The Disdainful Marquis (34 page)

A month ago when she had first come here, straight from the dock where their fishing vessel had deposited them, she had been too exhausted to appreciate Fairleigh. Sinjun had traveled on to London to deliver his lists and his news of the emperor's return and future plans. He had sent Catherine straight on to his country seat. She had arrived by night, after a long and weary journey by carriage. But then sleep and ease and the security that emanated from the house had helped to mend her spirit. The knowledge that she was home and safe aided her. But Sinjun's prompt return to her side and having him near her every day had done the most to restore her.

Those first weeks she and Sinjun had roamed the grounds. He had shown her all the secret places of his youth; they had laughed and played together as though they were back in his childhood. He saw to it that the servants acknowledged her as mistress and she was easy in her mind at all times. He was such a clever, attentive companion that he almost succeeded in making her forget that this was but a temporary time for her and that she must soon move on again. He had treated her as a well-loved sister.

She did not know precisely when the change had begun. Before she had even been aware of it, it had arrived. One day he had been her eager friend and the next it seemed his air of polite and icy indifference was upon him again.

It was as if the one night they had dined by candlelight as usual, and there had not been enough hours in the evening to tell each other all they wished, and the next night he had sat listening to her with sedate half-interest until her voice had dried in her throat and conversation ebbed away. He was not cold to her, nor ever rude, but she could feel the distance grow between them. Instead of reassuring him that she was prepared now to be on her way, perversely, cowardice stilled her tongue and instead she attempted to draw his interest back. And the more she tried, the more precisely polite he had become.

But then, only a week past, she had, in a burst of misery-induced bravery, stopped him as he finished his dinner and began to bid her good night before retiring to his room. As no servants were in the room, she spoke swiftly, before any could return to complete the clearing of the table.

“Sinjun,” she asked, “is it that you want me to begin the divorce proceedings now? But you will have to assist me, for I do not know how to go about it.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” he asked, sitting back to watch her closely.

“It was only that you have seemed less than pleased with my presence of late. I have tarried here but perhaps for too long. You said our marriage was to free me from M. Beaumont. And so it has. But you also said that you would free me from it when we were home. And so we are. I haven't made a move to go as yet, I know, but that is only because I do not know how to go about the thing. If you wish, we can start it in motion.”

His eyes became shuttered during her speech and he sat quietly for a moment and then replied in a colorless voice, “Catherine, lay your mind to rest about that. You may stay on as my wife as long as you wish—till death do us part, for that matter. I only offered divorce if our relationship became unbearable to you. Has it?”

“Oh no,” she had answered quickly. “But it is you that I am thinking of. I do not want to constrict you in any way. It would be the devil of a coil,” she laughed artificially, “as Jenkins would say, if you wished to be rid of me and I just stayed on.”

“You are pleased with our relationship then?” he persisted.

“Of course,” she said, “except for the fact that you have been so distant of late.”

His shoulders seemed to droop, and then he at last rose and gave her a thin smile.

“It is only some trifling estate matters that have occupied my mind. Well then, my dear, since this form of marriage is acceptable to you, we'll go on just as we are. By the way,” he asked, “have you yet written to your sister to inform her of your sudden nuptials?”

She faltered. For she had not as yet. Since her marriage had begun with the promise of divorce, she did not know how long she would be a wife. It seemed impossible to explain all to Jane in a mere letter. And almost impossible to tell Jane the tidings of a wedding, then follow it with an announcement of a bill of divorcement. Yet of all the things she had been able to speak freely of with Sinjun, the precise nature of their marriage was the one thing they both, by some unspoken agreement, never discussed.

“I see,” Sinjun nodded as she tried and failed to explain. “Well then, my dear, I bid you a good night. Oh, by the by,” he had added, as though he were discussing a change in the weather, “those estate matters I spoke of. I am off to London tomorrow. There is business to attend to. Do you care to accompany me?”

The lackluster offer he made warned her off and she answered in a low voice that she would if he wished it.

“It makes no matter,” he said coldly, “but I wondered if you were interested in consulting a lawyer while you were there?”

“Do you wish it, Sinjun?” she asked.

“I have already told you,” he answered almost angrily, “that is not my desire.”

And then he was gone. Jenkins had gone with him and Catherine had spent the week cudgeling her brain for an answer to her problem. She was the Marchioness of Bessacarr now, but she was yet a maid. Sinjun had never so much as held her hand since their return. She had asked if he wanted a divorce and he had denied it. Still, he made no effort to make her his wife. She no longer knew what it was he wanted or what she wanted. For all her brave thoughts back in Le Havre, she did not wish to leave him. Distant though he was, he was still Sinjun and she could not accept the thought of being apart from him. But neither could she bear the thought of being an encumbrance to him.

And there was also the fact that she knew divorce to be an expensive, complicated affair and one that would put her beyond the pale forever. It was one thing for Sinjun to have laughed at her fears for her reputation when they returned to England. For it was one thing for the duchess's infamous companion to return to quiet obscurity in Kendall, quite another for her to be wed to no less than the Marquis of Bessacarr. But he had laughed her fears away. He had told her that as his wife she would be above reproach. And that few people who mattered to her would have traveled in the duchess's set anyway. And, that having been rescued from the duchess, she would in fact, be a sort of heroine. But being his divorced wife, she knew, could not be easily laughed away.

She watched the sunlight play upon the water and wished she had more understanding and experience. The worst part of her situation was the loss of Sinjun's attention. She wondered again what she had done to turn his friendship.

His room was connected to hers, but she had never entered it. And so she could not have heard the angry conversation the morning of his departure for London.

“Have done, Jenkins,” Sinjun had snarled in a voice she would not have recognized. “I am to London and there's an end to it.”

