It's Marriage Or Ruin

by Liz Tyner

  She didn’t believe him, but she accepted his words.

  Next, she moved from the room to the next one which was the smallest room, a corner room, which smelled of musty dirt and animal meanderings. ‘I simply must have this chamber.’

  He pursed his lips. ‘You might get fleas if you sleep in this room.’ It was as far from the biggest one, the one with his trunk in it, as she could get. ‘Besides, your things are at the other end.’

  She took no notice of him, but conceded, ‘I’ll have my things moved.’

  ‘Wait.’ His voice demanded attention. ‘Why do you want this room?’

  ‘Did you notice the view? You can see a small lake and a stream.’ She spoke as if he had no imagination at all. Then she held out her hands, palms up. ‘And the light in here is brighter than in any other. This is the best room of all for sketching.’

  He tapped a board on the floor with his boot. The board was curled up. ‘Did you not see the floorboard you could stumble over? The broken glass in the windows?’ He took the edge of the door in both hands and moved it sideways, not to and fro. ‘The door which is not even held by one good hinge?’

  ‘Easily fixed.’ She spoke to him as if she could not believe he saw those things as problems.

  ‘The bed.’ He pointed to the thing which was barely bigger than that a child might sleep in. ‘That thing is full of rats, birds’ nests and insects.’ He sniffed. ‘And the room smells like a wet dog’s fur.’

  She sighed. ‘True. The mattress will not do.’

  She went to it and began to tug at the feather bed. A scrap of cloth came loose in her hand. ‘Could you help me put this out? Perhaps we can hold it together enough to carry it outside to be burned.’

  He went to the bed and helped her pull the foul-smelling thing from it. He was sure animals had fared better in it than any human had on top of it. ‘The one next to my room has been replaced.’

  ‘I noticed.’ She tugged at the feathered lump. ‘Then I should have no trouble having the same done here.’ She grunted as she moved through the doorway.

  ‘Why do you want to sleep so far from me?’

  ‘The light. You are welcome to move closer.’

  ‘I don’t need the light.’

  He waited, unmoving. ‘There is a new feather mattress in the room next to mine. Sleep on it until this room is ready for you. I will have someone begin on it tomorrow.’

  He wouldn’t force her to move closer and he refused to move his things to her.

  Stalemate.

  He’d heard that chess was not a game of pieces, but a game of territory.

  He looked at the walls. There could be a lot of territory to wrangle over if they chose.

  A wife should be near her husband, or at least be receptive to the thought. But he understood she didn’t really believe herself a part of him.

  He wondered if, in her mind, she’d made a list of wifely chores to look over occasionally and check off.

  ‘Thank you, Marc.’ Happiness flowed from her. The gratitude resulted from the chance to be alone and separate from him, but he couldn’t shut his mind to the woman who stood before him and who had repeated the words of commitment to him.

  Her eyes sparkled, hints of jewels. She’d never smiled at him so. No, he was sure of it. He would have remembered it. He swallowed. A temptress gazed at him.

  ‘I’d like to be friends, Marc.’

  He already had a friend he could discuss things with. Robert. Hell, even Nathaniel.

  He wanted—not a partner exactly. Not a new acquaintance. Not exactly a companion. Not anything he could put a name to.

  But he could put a face to it.

  He wanted an Emilie.

  He’d fallen into a whirlwind of Emilie and he hoped he could catch himself before he hit the ground.

  * * *

  Robert waited at the bottom of the stairs and watched as they brought the ruined feather bed down.

  The valet raised an eyebrow and followed them outside. ‘Sir, the servants’ quarters are disgraceful. The best room reeks. I must move back to town immediately. I fear that I am not of enough constitution to bear this insult to my senses.’

  ‘Robert.’ She dropped the end of mattress. ‘I would so hate to see you leave, but I am sure Marc would lend you the carriage this very moment.’

