The Honorable Marksley (12 page)

The besotted youngster was practically drooling on
her sleeve. Despite the fact that Richard actually
agreed with Cavendish, as pompous as he sounded, he
had to repress the wish to grab him by the cravat and
hold hard.

“Oh Papa,” Phoebe pleaded, apparently resenting the
attention given Hallie Ashton. “We cannot finish until
you have said something! All the rest of us have”

“All right then, child. But mind you, you will regret
asking me to perform. Let’s see, I knew what I intended to say. The only bit I can recite. Here now, and mind
your mother’s blushes …

The company dispersed in the midst of laughter.
Richard thanked his host and Mrs. Lawes, wished the
Mayhews well, spared a polite goodnight for the irrepressible Phoebe, and managed to avoid Archie
Cavendish’s attempts to engage him further. He
watched with some satisfaction as the Mayhews drew
Archie, protesting, away to their carriage.

As Richard helped Miss Binkin into her seat beside
her cousin in the Penham carriage, he noticed Hallie Ashton kept her face turned from him. He had decided
she was definitely deceiving him about her true feelings
for Reginald or at the very least about her knowledge of
poetry. Recalling their lively discussion while driving
on Saturday, he suspected she had some unreasonable
fear of being termed, as Phoebe Lawes put it, a bluestocking.

“I believe you have promised me another drive
tomorrow, Miss Ashton,” he said, knowing nothing of
the sort had been arranged. “I shall plan to be at
Penham at three … if that is still to your taste?”

A fleeting panic crossed her features. “Oh, but I …
I fear that will not be possible.”

“Why ever not?” Miss Binkin demanded. She turned
to Richard. “Miss Ashton and I will be pleased to
accompany you, Mr. Marksley.”

“Thank you, Miss Binkin,” he said, though he had
every intention of leaving the dour duenna behind.
“Until tomorrow, then.” And with a low bow he made
his own departure.

Her face must have betrayed her resignation to company. She could think of no other reason for the knowing look with which Richard Marksley greeted her the
next afternoon.

“Well met, Miss Ashton,” he said, bowing low. “And
where is your dedicated shadow, Miss Binkin?”

“Miss Binkin has been invited to tea with the
Countess. We shall have a groom to attend us instead.”

“Indeed?” Marksley raised an eyebrow. “We would
only tolerate surrendering Miss Binkin’s bewitching
company to the demands of a higher authority.” Hallie
suspected he had planned the Countess’s hasty invitation. When his lips barely restrained a smile, she was
certain of it.

For courage, she reminded herself she still had the
company of a groom.

“I … am ready now, Mr. Marksley.”

“At your service, Miss Ashton,” he said, offering his
arm. “Shall we take some air?”

Her hand rested on his coat sleeve with only the
slightest pressure, yet her fingers still trembled against
the soft serge.

The day was cool and gray. Lowering clouds highlighted the changing foliage along the drive. A breeze
chased leaves across the gravel, leading the horses to
toss their heads warily.

“Looks like we be in fer a spot o’ weather, sir,” the
head groom warned Marksley as they crossed to the
curricle. A younger groom calmed the skittish team as
a sudden gust swirled about their legs.

“We might at that, Tom,” Marksley said. He looked
down at Hallie. “Would you prefer to delay the outing,
Miss Ashton? Tom has an enviable record of forecasting, though I doubt we shall have more than a drizzle
within the hour.”

Hallie glanced at the spirited horses. They looked as
eager for release, for some period of air and motion, as
she herself felt.

“If you are amenable to the drive, Mr. Marksley,” she
said, at last meeting his gaze, “I should like to go out”

She thought his eyes lit briefly in approval. Perhaps
he had anticipated her apologies. Any other well-bred
young lady would have cried off under similar circumstances. It was never proper to willfully risk one’s person or, more particularly, one’s wardrobe to the
vagaries of the elements. Richard Marksley, whose good manners were so nearly innate, would have
known that.

He helped her up onto the seat. As she settled her
skirts, he followed and called the young groom to ride
behind. Then, with a brief salute from Tom, they were off
down the drive at a brisk trot. Hallie checked her bonnet
to make certain she would not lose it to the breezes.

“I thought we might head for the river this afternoon,” Marksley said. “Squire Lawes seemed to believe
the trees along the route to the mill were particularly
beautiful this year.” His attention settled on her face for
some time longer than she found entirely comfortable.
As she felt the color mount in her cheeks, she looked
away. Of course the groom was riding behind. How
absurd of her to forget.

“Did you enjoy the Laweses’ dinner last night, Miss
Hallie?”

“Yes,” she said, reluctantly glancing back at him.
“They were pleasant and courteous. And the vicar and
Mrs. Mayhew were very kind.”

“Their nephew was most generous in his attentions
to you, m’dear.”

“I found him no more attentive than Squire Lawes,
who was also seated beside me.”

Richard Marksley smiled, but at the heads of the
horses. Hallie found it difficult not to watch his face.
She forced her attention away.

“Mr. Cavendish’s attempt to enliven the company
was most welcome,” she said, with more conviction
than she felt.

“And his choice of verse?”

“It was, under the circumstances, quite acceptable.”

“Ha!” Marksley urged the team to greater speed.
“You cannot convince me of that, Hallie Ashton. You
were as appalled by that treacle as I was.”

“It … rhymed,” she said, stubbornly seeking refuge
once more in falsity. She felt that she might strangle.
The world, and Richard Marksley, seemed mad for
poetry.

“Oh yes,” he agreed grimly, shooting her a considering look, “it rhymed” For a while, negotiating a series
of curves, he fell silent. But he was not yet ready to
abandon a review of the Laweses’ entertainment.

