by Cari Hislop
Her pacing tricked her legs into thinking they were taking her to Marshall, but her heart knew that after two hours she was no closer than when she started. She wanted to fling open the closed door and throw her arms around him, but he’d requested solitude. Did she act on her feelings or respect his wishes? She couldn’t hear any sounds from the next room. He was probably fast asleep. She was fretting over nothing. Sleep was impossible, but she was cold. Blowing out the candle, her eyes slowly adjusted to the bluish moonlight softly outlining the room. Shivering, she climbed into bed and ignored the imaginary Morley lying beside her. The clock chimed 12:30. She closed her eyes and tried to will her feet warm when a strange choking sound from the next room made her sit upright. She flinched as the sound was repeated coinciding with an urgent impulse to run to her husband. She couldn’t sit there doing nothing. If he was angry with her intrusion and rebuked her for disturbing his private grieving she’d ignore the feeling in future.
Flinging off her bedclothes she ran to the connecting door and jerked it open. Hesitating, an awful choking sob drew her to the bed. Peeling back the heavy duvet she climbed in expecting to be told to leave. The silence gave her courage. Inching across the mattress, she bumped against his warmth and leaned closer. “Marshall?” Reaching under the duvet she lightly touched him. The choking sound sharpened as he pulled his face from his pillow and reached for her.
“Merry…” She allowed desperate hands to grope her waist and pull her half underneath him. She said nothing as his heavy head came to rest against her chest. Ignoring her squashed lung and aching right breast flattened under his cheek, she silently combed her fingers through his thick hair. “I couldn’t wait to get rid of Alyce. She was a hussy. She was heartless. I miss her.” Mary accepted the illogical statements and continued rhythmically combing her fingers through his hair as her nightdress sopped up his tears. “I can’t believe she’s dead. Last week she was so alive, so irritating. I wish I’d never met Morley. She was my responsibility…I should have killed him for that, that travesty of a wedding.”
“And you’d have hung for it if you didn’t flee to the continent. How would that have helped?”
“Three other people would be alive.”
“It wouldn’t have saved Alyce from herself. If she hadn’t married Morley I dare say she’d have married someone like him.”
“I told her Morley was bad. I told her to stay away from him…”
“I know.”
The darkness was turning to milky shadows when Marshall shuddered into silence with a deep sigh. Feeling his full weight slump against her, she relaxed assuming the regular breathing meant he’d fallen asleep. With her hands tucked into his hair, she was half asleep when a long deep groan rumbled through her breastbone. “Perfect Woman, what have you done?”
She jerked awake. “What?”
“What have you done?”
“Donne? What have I done?”
“You reeled me in like a dumb fish; I couldn’t see the hook for the worm.”
“I did no such thing.”
“You did! I swallowed the bait and got a hook in my lip and now I’m waiting…praying you won’t throw me back.”
Mary forgot she was sleepy as her heart started dancing. Her husband suddenly lifted himself off her and shifted his heavy warmth until his lips were warming her right ear. Was he going to kiss her? Was he going to tell her that he loved her? “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“I said you walked into that office…” The man fell silent as he warmed his nose in her hair. “You walked into that office and cast a spell. You parted the clouds. You called down the sunlight. You created poetry.”
“I don’t remember doing anything but praying you’d hire me.”
“Ah, you looked at me and longed to be a part of my life.”
“I longed to sit at your table and eat your food.”
“Wicked Mermaid, you swam up to my boat and taunted me with your magic hair.”
“Magic hair? Why is my hair magic?”
Her heart threatened to go up in flames as he sighed into her ear. “I can’t tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Because it would prejudice your answer in two months time.”
“I don’t see how it could.”
“I can. I want an honest answer. You’ll have to wait.”
“I think it would be better if you told me now.”
“I think you should close your eyes and go to sleep because I’m not going to tell you for two whole months.”
“Don’t be silly; just tell me why my hair is magic.”
“I need sleep.”
“Marshall, I can’t wait two months! I might forget to ask again. You might lose a chance to influence my heart. You might regret not telling me.”
“Not likely…” The smug words were muffled against her shoulder.”
“You’re taunting me! Couldn’t you give me a hint?”
“Merry mine…”
“Is that a hint?” With a soft grunt he pulled his hand from underneath her waist. Folding it up against his chest he rested it between her breasts. “Marshall…?”
“Mine.”