  ‘I was merely jesting.’ Robert assumed a malevolent stare, which faded as he addressed Marcus. ‘I live to serve you, in whatever circumstances you provide, milord.’ Then he stalked away, turning a corner to the servants’ area.

  ‘I don’t know why he doesn’t like me.’ Emilie winced. ‘I merely mistook him for a butler and that is an elevation over a mere valet.’

  ‘Mere valet?’ Robert snapped back from around the corner, glowering. ‘No one has ever insulted me such,’ he sputtered, then disappeared, a clattering noise assuring them he’d gone.

  Marcus took Emilie and drew her to him. ‘He is more to me than a valet.’

  ‘I know he saved you.’ She glanced behind her to make sure Robert didn’t listen. ‘Your clothes are perfection and I’m sure he is responsible...’

  ‘Just because a person has a certain title, it doesn’t mean that is all they are.’

  ‘Like wife?’

  ‘Or husband.’ Marcus dropped her touch and strode away.

  Wife. A perfect example to her that a designation shouldn’t hamper a person’s status.

  Well, he was not a mere husband. He’d never felt less like a mere husband. An appendage?

  He imagined her introducing him to a friend, right after she mentioned her supplies and how camel hair could make the finest tip for colour on canvas. Assuming she remembered he was in the room.

  At least she would not call him Nathaniel.

  Blast it. He could not see hues and now the few tints surrounding him were grey and murky.

  Outdoors, he examined the world and then turned back to the structure behind him. No wonder he’d preferred the night hours. The darkness had few hues and he saw the same as everyone else in the dusk, and better than most.

  * * *

  Before sunset, Marcus sent the workmen en masse to the study, with cloths and a broom, bucket, water and soap. Like a crew of sailors, they made the room shipshape, or at least clean. Then he had a work table moved in for a desk and things set up.

  Emilie heard the bustle and, after the men departed, she arrived with a list of more things she needed. She stood near Marcus so she could use the lamplight.

  Robert came in, holding a nearly empty glass. ‘You shouldn’t drink alone, so I’m here to share a brandy with you.’ He spoke to Marcus. ‘Perhaps a cigar later after the lady has retired.’

  ‘It has been a rough day, but not all of it was bumpy,’ Marcus admitted. ‘The place has decayed rapidly in a few years.’ He pushed his chair back on to its two back legs. ‘Although I can see the potential of the acreage and don’t expect it to need much work. I don’t estimate those tasks to jostle me too much...but just the right amount.’ He interlaced his fingers behind his head and met her eyes, and she blushed. The blush hit him full force and nearly knocked the air out of his lungs. The night was so close.

  Robert coughed as if a frog were in his throat.

  ‘I am anxious for tomorrow,’ Emilie suggested. ‘I intend to go to the pond and see if any fish are in it. One of the workmen said the pond I see is not the same as the one further afield. He said he has lived in this area always and there is one that I must see and it is—’

  ‘You are not to explore the woods alone.’ Marcus laid a palm flat on the table.

  She gulped as if he had said he was going to lock her in a dungeon.

  The room was silent.

  ‘Emilie, I do not want you hurt, or lost, or falling and breaking a bone or any number of things which could happen to you in the wo
ods. Your safety is utmost.’

  ‘Marc, I’ll be a short distance from everyone. You’d hear a shout if I were in danger.’

  ‘I think...not.’

  He noticed Robert giving her an uppity scowl.

  ‘Robert will accompany you.’

  Robert spewed the brandy so forcefully that Marcus had to wipe his hand. ‘Robert,’ he chastised.

  ‘Sir.’ He rose to his full height and took on the bearing of a valet. ‘I cannot go traipsing the countryside as I have many duties to attend.’

  ‘Besides waking me in the morning and drinking brandy at night—what, pray tell, might those duties be?’

  ‘Well, if you remember, I once saved your life.’

  ‘And you may be called upon to save Emilie’s.’

  He put both hands over his eyes. ‘That might be the death of me.’

