The Honorable Marksley (19 page)

“There is a major obstacle. In Henry Beecham.”

Jeremy reached to toss some crumb of food into his
mouth before responding. “‘Tis true that Richard seems distraught about that ingrate’s behavior. He
would have it that Beecham’s duplicity in sending work
elsewhere has contributed to the decision to forsake
The Tantalus. A very unfortunate slip, my dear. You
shall have to set things to rights.”

“Yes, I know. Only … was he very angry?”

“Angry? I shouldn’t say so. Rather intensely disappointed, disheartened, tricked, betrayed, deceived,
duped, gulled, hoodwinked-”

“Thank you, Jeremy,” Hallie said quickly. “I understand you. I just must think what is best to do next”

“Do not puzzle too long, Hallie. As a concerned
observer, I must tell you that your maneuverings to date
have proved disastrous.” He pulled a wad of bank notes
from his waistcoat pocket and handed the funds to her.
“There is enough there for passage most anywhere
worth going, if you should so choose. I had Partridge
ask for tenners, to avoid arousing suspicion. Women
rarely carry so much blunt, as you know only too well.
You may wish to count it.”

“You are too cruel, Jeremy” She swallowed. “You
know how grateful I am”

“I suppose I should apologize for dawdling about it,”
he said blandly.

“That would be preposterous. You must know I never
intended to take so much of your time, to send you
scouring half the country. I can never repay you and
I … I am ashamed” She looked down at her lap. “How
is George?”

“Settled in nicely with his Romanies. This group is only five miles or so away from you, the other side of
the Downs. He was most amenable to posing as
Beecham, never asked me for an explanation beyond
your need of the funds. A most obliging fellow. I might
hope that some fair day you will trouble to thank him.”

“You know I shall, Jeremy. You have both been very
good to me”

He considered her for a moment.

“I must go now, Hallie. I am retreating to the
Threepenny Arms. I cannot bear to watch my two good
friends engage in such insupportable farce”

“I understand. One way or another I promise I shall
make amends. As part of that,” she reached for her
journal, “would you kindly post this when you return to
London” She pulled the sealed poem from the pages.
“Only … only with your regular letters,” she added,
aware of imposing on him again. “‘Twould perhaps
reassure him that Beecham never left him-that is,
never left The Tantalus.”

Jeremy took the missive and read its direction. He
tapped it against one palm.

“‘Tis just another poem,” Hallie explained.

“I see.” He continued to tap the envelope, then said
coldly, “Hallie this must stop.”

“It will stop. But it must be satisfactory. I would
rather he kept The Tantalus than that I should keep …
that I should-Oh, Jeremy! I thought to keep Beecham,
but I grasped at more. And now, I have lost myself.”

“You have lost nothing, Hallie, except your heart. It
is not such an unusual item to lose.”

“Except … you must tell me. Did he love Caroline
Chalmers very much?”

Jeremy studied her.

“I should imagine not,” he said casually, slipping the
poem into his waistcoat pocket. “I have observed
Richard in love.”

Hallie absorbed that in silence.

“Well then,” she managed, “I had thought to stay
and perhaps retain a friendship. But if he should never
forgive-”

Jeremy took her hand and lightly squeezed her fingers.

“You should be kinder to yourself, my dear,” he suggested softly. “You are his wife. Richard is unlikely to
realize there is anything to forgive.” With a last, warm
press of her hand he departed.

Hallie held the bank notes close to her skirts and fled
upstairs to her room. She placed her journal at her bedside, then went directly to the writing desk and pushed
the money to the back of a drawer. When she moved to
the washstand, her face in the glass looked rosy and
excited.

You are his wife, Jeremy had said. Was he correct to
believe she was unkind to herself? Perhaps the years
with her uncle and Millicent had trained her too thoroughly, that she should now believe she deserved so
little.

She could not find the prospect so undesirable after
all-to be mistress at Archers. To be countess at
Penham. But there she suffered a qualm. For though she
had discovered how dearly she wanted the first, she was not at all certain she wanted the last. There was much
more to this than being a wife….

She took her time changing for supper, dispensing
with an offer of help from one of the maids. When the
first bell sounded, she went down, making an effort at
composure, yet as she neared the dining room, Richard
Marksley stepped from the library. They halted, glances
locking, and Hallie knew she could not move unless he
willed it. She at last breathed easily when he walked
toward her.

“You shall put me to the blush, my dear, with your
punctuality. The lady of the house must always take
whatever time she requires-not that you would need
it.” He inclined his head, acknowledging that she must
not have looked as anxious as she felt.

“I … find myself quite famished,” she said, preceding him quickly into the dining room.

“And no wonder,” he countered as Thomas held the
chair for her. Her place was set to Marksley’s left. “You
missed dinner, if Mrs. Hepple’s information is accurate. You must realize that the household is most anxious to please their lady. How is it possible for them to
impress you if you do not eat or place any demands
upon them?” He smiled.

“I am not used to being waited upon, my lord. My
uncle’s household in Tewsbury consists of three: chef,
housemaid, and one manservant. I did not have an abigail, nor were there other personal servants”

“I cannot believe you intimidated by the prospect
of commanding even so much as an army, my dear. But you have not attempted to explain a lack of
appetite.”

“I … cannot explain it.”

For a moment he merely looked at her, his dark eyes
thoughtful. Then he turned his attention to the first
course. Hallie followed his example and took a few
bites of fish.

“I have not tried this before-” he said, smiling
almost shyly. “That is, I have not tried marriage before,
so I hope you will forgive me in advance for the many
failings I doubtless will exhibit, at least within these
first few weeks. After that … well, perhaps you must
devise penalties.”

