The Hired Wife (22 page)

“As I already
possess every unmentionable disease recorded by man, I think it
more likely they’ll be the one to feel cursed.”

“Stay away from
the ladies.”

“Even the lady
in the lake?”

“I wouldn’t go
near the lake if I were you; she doesn’t like villains.”

“Is she comely
in the moonlight? Perhaps I’ll go down to the lake with a salt
cellar and conjure up a wet goddess. I’ve never ravished a mermaid.
Is she fat?”

“You couldn’t
ravish the Lady of the Lake, she’s enchanted.”

“There’s no
such thing as mermaids Bucktooth, but if there’s some barmy female
swimming in your lake I’d only need five minutes on the shore to
give her the pox.”

“Keep your vile
hands off the ladies or else.” Morley’s sinister gurgle almost
sounded like laughter. Another dull thud was followed by the sound
of a body slumping to the floor.

Straining her
ears Alyce could only hear deafening stillness. Slipping off her
shoes she picked them up and hurried towards her sister’s room. The
prospect of being Mrs Robert Smirke was making her feel giddy. It
was disappointing that she wouldn’t be a Marchioness, but if all of
Robert’s older brothers were to die in accidents she could still
become a Viscountess. He’d be furious at being trapped, but her
dowry would soothe his anger. All she had to do to was kill Morley
before he could kill her brother.

The pink silk
coverlet under Mary’s cheek was sopping wet as Marshal slammed his
chamber door. Suddenly she could hear the mantel clock ticking and
the rain pelting the window as if time had resumed with his return.
He could have been gone five minutes or five hours. A suffocating
loneliness pinched her heart. All she’d wanted was to hear him
apologise for hurting her feelings and then hold her. Clearly
apologising to his hired wife was beneath him. Her vision blurred
as her heart threatened to burst with unnameable feelings. The man
in the next room uttered a loud curse as something ceramic crashed
onto the floor. She listened, but could hear only a deathly
stillness. Had he fallen? He might have had apoplexy. She tensed to
leap up and rush to his aide when hesitant footsteps approached the
connecting door. A key clanked into the empty keyhole scraping her
taut nerves, “Merry? Are you asleep?” He wasn’t dying. Exhaling her
relief into the damp coverlet, she lay still as if asleep.

The door closed
with an indelicate bang making her start. “Good, you’re awake…” The
mattress heaved as he climbed onto the bed beside her. The warmth
of his nearness made her shiver with longing. If she turned over,
he’d take her in his arms, but just because he’d hold her and kiss
her didn’t mean he cared about her feelings. “…I was going to kill
Henry, but I couldn’t find him. Unmerry Heart, what have I done?
Tell me or I’ll kiss your neck.” Feeling his hand on the small of
her back she forcibly rose up on her elbows to avoid being kissed
into submission. The back of her head cracked against something
hard and she fell back to the bed. Rolling onto her back she sat up
in shock. Blood oozed through Marshall’s fingers as he clutched his
nose. “I was only trying to kiss you.” Mary rolled off the bed and
grabbed her wet chemise drying in front of the fire. Marshall
moaned in pain as she tipped back his head and covered his mouth
with wet linen.

“Shove that up
your nose; you’re getting blood on the bed clothes.”

“You broke my
nose.”

She peered at
the injured feature. “It doesn’t look broken.”

“It feels
broken. I’ll be so ugly you won’t want to remain married to me.
I’ll be an extra ugly unwanted stupid brute. I’ll die a lonely
wretch with a shrivelled empty heart and a crooked nose.” The man
groaned as the linen shroud was pulled back revealing his
distress.

“This would
never have happened if you’d apologised for humiliating me. Don’t I
deserve to hear the words ‘I’m sorry’ or are your servants
undeserving of simple courtesy?”

The two bruised
lips fell open in disbelief, “You want an apology? Why didn’t you
say so?”

“One doesn’t
ask for an apology unless one wishes to hear a lie.”

“So now if I
tell you I’m sorry for being a stupid brute I’m a liar?”

“Are you
sorry?”

“I told you I
was.”

“No you
didn’t.”

“Yes I did, I
told you I didn’t mean to humiliate you.”

“That’s not an
apology.”

“Sweetheart, if
it had occurred to me in my brutish rage that shouting out Henry’s
villainy would distress you I’d have cut out my tongue. I’m sorry I
humiliated you. I’m sorry I shouted at you. I’m sorry I left you
unprotected. Unless you think I deserve to die a lonely wretch
dreaming how you and your enchanting kisses once filled my boring
life with living poetry…why are you laughing?”