  ‘I will not have him in the woods with me.’ Emilie jumped to her feet. ‘It is not proper for a lady to be in the woods alone with a man who is not her husband.’

  ‘I assure you, Lady Grayson—’ Robert’s nose jutted up ‘—you never have to worry about my conduct with you.’

  ‘Robert,’ Marcus stated, ‘you will accompany Lady Grayson whenever she is afield. And you—’ he fixed his attention on Emilie ‘—will gracefully let him accompany you. And neither of you should throw anything at the other.’

  ‘It is more inspiring to walk in the woods alone,’ Emilie said sweetly. ‘Inspiring. Magnificent. Magical.’

  ‘The lady is accurate,’ Robert added quickly, moving to stand in front of Marcus so he could press his case. ‘And I believe she is a capable woman and would be able to extricate herself easily should any unpleasantness arrive.’

  Emilie moved so quickly that she was now between the two, facing Marcus.

  ‘Blah.’ Emilie stretched out her arm. ‘You know how dear painting is to me. It is the muse inspired from my soul. I must be inspired. I must create. And how can I do such a wondrous thing if I am in the presence of...’ she looked over her shoulder ‘...blandness?’

  Robert hissed.

  Marcus was tired. He pushed the chair from the table, stood and fixed both of them with a stare and raised his voice. ‘You will accompany each other when Emilie is in the woods.’

  ‘Blah,’ Emilie repeated, crossing her arms.

  Robert’s nose elevated as if he were the highest of the peerage and he looked at Emilie. ‘I can see your point, Lady Grayson. I am too bland to be in the presence of such greatness as your painting. I am entirely without appreciation for muddy colours swirled on canvas that are supposed to invoke the viewer to rapturous incantations.’

  Emilie raised one brow. ‘You would not know enough to appreciate Lawrence or Michelangelo’s art.’

  Marcus stretched to his full height.

  ‘Robert, help me in my room. Now. Please.’

  Marcus walked out and Robert followed.

  The second the door clicked shut, Marcus turned. ‘Do not bicker with Emilie.’

  ‘She started it,’ Robert said, with his hand still on the door. ‘She always does and you always take her side.’ He sniffed loudly, shoulders lowered.

  Marcus stared at the valet, waiting.

  ‘You have been the son I never had. Now you bring in another individual to the household and you are expecting me to be her lady’s maid.’ He gulped. ‘I had fears about the day you married and I went against my better judgement to help you meet this woman in the billiards room as you’d shown no preference for any woman before her. Then all the peace I had is gone and we are living...’ He regarded the structure. ‘In near rubble far beneath either of us. Particularly you.’ Robert turned his back. ‘I could always go to Nathaniel...’ Robert’s knees bent and he wilted.

  Nathaniel? Blast it. Not Robert, too.

  ‘I need you here.’

  Robert’s shoulders shook. He didn’t speak.

  ‘You are not her lady’s maid,’ Marcus added. ‘You are my valet. And this is an important trust I place in you. You have guided me like a father. And you will keep Emilie safe.’

  ‘That is a tall order.’

  ‘You are up to it.’

  ‘Barely.’ Robert touched fingertips to his forehead. He sniffed again. ‘She is not the woman I had expected you to marry and I cannot forgive that she chose Nathaniel before you. If only I had destroyed that first letter.’ Robert inhaled and while still on his feet, he stumbled towards the door, body weaving. ‘I had no expectation it would lead you to her. Nathaniel, I would not have minded if he’d wed her. But, you, sir, I had hoped...’

  Marcus waited, unable to let himself react.

  Robert puffed from his nostrils. ‘But in all fairness, sir, you could have married the brightest bloom, the highest luminary, and I would not have deemed her your equal.’

  After Robert exited, Marcus opened the window, feeling the coolness. So much for sending Robert away.

  Robert thought him above the stars. Emilie thought him nearly as exalted, but beneath the last drip from her paintbrush.

  He took off his shirt and threw it at the nearest wall.

