Carisbrooke Abbey (17 page)

‘Never encouraged,’ he interrupted softly.

‘
Allowe
d you to kiss me,’ she continued. ‘But I never dreamed you had a wife.’

‘A wife?’

‘I saw the wedding band on her finger,’ Hilary explained.

He let out a deep sigh. ‘I see.’

He took a step forward and Hilary braced herself against the table.

Then a light man’s voice from the hall interrupted them.

‘Have you seen Miss Wentworth, Lund?’ it asked.

‘Laurence!’ cursed Marcus. ‘Are we never to get any peace? This is what comes of having guests in the abbey. Meet me in the folly,’ he growled, glancing out of the window and seeing that the weather was fine. ‘I must speak to you, but I cannot do it here with the fear of interruptions. I want you to myself. Come as quickly as you can.’

She nodded. There was time for nothing more. The door was already opening and Laurence, beautifully attired in cream breeches, a blue tailcoat, white shirt and expertly-arranged cravat, with highly-polished Hessians adorning his small feet, was walking into the room.

‘Ah! Miss —’ he began with a smile, as his eyes fell on Hilary. Then he saw his cousin. ‘Marcus,’ he said stiffly.

‘Laurence. I was just leaving.’

Laurence bowed.

Marcus left the room.

‘Miss Wentworth. I am pleased to have found you.’ A slight frown wrinkled his brow. ‘Though I am not pleased to have found you at work. That, I hope, will soon be a thing of the past. I have come to ask you if you have had time to consider my proposal.’

Hilary gave an inward sigh. She really did not want to speak to Mr Ulverstone now, but it could not be avoided. Besides, she owed him a polite and final rejection of his hand. ‘I have. I am very flattered by your offer, and sensible of the great honour you do me by making it, but I am sorry, I cannot marry you. My answer must still be "no".’

His brow darkened. ‘I don’t like to think of you at the Hampsons,’ he said. ‘They are ignorant people, and you will have no one to indulge your love of good conversation. Neither Mr nor Mrs Hampson play chess or cards, and I cannot see anything for you there but stagnation. Is my offer really so abhorrent to you that you would prefer a life of servitude?’

‘Your offer is a very attractive one, but I have to refuse it because I do not love you,’ she said gently. ‘I know some people marry without love, and even that they go on to lead happy lives, but that is not for me. I could not marry a man I did not love, no matter how appealing my life might be afterwards.’

‘I see.’

‘I hope you do,’ she said softly.

‘Ah, well.’ His brow cleared. ‘I cannot force you to marry me, nor indeed would I want to. I hope you will be - I was going to say happy; I do not believe that is possible; but at least not unhappy - with the Hampsons.’

‘As to that, I don’t believe I will be with them for very long. Lord Carisbrooke has kindly offered to exert his influence and find me a position in Bath.’

‘Good.’ He looked relieved. ‘That is better than you remaining here. But even so, I will give you my direction. If you change your mind, a letter will bring me to you at any time.’

‘You are very good.’

‘I fear not,’ he said, with a wry smile. ‘Selfishness is my motivation, and not goodness.’

He took out a card and handed it to her.

‘I wish you well, Miss Wentworth, whatever your future holds,’ he said.

‘And I you.’

‘Then we part as friends,’ he said with a smile.

‘Indeed we do.’

He made her a bow and left the room.

Hilary glanced at the card, which contained his name and address, and saw that he lived in Upper Brook Street. It was a fashionable and expensive part of London. If she had been able to accept his hand she would have been going there this afternoon, instead of to a local farmer’s house. But she did not regret her decision.

She waited only for his footsteps to recede before she slipped upstairs, dropped the card on the dressing-table, threw on her pelisse, and headed for the folly.

She should not be doing it, said her head. She should be avoiding Marcus. No good could come of meeting him. But her feet took her onwards, speeding across the lawns and threading her way through the shrubbery until at last she emerged in sight of the folly.

She stopped.

She was suddenly afraid.

