The Honorable Marksley (16 page)

“Tomorrow, Mrs. Lawes,” Richard told her, though his
gaze shot to Hallie. “I have a special license with me”

Hallie drew a quick breath. Only Phoebe’s disappointed “Oh!” recalled her to her situation.

“Well, my lord,” Augusta Lawes’s look was curious.
“You are certainly forward. Your aunt must be … well,
at least-”

“She is resigned, Mrs. Lawes, which is all that we
would ask of her and perhaps all of which she is capable at the moment. She has not come down?”

“The countess has been indisposed,” Hallie supplied,
her own voice sounding strangely husky to her ears.
Richard Marksley’s gaze lingered on her face, as
though he studied her anew. Had he been away only
five days? It had seemed a lifetime.

He turned to Mrs. Lawes. “I cannot persuade you and
your daughter to stay to tea? I assure you I am not at all
fatigued.”

“Oh please, Mama! We must!” Phoebe urged.
“There is so much to hear of town!”

“You forget, dearest, that we are promised to the
Begwitts for dinner. And Simon Begwitt asked particularly to see you. You would not wish to disappoint
him.”

Torn between a conquest and a prize, Phoebe could
do little more than worry her lower lip.

“Perhaps the ladies might return when their engagements are less pressing,” Hallie suggested.

“We would be delighted,” Mrs. Lawes said with a
grateful look. Indeed, Richard Marksley looked grateful as well.

“You must promise me, Richard,” Phoebe insisted as
they moved with him to the door. “Even if you will be
an old married man.”

“I shall only be a few days older, Miss Lawes,”
Hallie heard him say as he escorted them out into the
hall. “Pray do not accelerate my decline.”

Hallie vaguely heard the steps, the carriage, the
farewells and closing doors. Then Richard Marksley
had returned to her.

He took her hand and raised it to his lips, teasing her
fingers with a kiss so light it was little more than a
breath.

“‘Come live with me,’ ” he said softly, “‘and be my
love-”’

Hallie abruptly pulled her hand from his and stepped
to the hearth.

“Never say she quoted it to you again,” she said,
striving for a composure she did not feel.

The subsequent pause seemed long.

“Phoebe Lawes is silly and harmless” His voice was
low and reassuring. “She should not trouble you”

Hallie turned to him in surprise. It was as though the
man had decided to woo her in the few hours remaining at his disposal. How very ironic that would bethat he should have spent the past five days accommodating himself to the prospect of marriage, while she
had believed him wishing for the opposite.

“Phoebe Lawes does not trouble me,” Hallie said. “I
merely find her rendering lacks … sensibility.”

“And my rendering?” Somehow Richard Marksley
had moved close to her again. “How do you find my
rendering?”

“I find it … unsettling.”

“I see” He frowned and turned from her. “We have
been apart for some days now, Miss Hallie. No doubt
your thoughts with regard to our situation have intruded as often upon your peace as have mine. Yet we seem
to have arrived at differing conclusions.” He ran one
hand through his hair and moved to stare out at the
slumbering garden.

“I have resolved to find some good in this. Certainly
both of us will be surrendering a great deal. I, for
example, feel I must reexamine my role as publisher of
The Tantalus. As for yourself-well, you have not told
me enough of yourself for me to gauge how much of
meaning to you must be abandoned in the arrangement.
But I can truthfully see no way to avoid our marriage.”
He turned to face her. “I propose that, if we set our
minds to it, there may be something of value, if only a
modicum of respect and companionship, to be gained
from our association. It is only rational.”

For some reason the explanation prompted Hallie to
shiver, though she stood next to the fire.

“I am certain you must be right, my lord,” she said
softly. “But I would ask one favor of you” At his raised
brow she added, “I would ask you to continue with the
journal. To continue your work on The Tantalus.”

His smile was quizzical. “Why would that be of such
importance to you, Miss Hallie, that you would ask it as
a favor of me?”

