He
closed his eyes, both hands gripping the side of the bed, as though in fear of
falling.
Alarmed,
she sat up. "Would you like to lie back again?"
Slowly
he shook his head. "God, no," he muttered. "I feel as though my
flesh has grown to this bed. Let me have the satisfaction of sitting upright
like a man, at least for a minute."
She
nodded and rose from her chair. "I warn you against sharp movement, milord.
Now if you'll excuse me, I—"
"Marianne-"
She
had scarcely made it around the chair on her way to the door when he stopped
her. She looked back. "Milord?"
He
appeared embarrassed. "Where—I mean—must you go?"
"I
was going to fetch your breakfast," she replied, still moving away.
"I'm
not hungry."
"You
need the strength that food can give you." She was at the door, her hand
on the knob.
His
protest grew more urgent. "Let it wait, I beg you."
"I'll
only be a minute. It's for your own—"
Suddenly
he exploded in limited anger. "My God, I said let it wait! Can't you see I
must speak with you?"
Feeling
anger herself, she responded, "And can't you see we have nothing to
say?" The door was opened; she stood on the threshold. "Nothing has
changed, milord," she said. "Out of some admittedly misplaced sense
of duty, I've nursed you back to a semblance of health. But I don't intend to
take up permanent residence here. So we need say nothing to each other. Not
now, or ever."
As
she left the room, she heard him cry after her, "Marianne, wait!" A
few steps further, she heard a crash, the noise clearly decipherable. His
weakened legs had been called upon to perform in a manner in which they could
not. She paused a moment and, hearing nothing further, slowly returned to the
room.
It
was as she had imagined. He had made it as far as her chair, then collapsed
across it, in a sprawled kneeling position, faint strips of blood reappearing
on his clean nightshirt. She watched him in his agony, his arms struggling to
raise his head and torso, a pitiful sight in the face of which she strengthened
her resolve.
As
his strainings continued, she warned him coldly, "Milord, you are doing
further damage to yourself."
He
slumped weakly to the floor in a half-prone position, his brow covered with
sweat from his effort. "Then why didn't you let me die?" he
whispered.
She
held her position several feet away. "It's a senseless way to die."
"But
you nursed me."
"I
owed you that."
The
struggle was on again, his weak arms trying to form a base of support for his
back, his knuckles white from grasping the sides of her chair.
She
watched him, her face without expression, aware of the spreading blood on his
back. "Thomas, you're only—"
"I
don't give a damn," he muttered, on his knees, clutching at the chair. He
appeared breathless from his efforts, yet his eyes were fixed on her. "I
propose a business arrangement," he said, trying to draw a deep breath. "Marriage-"
She
stared incredulously down on him. "Another farce? Where this time? Is the
Italian itinerant back to mumble over us?"
Painfully
he shook his head. "No farce this time, I swear it. Here, with bans published
all over England."
Wearily
she shook her head. "Thomas, in the name of God, what is the point?"
He
looked straight at her. "You are."
Feeling
it to be an unsafe subject, she moved away from it. "And what's the
business arrangement?" she asked.
He
looked up at her, the effort showing in his face. "I'll give you
possession of Eden Castle and Eden Point," he said simply, yet with conviction.
She
continued to stare down on him. She felt terribly hard at that moment and she
wanted to stay hard. "You know as well as I do, milord, that under English
law I can take possession of nothing, not even myself. I'm a woman."
He
looked blankly about at the floor. Again his eyes lifted on a note of hope.
"Then our son," he suggested. "I will deed it to him. All of
it."
"He's
a bastard, milord," she coldly reminded him. "Would you put your property
in the hands of a bastard?"
He
leaned his forehead against the arm of her chair, his discomfort clearly
increasing. "If it's the only way," he whispered, "that I can
keep you."
She
watched him, having heard clearly all that he'd said. She felt wary, for if
nothing else she knew him for his ability to deceive. From now on, in all
areas, she would be cautious for both of them.
"Complete
possession of Eden Castle and Eden Point," an ancient bastion bearing a
name as old as England, rich in grazing and farmland on one side, and the
entire Atlantic Ocean on the other.
She
turned away, aware that he was closely watching, absorbed more by her coming
reply than by his own discomfort. Outside the window she saw the September sun
rising higher. From her high angle at the third-floor window, she could not see
the floor of the inner courtyard and perhaps that was just as well. There were
memories there capable of influencing her. She must keep her own counsel now,
as objectively, as clinically, as she had ever done before.
He
mumbled something to her, but she merely shook her head and went on pacing quietly,
her steps slowly devouring the brilliant blues and reds in the Persian carpet
beneath her feet. 'How different,' she thought, 'from the bare worn oak planks
of the cottage in Mortemouth.' The overriding question which had so plagued her
for the past year concerning what would become of her son had perhaps just been
answered. With the deed to Eden Castle and Eden Point clutched in his fist, his
future was solved. Now there was another question in her mind, equally as
urgent.What would become of her under this new arrangement?
