Authors: Lavinia Kent
Then as if sensing his presence she stirred in her sleep and turned towards him
. Glistening tracks of tears marked her cheeks, even as he watched another tear seeped from beneath her sleeping lids, beginning its journey down her cheek.
She hated this marriage, hated the trap he had sprung around her so much that she cried even in her sleep
. He had taken something beautiful and free and pinned it to a board.
Desire leached from his body
. He turned and walked from the room. He would pay the price for the injustice he had wrought. He would do all he could to give her the freedom she needed. He might not be able to undo the marriage, but he would do everything he could short of that.
He would talk to her, explain the matter – or at least most of it
. It would only hurt her further to know the full truth of why he had married her. Together they would reach a new solution. She could live in his house, continue as the mistress of all his establishments, and live her own life as he lived his. She had expressed a desire for independence when she came to him for help. That was a gift he could give her. He would not trouble her with the realities of marriage.
It was not such a bad solution
. Their lives need only intersect when she required escort to some function – or he wished to attend at her side. It would not be that different from many society marriages.
Marguerite sat at the delicate writing desk staring at the blank sheet before her. She dipped the pen in the ink and prepared to begin. It was time. She was ready now. She touched the nib to the paper. A small black dot formed. That was a start. She swept the line down, formed a letter, then another,
List
of . . . Gadshanks. She used her favorite childhood curse. She was trying to organize her life and she could not even think of a title for the list. Her sister always made lists, swore by them. It never looked hard.
List of Things to Do
She set the pen down. There that had only taken, she glanced at the clock on the mantle, – one hour and fifteen minutes. She picked the pen up again.
Number One
She did not have a number one or a number two. The pen dropped to the desk, splattering ink across the paper. This was not working. She was clearly not a list-maker.
She picked up her wrap and headed for the
gardens. Maybe a good vigorous stroll would clear her head. The day was surprisingly warm for the season. Still, she pulled her shawl close about. Walk to the holly turn and progress back to the boxwood. Three turns around the fountain. Her head was clear, all the fuzz gone.
Now, what did she need to do?
Still no answer came. She had a life to plan. How would she ever achieve what she wanted if she couldn’t even imagine what it was? Humphf. Maybe she had the question wrong. It should not be what to do, but what did she want. Surely, she could figure out what she wanted?
Independence
. She wanted to be in control, to make her own decisions. Only, Tristan had left her on her own, bowed to her every desire for two weeks now and she clearly was no happier than she had been previously.
Why was she not happy at having what she wanted
? Oh dear, that was a whole new question. She picked up the pace of her walk. At least she felt healthy. She had to admit that being in control of the food that appeared on the table was wonderful. She had always liked things simple and fresh and it was a relief to be away from the heavy sauces and sweet creams her mother had favored.
She liked being in charge of her clothing, too
. She glanced down at the cherry red half boots that encased her feet. Snug and warm. And pretty.
Maybe she should have some flowering plants added to the garden
. The empty trellis that ran along the back wall would be perfect for some climbing roses. There must be a gardener she could ask. It did not even seem worth speaking to her husband. His steady habit of ignoring the small vases of flowers and other knickknacks she had added to the house made clear how little he cared. It was odd she had not seen a gardener. She actually believed it was a footman she had seen hacking at the bushes the previous week. A house like this must have a gardener.
A familiar whin
ny from the stables drew her attention. Will must be brushing Buttercup again. He seemed to know everything. Maybe she would even let him persuade her to give another apple to Buttercup. She had fed the beast two times already this week and had to admit it was not so bad.
She rounded the corner of the house
, feeling much better than when she had come out for her walk.
“I saved you the best of the apples, my lady.
” Will turned towards her, a smile lighting his gray eyes.
“Thank you
very much.” Marguerite reached out and took the polished fruit. It looked suspiciously like the apples she had seen Cook peeling for a tart. It was difficult to come by such firm and plump fruit in the spring and it seemed a shame to feed it to a horse. She palmed the apple, tossed and caught it, then held it out towards the mare. It would be rude to refuse Will’s gift, no matter its origin.
“I have a question for you.
” She let her hand drop as the horse chomped the last bite of the apple.
“Yes, my lady
?”
“I
was wondering why I have not seen a gardener. I would like to see roses climbing along the back wall. It seems a natural place for them.”
Will looked down at his boots
. “There used to be some. They were very pretty.” He did not add any other comment.
“Oh, did they grow diseased
? Is that why the gardener took them out?”
Will shuffled from foot to foot
. “I don’t know, my lady. One day they were just gone. All the other flowers too.”
That was odd
. Who would rip all the flowers from a garden? Was not that the purpose in having a garden? “And what of the gardener? Did not he say anything about it?”
“No.”
“No? There must be more to it than that?”
Will lifted his face towards her, his eyes were reflective puddles in face
. “There is no gardener here anymore.”
“Are you sure
? Every house this size has a gardener.” How could such a simple inquiry turn so muddled?
Will took a deep breath, his small chest heaving with the effort
. Then he let it out all at once. “My papa is the gardener. He used to be here, but then he had to go up north to one of the other estates. I went with him, but then I had to come back to start learning how to be a proper hall boy. There wasn’t anything for me to do there because the marquess never travels that far north. I didn’t want to come.”