Hallie made a dismissive gesture with one hand, then
clasped the mantel edge with the other. “Do you not
understand? You are a craftsman. With a skill. You have dedicated so much to it. So many depend on you to
continue. `Twould be tantamount to criminal to cease.
You would-you would regret it.”

Richard Marksley’s look was still puzzled, perhaps a
little sad. “And you believe limiting that role would
affect our union?” he asked. “Because you fear I would
be unhappy?”

Hallie nodded.

“Then I must convince you that there will be compensations. Though not perhaps of a grandeur to suit
your uncle, my resources are considerable. Perhaps we
will spend more time in London. Even a Viscount is
permitted to attend salons, readings and concerts” He
smiled. “I am not beyond finding some contentment
and enrichment in other quarters”

“But it is not what you choose,” Hallie protested.
“‘Tis not your passion.”

“Do not be anxious for my good spirits, my dear. I
am a reading man. I will continue to correspond, perhaps even to pen something myself now and then. But
the investment of time to oversee The Tantalus is considerable. You would rarely have my company” A sudden, skeptical coldness crossed his features. “Or is that,
after all, your desire?”

Hallie raised her chin. “You insult me, my lord. I
am not so calculating. I was thinking of your subscribers, of your contributors, and most of all of you
yourself. To relinquish so much, out of a sense of
duty! If you do not already resent me, my lord, you
would come to”

“That is a decision I must make,” he said. Hallie felt
he watched her with a strained intensity. “I am trying,
with your aid, to move beyond the circumstances that
force me to that decision.”

“But you will not forget them.”

“Time will ease them” He startled her by smiling.
“Miss Ashton-forgive me … Hallie-I believe you
upset yourself to no purpose. We will wed tomorrow
morning. Would you attempt to delay the inevitable?
What possible alternative have you?”

“I … have been thinking. Perhaps as a governess-”

His gaze was kind as he shook his head. “Our
betrothal has been the on dit in London for more than a
week, my dear. Were we to cry off, scandal would
inevitably result. No respectable family would have
you.” He sighed. “I commend you for making the argument. I only wish that I could say it is persuasive.
Unfortunately, whatever deductive powers I possess
lead me so far and no further.”

“There are people,” Hallie said carefully, “who have
chosen to ignore the conventions. It is done, my lord.”

“But I must disappoint you. For I fear, in this realm
at least, I am a conventional man. Others have chosen
more radical paths; I choose mine. It is a question of
living comfortably with oneself. Even were you to hare
off to the Continent tomorrow, I would feel you were
owed the Marksley name”

The point was conclusive. With a sinking sensation,
Hallie asked softly, “But is your heart free, my lord?”

“Free? It has been free many years.”

Hallie noted that he did not say it was now free.

“Forgive me,” she pressed her palms together. “But a
number of people have taken pains to inform me of a
certain lady-Caroline Chalmers.”

“The former Caroline Chalmers, the Dowager
Marchioness of Wrethingwell-Drummond, was married three years. If she is now, unhappily, widowed, it
changes nothing.”

“But you care for her?”

Marksley shrugged impatiently and moved toward her.

“I care for her only in a reflective way” He frowned.
“Only as one cares for a memory.”

“One saves it,” Hallie said softly, “though its bloom
is spent.”

His riveted attention instantly alerted her to her
error. It seemed too long a period before he asked,
“What did you say?”

“I don’t … recall. Do you mean about memory?”

“Yes. You quoted a poem-a line from a poem.” His
gaze was sharp. “Do you remember where you read it?”

“I fear I cannot. It must have been in The Tantalus.”

“I think I can be trusted to recognize what I myself
publish.”

Hallie forced a laugh. “Surely not every line, my
lord.”

He looked irritated, whether by the honorific or by
her doubt she could not have said. “Perhaps you read it
in another publication?”

“I believe I must have,” she said with forced brightness.

“But you do not remember which it might have
been?”