“You are not the only one new to marriage, my lord.
It is not something one practices.”

“No. Though I gather that women are, from an early
age, trained in some of the finer arts that ease its workings, whereas men are not”

“Every couple must be unique, my lord,” she offered
softly. “I understand a certain mutual respect is a place
to start”

“Then may I request-again-that you respect my
wish that you call me Richard?”

“Yes, of course, my … Richard.” Something about
his regard made her uneasy. As she turned her attention
once more to the meal, she questioned whether their
acquaintance might not have been rather special had it
not been rooted in deceit.

“‘Tis a shame,” he said, “that Lord Jeremy could not
stay longer. I believe he felt himself an intruder.”

“I have only ever known him to be an infrequent and
temporary visitor,” Hallie said. “Much like his capricious favorites, the butterflies.”

“Capricious,” Marksley repeated, fastening on the
word. “Yet he is your fondest admirer.”

“Is he?”

Marksley smiled and bowed his head to her.

“My lady correctly notes that on this our honeymoon, I am her fondest admirer. Let me say then that
Jeremy is a loyal and fervent admirer.”

“You exaggerate, my lord.”

“If you so easily doubt my judgment, I dare not tell
you how lovely you look tonight, Hallie.”

Again an unwelcome warmth stole into her cheeks.
“You need not..

“No,” he agreed shortly. “I know I need not. I say
that to you because it is true, and because it gives me
pleasure. I have no desire to spend our days denying
either truth or my own pleasure. `Twould be abhorrent.”
He looked determined.

The footman, oblivious to any tension at the table,
quickly removed their dishes and started to serve the
soup. When Gibbs unexpectedly entered the room,
Marksley motioned him to the side of the table.

“Pardon me, my lord. I have news of Mr. Beecham,”
the butler said.

The spoon with which Hallie had been playing
slipped from her grasp, striking the edge of a plate with
a clatter.

“Of what nature?” Marksley asked.

“A runner from your bank in London has just delivered this, my lord” He handed a small card to
Marksley, who quickly scanned its message.

“My letters of credit to Beecham were presented and
honored two days ago in the City, to their full amount,”
Marksley explained as he read. For a moment he fell
silent. Then he said wearily, “Thank you, Gibbs.”

Hallie surreptitiously studied her husband’s face as
she sipped broth. Jeremy had relayed Marksley’s sense
of betrayal, his belief in the poet’s desertion, and that
description seemed too painfully accurate. Marksley
had to be interpreting Beecham’s exchange as a termination. But his thoughts were apparently far from the
subject of Henry Beecham.

“You shall not lack for employment, Hallie, should
you choose it. This community could use your wisdom
and imagination in whatever capacity you, as
Viscountess Langsford, might find congenial. I fear my
aunt and uncle have been remiss with regard to certain
responsibilities of station, particularly here in the country. I should like to do better.”

Hallie essayed a smile.

“And you shall find no dearth of companionship or
entertainment. Mrs. Lawes and Mrs. Mayhew will be
most anxious to introduce you to a wide circle of
acquaintances. The stable and garden here at Archers,
indeed, the entire household at Penham as well, are at
your disposal. Denhurst is a small but lively communi ty. And the countryside is appealing.” He mused a
moment. “I think we must get you a horse”

Even as he listed all these potential pursuits, Hallie
sensed his distraction.

“You sound fond of Denhurst … Richard.”

He summoned a smile as he glanced at her. “I am. It
is my home. I hope you will also come to care for it.
But you need not resign yourself to the country. I must
of necessity spend some portion of time in London.
Perhaps we shall go up in February or March. There is
a house at Berkeley Square, which you will, naturally,
be free to adorn and rearrange as you choose.”

“I am … overwhelmed” She did indeed feel overwhelmed, if not a little desperate. As he went on to
describe the many lively attractions in London, the life
Richard Marksley sketched sounded increasingly busy,
comfortable-and empty. Just where did he intend to
be as she “adorned” the town house and sampled the
ton’s offerings? She found she had little appetite for the
minted lamb that comprised the main course. But conscious of her husband’s gaze upon her, Hallie made an
effort to eat.

“I have not asked if you play an instrument,”
Marksley said. “The piano in the parlor was my mother’s. I would be pleased if you would consider it your
own.”

“I thank you. I fear I play only passably. But I shall
be delighted to attempt improvement. Do you have any
of your mother’s music?”

“Some, I believe. I kept many of her things.” He fingered his wineglass. “She was a talented and courageous woman, though never physically strong. My
father would have been lost without her, as she was
without him. I realized even as a child that their passing so closely together was a mercy for them”

“You miss them still.”

“I do” Marksley looked up to meet her gaze. “Not
the least for the selfish reason that I believe I should
have been a better person for their company”

You are a fine person now, Hallie observed silently.
For a moment she pushed the food about on her plate.
Then she placed her serviette on the table and rose. “I
am a bit chilled. I shall just return to my room for my
shawl”

He looked astonished as he also rose. “‘Tis simple
enough to send Thomas or one of the maids for the
shawl, my dear. You need not trouble yourself.”

“The brief exercise will warm me,” she insisted,
even as she backed away from the table. “And as I mentioned, I am used to seeing to myself.”

“This once, then, Hallie. And please come join me
for coffee in the library when you are ready. There are
some items I would like to show you.”

Hallie nodded and fled into the hall.

She had been mad-mad-to think that she could go
on like this, day after day, and keep her secret intact.
She reached her room and found her unnecessary
shawl. She had wanted only the break from polite con straint. Again she looked in the mirror and drew a deep
breath. How to tell him-how to tell him? She could
not decide. But it must be now.