Her heart free
of pain and distress, Mary was overwhelmed by the absurdity of her
misunderstanding. “You look funny with a chemise stuffed up your
nose.”

“Am I
forgiven?”

“Yes.” Sighing
loudly with relief Marshall crumpled back onto the bed, his
sapphire eyes drawing her closer. “I’m sorry I bloodied your nose.
Let me look at it.” The invalid whimpered as she unplugged his
nose. “Does this hurt?” Marshall’s pain filled scream needed no
further answer. “And this?” Blood gushed as he roared in pain, “It
doesn’t feel broken.”

“If it wasn’t
broken before it’s broken now. Pray spare my life until you give me
an heir and a dozen spares…”

“Shove the
linen back up your nose and keep your head tilted back. You should
live long enough to have your grandchildren climb on your knee and
poke their fingers into your hairy nostrils.”

“Heartless
mermaid!”

“I had to check
if it was broken. How else would we know if you needed a
surgeon?”

“Blood
suckers…I don’t need anyone, but my wife. A gentle kiss wouldn’t go
amiss…” Smiling, Mary leaned over and kissed his forehead. “…that’s
not what I meant.”

Mary smiled as
he captured one of her hands and pressed it over his heart “Your
lips are swathed in linen. Lie still, you’re getting blood
everywhere.”

“I was having
the best day of my life before we went into that cursed castle on
the island. That vile snake, he touched you in the castle didn’t
he? He’s lucky I couldn’t find him, or he’d already be dead. If he
touches you again…” Marshall clutched her hand tighter to his
chest, “I won’t let him hurt you again. I swear it. I’ll kill
him!”

“I don’t want
you to murder anyone, not even that devil!”

“I’ll do what I
have to do.”

“Promise me you
won’t kill anyone.”

“I promise I’ll
kill the liar in self defence.”

“I’ve never met
anyone so skilled at weaving lies; even his own mother believes
them.”

“Tell me again
you forgive me for being a stupid brute?”

“You’re not a
stupid brute.”

“And you
forgive me?”

“Yes, I’m sorry
I misunderstood you.” Blue eye shimmered with relief. “Look at all
this blood. This silk is going to be ruined. It was probably
Buckingham’s mother’s favourite coverlet.”

“The woman’s
dead, who cares if she liked it? A man can’t look at the same rug
or paint all his life. When…if you decide to make me the happiest
of men I hope you’ll redecorate my house. It needs a Mistress. It
hasn’t felt like a home since my step-mother died.”

“You might
regret that offer…sit up and spit on my hand.”

“Did you just
tell me to spit on your hand? You’re not going to cast a spell on
me? I think a bloody nose is punishment enough for being a stupid
brute.”

“I need your
spittle for the blood stains on the coverlet.”

“Spit on it
yourself, I have a yard of linen shoved up my nose.”

“It’s your
blood; it has to be your spittle.”

“My nose is
more important than an ugly old coverlet. I don’t care if it was
embroidered by Mary Queen of Scots; my spit is staying in my lips
where it was meant to be. Where are you going?”

“To ring for a
maid, it needs to be washed in cold water before it dries.”

“No one cares
about the stupid coverlet.”

“I care, it’s a
personal rule. Borrowed items must be treated with care and
returned as leant. Any other course would be ungrateful and
rude.”

“Great, now I
have two more unpleasant adjectives added to my epitaph.”

“It’s not your
fault you’re rude and ungrateful, you’re an aristocrat.”

“What did you
say?”

“It’s not your
fault you’re an aristocrat.”

“No, it’s my
parents’ fault.” Marshall sighed as he rolled his eyes to watch
Mary roll off the bed and ring the bell. “You look different upside
down. Tell me again you don’t hate me. If you hate me I’ll have to
tie you up and read you John Donne until you lo…se all hope of
escape.”

Mary climbed
back onto the bed and was captivated by sapphires brimming with
emotion. “You must be in pain. Shall I send for some laudanum?”

“Promise me you
won’t stay out of pity…”

“Why would I
stay out of pity? I don’t pity you Marshall.”

“You might.
Give me your word, that’s an order.”

“Very well my
Lord, I won’t remain your wife out of pity. Are you going to make
me promise not to stay for food as well?”

“You can stay
for any reason, but pity or duty. Tell me you don’t hate me.”

“I’ve been
irritated and upset with you on occasion, but I’ve never hated you.
You’re a good man; you just don’t always communicate it well.
What’s wrong?”

“I wanted to
feel better, not worse!”

“How can being
told you’re a good man make you feel worse?”

“I don’t want
to be good, I want to be loved.”

“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.”