If she went any further she would be alone with Marcus and there would be no chance of interruption. If their passions should get the better of them ....She lifted her chin. She must make sure they did not.

She went forward again, more slowly now, approaching the ruined temple. It was exactly as she remembered it. Its devastated walls looked ghostly in the November light.

At first she thought Marcus had not come. But then she saw him emerging from the ruin. Every line of him was dear to her: his shaggy hair, his deep-set eyes, his strong features and his bear-like frame. She felt a tug towards him as if she was being drawn towards a lodestone and fought it with all her might. If she went to him now she would fly into his arms. And so she resisted the pull, looking at him across the clearing, drinking him in.

He was the first to break the silence that stretched between them.

‘You came.’

She nodded. She did not trust herself to speak..

His hand raised. ‘I want you so much ... ’

She could tell he needed to touch her. And she needed him to. She needed to feel him running his hand over her face, and she needed to turn her cheek against it, luxuriating in his caress.

But it could not be.

He let his hand fall. ‘I can never have you,’ he said.

She could tell how desperately he wanted to close the distance between them. She could see him trembling with tension as he willed himself to stay where he was.

She must help him; remind him why they must remain apart.

‘But you are married,’ she whispered.

‘No.’

She barely heard the word, for he had stepped towards her. He had abandoned the fight and given in to the attraction between them.

He raised his hand again and this time he was close enough to stroke her cheek.

She felt her mouth go dry.

She should shake him off. But it felt so wonderful that she did not have the will to do it.

‘I am not married,’ he said.

This time, his words reached her. He must be married. She had seen Esmerelda’s ring.

‘Esmerelda —’ she said.

‘— is not my wife.’

‘
Not
... ?’

Hilary stared. She thought he had said Esmerelda was not his wife. But she must have misheard him. Her senses, clouded by his touch, were not to be trusted.

‘Esmerelda is my sister,’ he said softly.

‘Your sister?’

‘Yes.’

‘But the ring —’

‘Was my mother’s. She left it to Esmerelda when she died.’

Hilary felt the first stirrings of hope growing inside her.

‘Then ....’

‘Then we are free to marry?’ He finished the sentence for her. ‘No, my love, we are not.’

Her spirits sank. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘In a way, I wish Esmerelda was my wife. Then, at least in the future, we might have a chance of happiness, you and I.’

Hilary’s confusion was written across her face.

‘This has all been very sudden,’ he said. ‘You have not yet had a chance to understand what it means.’

He took her arm and led her inside the ruined temple. Large stones, arranged with apparent negligence, formed a perfect seat.

She sank down onto the mossy stone.

He sat beside her.

He took her hands and looked into her eyes.

‘My father was mad. My sister is mad. And one day I, too, will be mad. And that is why I can never marry you.’

She gave a deep sigh. So this was the terrible secret that haunted the abbey. At last she understood.

But it did not change her feelings for him.

‘It is a terrible misfortune,’ she said, ‘but it does not make any difference to my feelings for you. I love you, Marcus. I love you sane, and I will love you insane. Did you really believe it would be otherwise?’

He gave a bleak smile. ‘No. I knew it would not.’

‘I will look after you, care for you —’

‘My love, I could never allow it. I know what agonies you would suffer. I saw my mother suffer them as my father went mad. I saw her fear. I saw her anguish. I saw her pity.’

‘It is true I might come to fear you, and I might also pity you, but you are forgetting that I would also love you.’

He took her hands in his.

‘God bless you for that. But even so, it can never be. You do not know what will happen. My behaviour will become unpredictable, and in the end it will become violent. I might attack you, or even kill you.’

‘But this is all in the future,’ she protested. ‘We would have some time together first. Weeks, months, perhaps even years.’

He stroked her palms with his thumbs.

‘We would. And if it were only the two of us I would fly in the face of fate and take you to wife whilst I can. But it would not only be the two of us. There would be children from our union, and they, too, would be tainted with insanity. You would not only have to watch your husband turn into a beast, but you would have to watch your children sink into madness as well.’

It was a bleak picture, and despite herself she trembled.