“Really, my lord, this-”

“Do not call me that. We are alone. I do not require
it, nor do I like it, particularly from you.”

“Why particularly?”

“Because you, more than anyone, know what it
means to me” He turned from her to face the windows
once more. “The line you quoted is one I last saw in
some private correspondence. I had not known he
intended to publish it elsewhere-or had, perhaps,
already published it elsewhere.” His manner was
abstracted as he observed the cold rain.

“Of whom do you speak?” Hallie ventured.

Marksley glanced back at her.

“Of Beecham. Henry Beecham. We have discussed
his work.”

“Yes” Hallie wanted him to say more. She wanted
his confidences, though she should not have wanted
them-cutting reminders of her duplicity! In that
instant she decided, in her own selfish interest, that
though she might burden him with an unwanted wife,
she need not deprive him of a poet.

“Ali. Here is your uncle,” Marksley remarked without enthusiasm. Hallie heard her uncle’s voice in the
hall. As he entered the drawing room, she had the distinct sense of having her solitude invaded though
Richard Marksley had been with her for some time.

“Well, my lord, so you have chosen to return” Alfred
Ashton’s words were not unfriendly, but he still sounded grudging. Hallie wondered what possible complaint
he could have, as he had been an Earl’s guest-with the
attendant generous benefits-for almost a fortnight.

“Yes, Mr. Ashton, I have returned, and with a special
license. Your niece and I will wed tomorrow morning.
With your permission.” Marksley bowed. “I spoke to
Vicar Mayhew on my way through town.”

“But … the settlements?”

“I saw your solicitor in London. I believe you will be
satisfied.” Marksley pulled a thick sheet of vellum from
his coat and handed it to Ashton. “All of your requests
have been followed to the letter.” Hallie knew her uncle
would be deaf to the chill in Marksley’s voice.

“Well, then” Alfred Ashton seemed at a loss.
“Tomorrow morning, you say? Harriet’s dress ain’t finished yet, so I hear. All these gewgaws and furbelows
the women set such store by, as you know, my lord-”

Marksley’s glance flashed to her. “I regret that. But I
fear you must agree there is a certain premium on
time.”

“That may be. That may be. Don’t want any huggermugger business, though. Rushing the event now does
seem a mite slapdash”

“Does it, sir? Two weeks ago it could not have been
soon enough. The `event’ as you term it, will not grow
grander, I guarantee it.”

“A few days more-”

“Cannot be arranged, sir.”

The brisk response sent the blood to Ashton’s face.

“Now see here, Marksley … Viscount … my lord.
You had best not forget what’s been done to the girl-”

“I am unremittingly conscious of it, sir,” Marksley
interrupted, “which is why we wed tomorrow.”

“She’ll do naught unless I say so!”

“Oh yes, she will, Ashton. Your niece no longer need
obey you. From this day forward she no longer owes
you anything she does not care to give. I intend to make
that absolutely certain, sir. Good day to you” And with
that pointed defense of his affianced, to whom he did
not even grant a glance, the Viscount Langsford left the
room.

The wedding was a trial.

The Countess, swathed in black bombazine, silently
observed the dismal proceedings like a harbinger of
doom. The few antique relatives carted in to lend countenance to the ceremony appeared likely to follow
Reginald shortly to the grave. Vicar Mayhew sounded
hoarse, an ailment no doubt exacerbated by an early
blast of wintry weather, weather that left the church
dark and drafty. Hallie’s sapphire silk gown, the finest
she owned, clung damply to her ankles after the walk
from the carriage in the rain.

One of the horses had gone lame.

Miss Binkin had the effrontery to cry.

Richard Marksley looked as though he had not slept.
By the time he slipped the ring on her finger and granted the faintest, perfunctory kiss to her chilled lips, Hallie felt
mortified. She signed the register as though in a trance
and fled the gloomy little church to the relative light of a
drizzly morning. She clasped her drowned nosegay as
though it were a friend. The morning’s single smile came
from a young girl walking along the vicarage lane.