“About my hair…” Another deep sigh and the masculine lips against her ear went slack with sleep. Lying still, Mary relished the pleasure caused by the warmth and weight of the man holding her in his sleep. It wasn’t difficult to imagine spending the rest of her life as Mrs Marshal Godfrey, but did she love him? She lightly caressed his hair causing her companion to sigh, ‘Merry mine’ in his sleep. She smiled at the unconscious endearment as she wondered how anyone knew if they were in love. Did she love her husband? She could easily argue yes or no, but either answer would be prejudiced by her situation. Her pride might blind her true feelings; it might insist she couldn’t marry the man because she didn’t come from his world. It might insist she couldn’t marry him just because she was afraid of starving to death. On the other hand, she could persuade herself she loved him because she enjoyed his kisses. She could persuade herself she loved him out of fear of hunger or loneliness. She wanted to love him, so how could she ever know her answer was sincere?
She felt confused and irritated with herself; other women had no difficulty knowing their hearts. Did she love Marshall? The question appeared impossible to answer. She felt panic as she wondered how she’d give an honest answer in two months time. A strange thought flitted through her mind, ‘ask yourself a different question’. Mary’s heart burned with approval as new questions started popping into her mind; could she ever be unmoved by his sapphire eyes? No. Could she walk out of the sleeping man’s life and be at peace with her decision? No. Could she be happy knowing some other woman was being held in his arms and called his merry wife? No. Even if he repaid her services with a large fortune that ensured she could live like a Queen, would she be happy to leave him? No. What was the point of jewels and silks without smiling sapphire eyes? Did she want to remain his wife? Yes. Did she love him? There was only one answer.
The feeling of elation made her want to laugh out loud as she pressed her lips against the sleeping man’s cheek causing him to mutter in his sleep. Smiling through tears of relief, seemingly random words began to tumble into her mind; no determination, honour, eternal cold, yourself’s decease, coming end. The words had a Shakespearian flavour. She waited for the words to arrange themselves into a familiar poem, but her tired brain wouldn’t give up the answer. It was a puzzle that demanded completion. She was unaware of sleep slipping a black hood over her head as the words followed her into her dreams. Everywhere she looked there were words in strange places; etched into a silver teapot, embroidered on cushions, painted onto portraits of smiling children with sapphire blue eyes.
Chapter 32
Marshall opened his sore eyes to see a feminine ear draped with stray strands of honey. The memory of her comfort flooded his mind as he savoured the sensation of being imprinted with the woman he loved. He’d imagined countless times what it would be t
o like to wake and find Mary in his arms, but finding her half underneath him… Pleasure sluiced through his veins heating his insides with longing. Her soft smile and even breath spoke of pleasant dreams. Was he causing that smile? He hoped so. Marshall carefully rose up on an elbow and watched her chest rise and fall before allowing his eyes to examine her face. Could any Beauty have a more pleasing countenance? His lips slid into a smile as he imagined waking his wife with a kiss and convincing her to let him make her position permanent. The smile slid from his lips as he hissed curses on his impatient heart; the longer he remained in bed the harder it would be to resist remaining. Giving in to temptation would only bring rejection. Ignoring his head he leaned over and lightly kissed her lips hoping she’d wake. Her lips flickered into a smile as if the caress sweetened her dream. Marshall groaned in frustration as he hissed more curses on his luck. He would fall in love with his hired wife after telling her that he didn’t intend to consummate the marriage. Could he have said anything more stupid? Sighing in resignation Marshall carefully extracted himself from the bed without waking his companion.
Standing near the fire, he watched her turn on her side revealing her long honey coloured braid. He smiled as he remembered her wanting to know why her hair was magical. What part of her wasn’t magical? When she stepped into a room time seemed to waver. When she smiled at him he felt like the only man in the world. The sight of her hair flowing free framing knowing eyes made his insides melt and his knees buckle. He’d beggar himself; he’d give her everything he owned if it would convince her to stay, but he knew she’d refuse it. She’d turn the offer down and explain it was against one of her personal rules. If he was really unlucky she’d use the same rule to walk away from his kisses even though she wanted to stay. No, she wouldn’t be so silly, she couldn’t. He had to believe that in two months she’d look into his eyes and tell him that she loved him.
He hoped he was being quiet as he moved the large folding screen in front of the fire and set about his morning ablutions. After shaving he peered around the screen to see she was still sleeping. His pillow called like a siren. Pulling on his trousers he firmly buttoned his front flap over his voluminous shirtsleeves and pulled on his boots. A wistful sigh escaped his lips as he watched her roll over in her sleep; grabbing a coat from the wardrobe he reluctantly closed the door behind him.
