a wife.’ My life would be spent consuming a mountain of jam tarts and gallons of chocolate…”
“I’m not wallowing in self-pity. I hate self-pity!”
“You sound rather enamoured of the sentiment to me. If you don’t think you deserve a wife perhaps you should annul me from your life and save yourself two months of pointless waiting.”
“I never said any such rot! Don’t be cruel; you’re making my nose ache.”
“Shall I read you another love poem my Lord?”
“Wicked mermaid; don’t think you can sing in my ear and numb my mind with your honey voice. There will be no escape from my kisses if I win your heart. Will I?”
“Perhaps.”
“Have you ever noticed how the word perhaps has a positive ring to it?”
“No.”
“Wicked mermaid, now you’ve dashed my hopes as well as my nose!”
“There’s no reason to be hipped my Lord.”
“I have every reason. In two months I’ll probably wake up one morning to find all happiness has fled with my wife. The mere thought makes me feel miserable.”
“Keep talking like that and you’ll certainly wake up saddled with an ugly wife.”
Marshall snorted in contempt, “You’re not ugly.”
“If you say so my Lord.”
“I do say so. I like your face; it gives me pleasure when I see it.”
“And my kisses?”
“If I had my way Mrs Godfrey, you’d never share them with anyone but me and my offspring.”
“I can’t imagine any other man thinking my kisses were magical.”
Burning sapphires singed her heart as she gently removed his cravat and unbuttoned his shirt collar. “What are you doing?” Husky longing crackled through his curiosity.
“I’m trying to distract you from your hippish humour.”
“It’s working…” Marshall forgot his aching nose and fears of eternal solitude as he pulled his handkerchief from his nose and wrapped a possessive arm around her waist. “I feel like I’m in a poem.”
“What kind of poem?”
“I hope I’m in a love poem.” Mesmerising sapphires drew her closer into his warmth until her sigh of contentment was savoured by eager lips.
Chapter 20
Moonlight streamed in through half opened windows as the white lipped Marquis of Morley dabbed his cuts and bruises with vinegar. The reflection of Henry Fitzalan in his silk dressing gown was suddenly disturbed by a healthy uninjured face. “If you must hover at my shoulder like a starving whore wear a scent that doesn’t make me ill!”
His valet obediently stepped away, “You gave me this scent for Christmas my Lord.”
“I must have been drunk, you stink. I want four bottles of sherry.”
“Lord Buckingham is very particular about allowing…”
“Damn the Bucktoothed bastard. Go get my wine!”
“Yes my Lord…”
“And tell those kitchen sluts I want a supper tray with something easy to chew and swallow. My jaw…” Morley prodded his sore face and gently tested his teeth. “Are you a manservant or a moving target? I want a glass of wine in my hand in twenty minutes or I’ll hunt you down and shoot you.”
“My Lord…” The man disappeared at a run. Morley returned his attentions to the unpleasant reflection in his toilet mirror. His aging handsome features were blighted by a swollen eye, bruised jaw and painful bluish handprints around his throat. Hissing curses through swollen lips, Morley promised his reflection that the night would be long enough for revenge. His pleasurable thoughts of killing Marshall and making Mary his unwilling wife were interrupted by the return of his servant. “Shall I decant a bottle my Lord?”
“Put them on my commode and uncork all the bottles.” The four bottles clinked as they were carefully set down. “In my medicinal cabinet is a small green vial. Empty it into two of the bottles and set them aside.”
“I thought the laudanum was in the blue bottle.”
“I don’t pay you to think. Do as you’re told.”
“Yes my Lord.” With his back to his master, the valet rolled his eyes as he uncorked the four bottles and then retrieved the green vial. If his master was planning to drink himself into a stupor, it seemed more sensible to even out the dosage of painkiller. His master had clearly sustained an injury to his brain. The servant furtively emptied the green vial into all four bottles in equal measures and returned it empty to the cabinet.
“Put the corks back into the two bottles with the tincture and pour me a glass of wine. Are those kitchen sluts making a tray?”
“Bread pudding my Lord.”
Morley sniffed his sweet wine before downing the whole glass. “Poor me another…” He gulped down a second glass and licked his lips. “Where’s my bath?”
“They’re boiling the water my Lord. It may take an hour; I understand Lady Raynham is bathing after her evening ordeal.”
Morley’s eyes swivelled towards his valet with feverish interest, “What ordeal?”
“Apparently Lord Raynham has finally deflowered his wife. What sort of fool would wait a month to bed his wife? Though I can’t imagine anyone wanting to bed that half-starved…”
“What?” The angry roar caught the valet off guard. “How do you know?”
“Her chemise and the bedclothes were covered in blood. She sent them to be cleaned.”
“It could be the curse!”
“The maid said she heard Lord Raynham moaning for her in the next room…are you unwell? Do you need another glass of wine?”
Convulsed with rage, Lord Morley turned and threw his glass at the window; the sound of shattering glass producing a similar sensation in his brain. All prospects of imminent pleasure had been destroyed. Having missed his chance to rob Mary of her maidenhead, he’d now have to wait until after he was sure she wasn’t with Marshall’s child before taking his turn. He wasn’t going to have a Godfrey brat become the next Marquis of Morley. Turning around, Morley’s bloodshot eyes refocused on the white faced valet. Smelling fear, Morley’s bleeding lips parted into an evil grimace. “Come here Man!” Slapped by the satanic words, the valet regained his senses and fled for his life. Morley’s sore throat and swollen lips hissed curses down the empty corridor. After watering down his rage with another glass of wine he rang for a servant to deliver the two poisoned bottles to Lady Alyce’s chamber. Morley sighed with relief as the bottles were carried away. It was the perfect scheme. Without any further effort on his part it would produce endless hours of amusement. By the end of the next day with any luck Lady Alyce and Robert Smirke would be f
ound dead in a lover’s embrace. Hopefully the poison would take affect while the young whelp had his breeches around his ankles. It would make the tale so much more delectable to recount.