Even so, her love for him was strong.

‘We would not have to have children,’ she ventured. ‘I feel things for you that I do not fully understand. When you take me into your arms my thoughts become confused, and I find myself longing for things I have never experienced. But these feelings are only a small part of my love for you. I would be happy just being with you, your friend and your helpmeet. And, in time, your nurse.’

He spoke gently. ‘I know. I have thought of this, too. If we had separate rooms ...  but with only a corridor between us, in the end, I would give way to my feelings.’

‘I could lock my door,’ she said.

‘It would do no good.’ His voice was throaty. ‘Once you were my wife, no lock would keep me out.’

She knew the truth of it. Even if she could find the will to lock her door, he would break it down, and she would want him to.

Her heart misgave her. There was nothing ahead of her but emptiness and her spirit quailed at the thought of it.

‘Then there is no hope,’ she whispered.

His fingers wrapped around her own, squeezing them tightly.

‘None.’

Her world collapsed. That final word, bereft of optimism, was like a death knell.

She felt his arm slip round her shoulder and with a sigh she leant against him as he cradled her to his chest. These were the last private moments they would share, and she would have to make their tenderness last a lifetime.

‘I had hoped to spare you this,’ he said at last, as he pulled away from her. ‘I wanted you to leave the abbey and forget me.’

‘I’m glad you didn’t. These few days have meant more to me than the rest of my life. And I’m glad I know you love me. At least now, I can understand.’

‘Perhaps you are right. Perhaps it is better this way.’

He turned to face her. ‘Then one last kiss,’ he said softly.

He bent his head and kissed her sweetly on the lips.

All his feelings were pouring out of him, and she felt them all; all his love for her, and his longing, and his regret that things could not be any other way.

At last he let her go.

She did not want him to. She wanted the kiss to go on for ever. But although her heart cried out against its ending, she knew they must stop now, whilst they still could.

But still they could not separate.

They sat there, fingers entwined, in the wintry light, together and yet apart. Their bodies were as one, their hearts and their spirits, but soon they must go their different ways.

The clock on the stables chimed the hour, then the half hour, but still they did not move. The air grew cold.  Rain began to fall.

At last Marcus stirred. ‘We must go in.’

Her heart misgave her. This was where it began, the final separation. But it must be done. She stood up slowly, painfully, with every movement an effort. Marcus rose beside her and they walked back to the abbey.

They did not touch. They did not speak. Yet they were bound together, by love and sorrow.

As they entered the hall, Marcus turned towards her.

‘I will leave you here,’ he said.

Hilary nodded. She did not trust herself to speak.

Then he turned away from her, leaving her standing there, desolate and alone.

Finally she roused herself and went upstairs. She removed her pelisse and bonnet, laying them on the bed. Then a great weariness overtook her and she lay down beside them.

How long she lay there she did not know, but at last she began to shake off some of her listlessness. She knew she must get up, for she had much to do. Her body felt heavy, but she managed to rise from her bed. She went over to the washstand, where she washed her face in order to refresh herself, and then set about packing her few possessions so that she would be ready when the Hampsons’ trap should call. She folded her dowdy dresses and stowed them away in her portmanteau, together with her soft indoor shoes, her underwear and her shawl, before putting her brush and comb on top of them. She added her book then glanced round the room to make sure she had not forgotten anything. There was a card on the table. She picked it up and frowned. Howard and Gibbs, she read. The name looked familiar, but she could not place it. How had she come by the card? she wondered. Then her expression cleared, and turning it over she saw that it was Mr Ulverstone’s card.

Did he need the names scrawled on the back?

Perhaps she had better ask him.

She was just about to go in search of him when she heard a crunching of gravel outside. She went over to the window, expecting to see the Hampsons’ trap, but saw instead Mr Ulverstone’s coach. It was too late to return the card, but she doubted the names were important. If they had been, he would have taken more care of them. It was strange, though. They seemed familiar. She had the feeling her uncle had mentioned them at some time. In which case, they were probably the name of his favourite London boot makers.