Marguerite bent down, bringing her eyes even with Will’s
. The poor boy. There was more hear than she was being told. “Did not they hire a new gardener then?”
“No.
” Will had evidently used up all his words in the previous speech. He started shuffling from foot to foot more rapidly.
“Do you want to go back to your father, then?”
Will stared down at his boots. “I do miss him.”
“Should I speak to his lordship
? I am sure he would not want you to be unhappy.” Marguerite resisted the urge to ruffle the white-blond curls.
“No, milady, my father wished me to come here and take a position
. He wants me to be well trained.”
“Could you not work with your father
? There is always work for a good gardener.”
“My father wanted me to come here.
” Will looked up and met her gaze, his gray eyes sparkling with a strange familiarity.
“I still do not understand why there is not a gardener for this house
. I must speak to my husband.”
“I wouldn’t do that, milady.”
“Why ever not?” If she wanted flowers and gardens surely Tristan would understand. She was not sure she even needed to consult him. Surely, gardens came under her purview.
Will focused back on the ground
. “I just wouldn’t. Nobody ever talks about it.”
Marguerite sensed Will’s growing discomfort and let the subject drop
. It really was not that important. She would decide what she wanted to do later. She did not need to involve Will.
She turned to Buttercup and p
atted her gingerly on the nose. Horses were not as bad as she had always feared. Maybe she should consider learning to ride. She turned to go.
“My lady . . .” Will called her.
She turned her head. Will raked his fingers through his hair. He looked so much like Tristan when he did that. He must be emulating her husband’s gesture. It was sweet that the boy should try so hard to be like the marquess.
“Yes, Will,” she answered.
“You – you’re not mad at me, are you? Because I didn’t know.” His shuffling had stilled and he stared at her with wide silver eyes.
“No, not at all
. I just have things I need to do.”
He nodded curtly and she turned back to the house.
Things I Need to Do.
Was she back to that again? Yes, and this time she would figure it out. Rose was right, a woman needed a plan of attack. Marguerite thought she knew just where to begin.
There was one thing she knew she wanted.
“I think we need to speak, husband.
” Marguerite drifted into the library. She was as graceful as the spinning dancer he’d once seen held captive in a music box.
“Whatever you believe necessary, my dear.
” He shifted in his chair. He hoped this wouldn’t take too long. Life had been proceeding evenly and at a steady pace since he’d made the decision that they should lead separate lives. It was not easy to be near her and avoid showing any response, but it could be managed. He’d had years of practice at hiding his thoughts, after all.
She set a single piece
of paper on the desk beside him, then followed it with a pen and ink. He refrained from mentioning that he had plenty of each already at hand. The faint scent of lemons that always followed her wrapped around him. He shifted again as his body responded. Did she soak lemons in her washing water or did the scent cling from her morning tea? She settled in the chair across from him.
“We need to make a list,” she said.
“A list?”
“Yes, I have considered this with great care and have decided that we should each list what we want from this marriage
. Does that not sound sensible?” She leaned forward revealing the tops of her pale breasts. He was relieved her morning gown was relatively high cut, only the faintest hint of shadow was visible between them.
He lifted his glance,
considered, then spoke. “I am not sure I find that necessary. I am content with our marriage in its present fashion.”
“Are you really
? I find that surprising.”
What was so surprising
? He was giving her what she wanted. If he asked, the conversation would undoubtedly follow some meandering side road and he’d never find out what this was really about. He’d keep it simple. “Nonetheless, it is the truth.”
“Hmmmm.
” She caught her lower lip between her teeth and bit softly. Then her tongue came out and licked at the small indent. “Still, I think it is best. It will lead to less confusion.”
“I didn’t know there was confusion.”
“You will not win by playing word games. Yes, I am confused.”
“I didn’t realize I was playing a game.”
“You are doing it again.” She bit her lip again.
If she licked it with her tongue he was going to die here and now
. He was doing the right thing. Did she need to torture him for it? She leaned back in her chair. A curl pulled loose from her coiffure and settled over one pink cheek. It shimmered like gold upon white velvet. He was growing poetic again. Maybe he could think of some excuse and flee to the club.
“Do not even think about it
. I asked you at breakfast if you had any plans for the day and you said you needed to catch up on some important correspondence. You did not mention a need to go to the club or dine with friends.” Had she become a mind reader, too? “You have plenty of time to help me.”
“But, do I want to?
” He couldn’t resist playing with her.
“Yes, you do.
” She pulled herself straight in her seat and sat as stiff as any governess. “I debated all night on whether to tell you this. It is something I never thought to share, but I have decided that honesty truly is the best policy. We should share all our secrets.”
He swallowed hard
. Share all his secrets. Never. There wasn’t a soul alive who knew all his secrets. Why would he start with her? Yes, she had a good mind, how else could she continue to argue against him? She was thoughtful and seemed trustworthy – still, she was a woman and so could only be honorable to a more restrained degree. He’d learned that lesson well. No, it would never do to tell her his secrets. He refrained from comment.