  He tried to remember each moment when he had seen her as they grew. He’d noticed her from a distance and she’d always seemed lost in her own imaginings when he tried to capture her attention. She’d not noticed him until the unveiling, and then, not truly until after she had spoken with Nathaniel.

  And now they were to start a journey together, but not united. Two separate individuals travelling on the same road, but barely in the same vehicle.

  She’d accepted the house and it had caused contentment deep inside him. He’d been ready to tell the men they were going back to London and might return, or might not.

  But then she’d liked the house.

  He’d planned a marriage—a joining much like two countries who united so that both might profit, much like his parents’ without the profanities and mistresses. The larger country would protect and finance the smaller, and the smaller would provide support troops, plus manage their care.

  He’d not liked his father’s dalliances because he’d found them weakening, particularly as they were well known. They’d undermined the country that his mother had created.

  As Marcus grew, his father would not be with them this week, or that week, but would stop in and arrange their lives to suit him, and then he would be on his way again.

  All his childhood, Marcus had felt that if his family had lived in the same home together, it would have suited them all, except his father. One cog in the wheel had caused all the disruptions.

  Marcus wanted to live near his wife. He had the town house for winter. He had Stormhaven for summer. They would exist together and there would be no discordant cogs.

  He slipped off his boots and lay on top of the covers, bringing about the scent of clean crisp linens and a hint of lavender. It reminded him of womanliness and when he envisioned a woman he could only see one. Emilie.

  The door shut in the room next to his. Marcus waited until the sounds quieted, then he rose and moved forward, searching out his wife.

  Without knocking, Marcus entered the room. Emilie was in bed, but the lamp blazed beside her, her attention focused on her new portfolio, her hand sketching with deft strokes and her concentration rapt.

  He saw the moment she became aware of him. Instantly, she closed the book she sketched in and slipped it behind the bedside table, still holding on to her pencil like a talisman she couldn’t release.

  His feet were bare on the rug and he crossed the room, moving to her side of the bed.

  He grasped the pencil, taking it from her grip, and dropping it beside the lamp. ‘You have nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Marcus,’ Emilie said, regarding him. ‘Everything has changed.’

  ‘Except us.’

  ‘Especi
ally us.’

  ‘Don’t think about the past or our future, or even tonight.’

  ‘It’s not that straightforward for me.’

  He clasped her fingers. ‘This is one night. You don’t have to concern yourself about it, you only have to feel. Tonight is for you.’

  ‘Do you mean it?’

  ‘Completely.’

  The moment the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. He was going to be up all night—stiff as a pike—and she would ask at that point to draw him. That would not be the pinnacle of his life.

  He took one of her fingertips, kissed it and hid a sigh, because Emilie seemed as stiff as a pike also, but for different reasons.

  He examined the small fingers clasped inside his larger ones. He wasn’t going to come second to art. Not his lovemaking. No. That would not work well in the long run. Not even for a month.

  Or a night.

  He took her forefinger and held it to his lips. Long. Graceful. Kissable. He caressed her hand with his face, letting his jaw rest against it, manoeuvring it to hold him close.

  Then he moved her over and reached around her, tugging her near, soothing her. ‘You studied me, but grant me the same desire.’ Whispering, he asked, ‘You wouldn’t put a masterpiece in front of me and tell me to ignore it, would you?’

  ‘Me?’ she asked. ‘You think that of me?’

  He slipped down the shoulder of her chemise and backed away enough so that he could bend to kiss her. She was the great works all combined in one.

  Then he took off his trousers and slid into bed beside her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Emilie gazed at her husband. In his appearance, she could see power and strength, but reclined beside her, he relaxed, appearing at peace with the world.

  As his hair brushed against her, she scented masculinity, a leather, soap, woollen and skin scent—a potent scent she’d not known before.

  With the fingers of his right hand, he caressed the shoulder he’d exposed earlier when he’d lowered her chemise to her upper arm. She moved slightly so that she was turned more towards him and his left hand moved across her back and pressed them close.