“And your wife?” Jenkins asked, lounging against the door.

“Better with me gone,” Sinjun said, “for I cannot go through with this masquerade. I am not the man I thought that I was. I cannot be with her every moment, laugh with her, condole with her, and yet be a plaster saint. You cannot creep into the master's bedroom at Fairleigh, Jenkins, as you did in France, and stop the master from forcing his attentions on his legal wife. It's just not done, old fellow,” he said with a trace of his old humor.

“And you think she would call for help?” Jenkins asked again.

“Worse,” Sinjun said. “She would probably suffer me out of gratitude, and that is one thing I will not bear. No, I am better off away from her. I saved the girl, Jenkins. And now she finds herself trapped in a loveless marriage, at least on her part. I am not so lost to decency that I will take advantage of her gratitude. Nor will I settle for it. Nor can I pretend to be a eunuch any longer. So I'm off to London. Perhaps time will clear the air and we will see what is to be done. And Jenkins,” Sinjun said slowly, “if in your self-appointed role of nanny, you think to tell her anything of my feelings on this head, I will slit your throat.”

“I have never betrayed you,” Jenkins said simply.

“I know,” Sinjun said softly. “Forgive me, old fellow, I am not myself.”

“And so you're off to London, seeking the comfort of women?” Jenkins said quietly.

“Women?” Sinjun laughed. “I swear you know me better than that. It is woman that is my problem, in the singular. I am not at all in a plural mood, dear friend. No, I am pure of heart and I wish to remain so for a space. I need time, Jenkins. Catherine needs time. And my trip buys us time.”

He had gone, and Jenkins with him as escort, and Catherine wandered the halls of Fairleigh and haunted its gardens. The morning sun played tricks with the water's surface, but she shaded her eyes with her hand and leaped up in eagerness. For she saw Jenkins strolling toward her through the garden. She flew to his side to greet him.

“Jenkins!” she cried in pleasure, “you are back. Is Sinjun back as well?”

“No,” Jenkins said correctly, “His Lordship remains in town.”

“Oh,” Catherine said, downcast. “And how does he? Does he remain long? When shall he return?”

“As to that I cannot say, My Lady,” Jenkins replied.

“What is it, Jenkins?” Catherine asked. “Why the formality? Have I given offense?”

“No, My Lady,” Jenkins replied, “but you are the Marchioness of Bessacarr now, and it would not be fitting for me to call you otherwise.”

“Jenkins,” Catherine said, fixing her eyes upon his deferentially lowered head, “you cannot be so proper with me. Not now. Now when I need you as friend. We have traveled together. You have shared my bedroom, Jenkins,” she said roguishly. “Do not say it will be ‘My Lady' and never ‘Catherine' between us again.”

“I am a servant, My Lady,” Jenkins said as he studied his boots.

“Oh, you a servant,” Catherine laughed. “You are a servant in the same way the prime minister is a servant to his king. Please, Jenkins, if you wish to come all propriety when we are in company, I could accept it as a whim. But when we are alone, surely you can remain my friend? For I do need one, indeed,” she said sadly. “I have no other.”

“And what of His Lordship?” Jenkins asked shrewdly.

“As to that,” Catherine waved her hand, “you see how eager he is for my company, don't you? I've been spending the morning wondering would I do better if I were just to be gone from this place.”

“So that we three can chase the breadth of England together this time?” Jenkins said, shaking his head. “No, adventuring days are over for us, Catherine. We must learn to live with peace.”

“I know,” she said simply and sadly.

“Come,” Jenkins said, “if you want to be friends, we must sit and have a chat as we did in the old times.”

Once they had seated themselves on the white metal bench that faced the pool, Catherine turned to Jenkins.

“Why has he gone?” she asked.

“Business,” Jenkins said. “Why did you not go with him?”

“I don't think he really wanted me to.” She sighed, dangling her hat and watching it spin on its strings.

“Do you not know?” Jenkins asked. “A wife should know her husband's mind, not think she knows.”

“But I am not truly a wife,” Catherine whispered, fearful of a gardener overhearing her, but glad of a chance to speak with someone she knew and trusted. “And you know that, Jenkins. For you were part of the entire plan. He married me only as an act of gallantry, a gesture of kindness. And now,” she said bitterly, “he's stuck with me. For I haven't the wit or experience to take matters into my own hands and free him from the consequences of his own good deed.”

“I don't know,” Jenkins mused, putting his hands behind his head and looking up into the unfolding blossoms of the tree above them. “I haven't met many fellows, no matter how noble, who would give their name to some female as a gesture of courtesy. Seems a mighty high gesture. For example,” he went on contemplatively, “I should think it would have been just as easy for him to get those papers mocked up. The curate was a good chap and the mayor such a nit that he believed anything anyone told him loudly enough. Any warm body would have done to pretend to be a minister, for that matter. As I recall, the fellow from the consulate was so flaming mad at the Frenchies, he would have signed anything to dupe them. No,” Jenkins said thoughtfully, “it seems to me that he made a highly permanent gesture of kindness when he didn't really have to.”

Catherine sat still and blinked.

“But Sinjun's so honest,” she finally managed to say, “why would he tell me it was the only way to free me if it was not?”

“I'm not saying he's dishonest,” Jenkins said quickly. “Perhaps it was what he believed at the time. I've often found that a fellow believes what he wants to, deep down, when an emergency arises.”

“No,” Catherine said flatly, after some thought, “that cannot be. For he's never said a word to me about any tender feelings, not since we've come to Fairleigh. And,” she said, a blush rising in her cheeks, “he's never made a gesture either. And,” she said with hurt in her voice, “he's grown very cold towards me in recent weeks. Oh, Jenkins, what does he want of me?”