In the breakfast room the three eldest Smirke brothers were trying to cheer a melancholy Lady Morley whose spirits had been crushed by the discovery she was a beautiful seventeen year old girl in an ugly old woman’s body. Sitting down, Marshall helped himself to a cup of tea and a pile of toast. Attempting to make polite conversation he asked Cecil Smirke if their father was still abed. The young man leaned over and said into his ear, “He’s rowed Robert and Cosmo over to the Island to see the castle.”
“Have you seen Buckingham?”
The three Smirke brothers looked at each other and then back to Marshall. “Bucky said he was taking Emily for a drive…”
There was something about the way the three brothers looked at each other which hinted that it wasn’t a drive around the lake. “Is he driving her to Scotland?”
Cecil coughed on a mouthful of toast before looking up at Marshall with wary eyes. “Bucky did mention something about Emily having a desire to buy some tartan.”
Marshall scowled at the young man. “She went out for a drive to buy cloth?”
Cecil Smirke looked at his brothers, but they stared back unhelpfully silent. “I suspect Lady Emily will be visiting a helpful Smithy before choosing the tartan. Was her mother Scottish?”
“No, did Aunt Beatrice accompany them?”
“There wasn’t room. I should think with all of Buckingham’s sisters in the coach no one will think for a minute it’s an elopement. You don’t look angry.”
“If that’s what she wants, good riddance!”
Cecil visibly relaxed. “We weren’t to tell you ‘till this evening in case you thought to ride hell for leather after them. Lady Emily left this for you.” Cecil took a folded letter out of his pocket and put it next to Marshall’s plate. Marshall set down his tea cup and broke open the sealed letter.
Bucky and I are eloping. Please don’t try to stop us. I know we just buried Alyce and I should wait a year for mourning, but I love Bucky and I want to be his wife. Since Alyce is dead can I have her dowry? I’d like Bucky to be able to say his wife brought him sixty-thousand pounds. Love, Emily.
Cecil Smirke leaned towards Marshall with curious eyes, “What does she say?”
“That you should mind your own business.” Marshall folded the letter and shoved it in his pocket as he stood.
“She said that?”
“No I say it.”
“I was just curious. Do you need to be distracted from thoughts of Alyce? We could play cards or charades…”
“I need to be alone.” Marshall abruptly left the table and headed for the library. Finding a comfortable chair he sat down and stared at the distant scene out the window as he tried to order his feelings.
Marshall was lost in thoughts of Mary when something yellow flickered in the corner of his left eye. Turning his head he stared in dismay. His wife was in her dressing gown, her long honey braid flicking like a snake as she energetically searched the bookshelves. He blushed as she bent over to peruse lower shelves revealing a good twelve inches of bare calves. Had his wife taken leave of her senses? Even if Morley was dead, one of the Smirke’s might have been sitting in the library. He scowled at the thought of any other man seeing her bare legs. As she bent over again to examine the bottom of another shelf, poetic words sprang to mind echoing her movements making him smile. Everything about her was poetic, even the way she tipped her head.
Her search ended as she pulled a small thin book off the shelf and stood there carefully turning pages. Marshall’s eyes ached with pleasure as a ray of light tunnelled through the dusky library, bounced off a mirror over the mantel and showered his beloved in sunlight. The constrained honey braid down her back glistened with every slight movement of her head while the folds of her buff yellow silk dressing gown shimmered in repose. He could almost believe the Italian Renaissance artist, Caravaggio, had returned with angelic palette and brushes to dab her into life. He sighed with longing causing the honey to glisten as she raised her head and turned in his direction. Her cautious polite expression melted into a beaming smile that made him forget everything, but the restrained ache of desire. He dumbly watched her dance over to his chair to smile down at him as if to reassure him that it was for him alone. He mutely tapped his thigh hoping she’d accept his invitation to come closer.
Marshall grunted in delight as buff yellow silk crunched into elaborate angles as she folded herself into his arms still clutching her book. “Good morning Marshall.”
“It wasn’t good until you proved real…Pygmalion. I swear you’re a masterpiece brought to life by Aphrodite.” She blushed with pleasure and accepted his burning gaze with an expression that made his heart beat an expectant drum roll in his chest. “If you weren’t mine, I’d be sick with envy.”
His wife blushed with pleasure and wiggled closer. “And if you keep looking at me like that I’ll start believing you.”
“Believe it; even Morley, that limb of Satan, envied me.”
“Let’s forget he ever existed. I’d much rather you wooed me with a poem. Something about the goddess of love would be appropriate.”
“One does come to mind…
Venus, with young Adonis sitting by her…”
Mary fiddled with his cravat before pulling out the knot. “Are you the young Adonis?” Her impish smile ignored his scowl.