Apparently
he sensed the question and although his strength was fast waning, he lifted his
head. "Lady," he began, softly, "my desire for conquest is gone.
You will find me a gentle and malleable companion. I want nothing from you and
will place no demands on you. I swear it."
Slowly
she came back to the chair on which, as though totally exhausted, he now rested
his arms and head. Such inexplicable meekness was new to her. Ever cautious, it
occurred to her that it might be a new role, variations on an old masquerade.
Still, there was nothing in the drawn white face that spoke of a farce. Baffled
by this strange personality, not quite able to bring herself to believe what he
was doing on her behalf, she murmured, "I don't understand, milord."
He
lifted his face. Slowly his hand fanned out over the dark blue velour cushions
of the chair where she'd passed day and night for the past three weeks, his
fingers caressing the indentations left by her body, as though his fingertips
had eyes and were now feeding themselves on the memories of her presence.
"All I know," he whispered hoarsely, "is that when you are here,
my life has purpose and balance, the sun and moon move as they should, and my
universe is blest with order." Slowly he lowered his head until the side
of his face was resting on the cushion. "But when you are gone," he
whispered, "I am without compass, without rudder, or anchor—"
It
was over. Apparently he was not able to look up again. The avowal of his
terrible need had cost him dearly, and cost her as well. The image of the
crumpled man at her feet blurred. This was not the moment for incautious
emotion.
"Publish
the bans," she demanded, "both here and in London."
He
nodded in agreement.
London
society, weary of the aggressive little Corsican general and the closeted
madness of their monarch, clasped the scandal to their breasts with inordinate
fever. This was as it used to be, when the days were fair and the parks were
filled with prettily gossiping men and women, and the only topic suitable for
good digestion at the breakfast table was the latest peccadillos of Lord This
and Lady That.
"I
find it impossible to believe," proclaimed one gentleman in The Blue Bell
and Crown in Holborn. "Look at this!" He spread out the morning
edition of
The London
Chronicle
for his friends' inspection.
There at the bottom of the second page was a cartoon. A lady with ample bosom
was sitting spread-legged, skirts drawn up, on the end of the quay, fishing.
Her line was tossed far out into the ocean and, at the end of it, foundering,
though clearly hooked, was a large fish with Lord Thomas Eden's face.
"Incredible,"
murmured the second gentleman. "Clearly a breach in the wall."
First
Gentleman—"The old world of order and place is disappearing."
Third
Gentleman—"Then there's no hope for any of us. First, anarchy abroad, now
anarchy at home. Where will it end?"
Second
Gentleman—"Apparently in the marriage prison for Eden. Look at this!"
He pushed forward for their inspection and enjoyment a second newspaper,
another cartoon, a caricatiure of Eden Castle with over-drawn turrets and
towers, and stretching between two predominant towers was a line of wash
presided over by a buxom washmaid who was just hanging Lord Eden out to dry.
First
Gentleman—"Surely he has been deceived. The lady has cast a spell on him,
perhaps?"
Second
Gentleman, derisively—"Lady! Daughter of a Mortemouth fisherman, one of
William Pitch's whores, or so I've heard."
First
Gentleman—"Scandalous! I wouldn't be surprised if HRH relieves Eden of his
tides."
Second
Gentleman, still derisive—"HRH doesn't know to unbutton his trousers when
he makes water. No, the scandal will be permitted, the outrage endured, another
chink in the bulwark of civilization."
First
Gentleman—"Blessings to God that Milton is dead."
Second
Gentleman, bewildered—"Milton? Where is the connection?"
First
Gentleman—"Plain as death. England seems to be in the process of
forgetting her precedence of teaching other nations how to live."
Second
Gentleman—"Point well taken. Regrettable."
Third
Gentleman—"How I mourn for Boswell! What fodder he could make of it!"
First
Gentleman—"But I can't understand. Why marriage?"
Second
Gentleman—"I hear there's a bastard."
Third
Gentleman—"There are always bastards. I repeat the question. Why
marriage?"
First
Gentleman, still stunned—"God forbid. That ancient and honorable name,
sullied for all time."
Third
Gentleman—"I trust they enjoy each other's company for they shall know
none from decent society."
First
Gentleman, nodding—"Marriage bans like a death warrant, eh? Eden Point
will become like the far side of the moon."
Second
Gentleman—"Cut off."
First
Gentleman—"Adrift."
Second
Gentleman—"No responsible person will go near it"
Third
Gentleman-"Tch, tch."
First
Gentleman—"The younger Eden was never of the same stature as the older one
killed in the American War. Something was missing there, has always been
missing."
Second
Gentleman—"Lacking the genteel character of a gentleman."
First
Gentleman—"But a whore?"
Third
Gentleman—"I hear she's fair."