“Miss Lawes has become quite a lively young lady.”

Remembering the girl’s taunting manner, Hallie
clenched her gloved hands.

“Her rendering of Marlowe was certainly lively,” she
agreed.

“You did not care for it?”

“Did you?” she countered.

“I accepted it, Miss Ashton, in the spirit in which it
was delivered.” When he glanced at her stony expression he added, “Phoebe Lawes is very young”

“She is but two years younger than I, Mr. Marksley”

“You are a woman” For a moment he was silent,
then he suggested, “She was likely in a sentimental
mood, since the dinner was intended to mark an
engagement”

“She may well have been in a `sentimental mood’ as you term it, sir. But I very much doubt that she recalled
the engagement was ours.”

At that he laughed, an open, relaxed laugh that
pleased her. “If I did not know it for an impossibility,
Miss Hallie,” he said, his dark eyes bright, “I might
almost suspect my temporary fiancee of jealousy.”

“You would be imagining, sir,” she said, looking
away. “You are quite thoroughly aware of my views in
this matter.”

“Am I? I think not. I should like, for one, to receive
some instruction from you with regard to Sir Walter
Ralegh’s meaning. I am familiar with his Walsingham
ballad, though not, perhaps, as familiar as your so erudite Mr. Cavendish appears to be. It is usually taken as
an affirmation-of love or of fidelity, if you will,
despite its misogynous passages. Do I misinterpret,
Miss Ashton?”

“As you have noted, sir, the dinner was meant to celebrate our betrothal. I thought your choices unacceptably cynical. You chose to embarrass me, to show your
contempt for me quite … quite publicly. If the Ralegh
recalled you to more gentlemanly behavior I shall consider myself satisfied.”

As she finished her voice was unsteady. She dared
not look at him for fear that her trembling lips might in
fact be a prelude to tears. There was a certain relief in
confronting him. The burdens of the past week weighed
heavily upon her. But she feared she might only drive
him to treat her all the more contemptuously. In her experience, limited though it was, men did not take
kindly to any rebuke from a female.

The subsequent silence seemed long, though it could
only have lasted a few minutes. They had crossed one
bridge over a stream and were approaching another.
She could see a mill ahead when Richard Marksley
spoke again.

“I owe you an apology, Miss Ashton,” he said, his
attention pointedly on the ribbons. “Although your reasons for associating with my feckless cousin remain a
mystery to me, I have never known you to act with anything less than propriety. In such light, my treatment of
you has indeed been ungentlemanly.” He paused, then
turned to her. “You have given me every indication that
you find our plight as unwelcome as I do. I have been
unforgivably rude.”

His gaze held such intensity that Hallie was drawn to
respond. His pride in his own judgment, in his own fairness, had clearly been set back. His sincerity served to
provoke her own. She would be as honest and tell him
the truth.

“Mr. Marksley … Richard, I … Oh!” The curricle
lurched, a hard jolt that tilted the vehicle immediately
and dangerously to the side. Hallie slid abruptly against
Richard Marksley’s arm, an arm as hard as iron as he
fought to control the frightened team. Hallie grabbed
for the rail behind the seat and tried to pull herself away
from him. As she did so she noticed the groom had been
tossed to the roadway, and now sat sprawled in the dirt.

“Are you hurt, lad?” Marksley called to him.

The boy looked dazed, but shook his head.

“See if you can take their heads, then. I must help
Miss Ashton down.”

The boy quickly leapt to his feet.

“‘Tis the wheel what’s broke, sir,” he gasped as he
took the horses’ mouths. “Cracked right through it is.”

“Deuce take it,” Marksley muttered. He eased himself carefully from the high bench to stand in the road.
“Miss Ashton,” he said, raising his arms toward her. “If
you will.”

Hallie inched along the skewed seat back, only to
determine that there was no choice but to slide in an
ungainly manner across the bench toward him. Once
having made that move, she slipped easily off the vehicle and into Richard Marksley’s waiting arms.

He caught the momentum of her slide, for a brief
moment clasping her to him. She could feel the length
of him through her clothing. Then he was carefully putting her away from him.

“I hope you have survived intact, Miss Ashton”

“Yes.” She avoided his gaze. “Yes, I am fine. Just
startled.”

“Indeed. I have lost wheels before, but one usually
has some warning.” He looked at the fractured wheel,
several spokes awry and the wood rim splintered. “We
were devilishly lucky. You might have been tossed from
the seat as well.”

It was starting to rain. Hallie noticed the first few
darker drops against the shoulders of Marksley’s coat
before she felt them herself. For a moment, she tilted her face to the fresh sprinkles, only to open her eyes to
Richard Marksley’s perusal.

“We’d best take shelter in the mill,” he said. She
thought he looked apologetic, as though he believed her
so impressionable as to wish to experience a downpour.

He turned with determination to the groom. “Help
me release the horses,” he said to him, moving quickly
to the front of the curricle. “You must ride Balius and
trail Xanthus. Rub them down well when you get back.
There’s a good lad”

Hallie moved unbidden toward the mill. The shower
had strengthened. As she felt water drip from her bonnet down into her collar, she raised her skirts and ran.

The old mill was dry, if not warm. From the outside
it had appeared inhabited, but once through the door the
unmistakable signs of neglect were everywhere. Hallie
moved across a dusty, shuttered parlor to a back room
that faced the river. Through dingy glass panes she
could see that the rain was now heavy enough to disturb
the surface of the water. Even the hills beyond were
partially obscured by low clouds. For some time she
lost herself in contemplating such an excess of gray in
land and sky.