Richard lifted one eyebrow as Mr. Markham puffed out his chest for what was the second time that afternoon, wondering if the gentleman was aware that he had given away a good deal more than he had perhaps intended. “You intend to make improvements?” Richard remarked, genuine in his interest. “That is a wise idea, I must say.”
Mr. Markham’s expression darkened for a moment. “I have long had intentions to do so, yes,” he muttered, looking away from Richard. “But I have not had the opportunity as yet.”
Richard’s interest held steady as he tried to think of what he might be able to say that would encourage Mr. Markham to speak all the more openly.
“My father has never been one to consider the future,” Mr. Markham continued, his gaze now firmly fixed on his father, who was laughing loudly at something. “I must do so, however. So that the title may hold.”
“Is that not something we all must do?” Richard queried with a small half-smile. “We must aim to achieve greater things than those who have gone before us, even our very own fathers!”
Mr. Markham lifted an eyebrow and looked at Richard with evident consideration. “Indeed,” he said slowly as though deliberating whether or not Richard himself might someone with whom he could discuss such ideas with. “That is my thought precisely.” With a sigh, he turned a little, stepping closer to Richard and speaking a good deal more quietly, his eyes a trifle slanted.
“Might I ask, Lord Harlow, whether or not you faced any particular challenges when you inherited the title?” Mr. Markham asked, his eyes darting away from Richard for a moment as though he feared his father would overhear him. “I confess that I do not have a great deal of experience with such matters and very few people to whom I might speak.” He looked at Richard with questions in his eyes, to the point that Richard wanted to laugh aloud at the strange camaraderie that Mr. Markham obviously felt was now growing between them.
“I did, certainly,” he said with as much gravity as he could. Recalling what Lady Christina had told him about what she had overheard Lord Sturrock say, Richard took a chance and, leaning a little closer, made certain that a most severe expression wrote itself across his face. “In fact,” he said heavily, “my father had some severe debts, which I was forced to repay.” Shaking his head and praying that would not bring down some sort of curse upon his head for lying in such a fashion, Richard let out a long sigh. “I confess that I was mortified, having been entirely unaware of such debts. Having come into the title, I then shortly received letters demanding payment. Can you imagine it?”
Mr. Markham’s dark eyes were fixed to Richard’s, his jaw set and a slight frown flickering across his brow. Richard did not know whether or not he had said the right thing but continued regardless, praying that Mr. Markham would take this as an opportunity to speak a little more openly than before.
“I do not mind confessing that I found it a very difficult situation indeed,” Richard finished. “Not only was I trying to establish myself as the new viscount, but I was also mourning the loss of my father. To then be given another heavy burden was almost more than I could bear.”
“That is something that I will admit to being somewhat concerned about,” Mr. Markham muttered, rubbing one finger over his chin as he studied Richard carefully. He took a breath, giving Richard the impression that he was considering whether or not to say more. Inwardly, Richard prayed that he would do so, hopeful that his efforts would not be in vain.
Eventually, Mr. Markham seemed to make up his mind. He cleared his throat, set his shoulders, and put his hands behind his back.
“Perhaps, Lord Harlow, you might be willing to discuss this matter with me further,” he said, sending a spiral of hope up into Richard’s heart. “Only if you are willing, of course.”
Richard shrugged, not wanting to seem too eager. “If I can be of some assistance, then certainly,” he said as Mr. Markham nodded—although he did not smile.
“Perhaps we might meet at Whites one evening—let us say after Lord Winchester’s ball?” Mr. Markham suggested as Richard nodded. “Thank you, Lord Harlow. You have been very helpful, indeed.”
Murmuring something about how he had done nothing much thus far, Richard bade Mr. Markham a good evening and meandered back through the room, struggling to keep the smile from his face. Had it not been for Lady Christina, he would never have known to mention the debts and, had he not done that, he would never have had Mr. Markham speak in such a way. Richard had no knowledge of what Mr. Markham might want to speak to him about, but, regardless, he was thrilled with the progress they had made. If he was lucky, then this meeting with Mr. Markham in two days might be the beginning of something truly significant.
* * *
“Good evening, Lady Christina.”
The two days that he had been separated from Lady Christina had been two days of torment. He had not had any opportunity to meet with her, for Lady Christina had been caught up with various engagements with her betrothed. It seemed to Richard as though Mr. Markham wanted to make certain that Lady Christina was nowhere but by his side. The joy and relief mingling within him upon seeing her was so wonderful, he could not help but capture her hand, bow over it, and allow his lips to touch her skin. The urge to pull her into his arms and to hold her close filled him, but with an effort, he let go of her hand and stepped back.
“Good evening, Lord Harlow,” came the quiet reply, even though her eyes were shining as she looked up at him. “It has felt like an age since I have last set eyes upon you.”
Richard nodded, feeling much of the same sentiment. “I did not even have the opportunity to tell you of what occurred, Lady Christina,” he said, glad that the business of the ball had allowed them both an opportunity to speak together. “Mr. Markham is to meet me this evening so that we might discuss something related to his father’s debts—or some circumstance that is troubling him.”
Lady Christina’s eyes flared wide with astonishment. “Truly?”
“Truly,” he said, wishing he could embrace her. “There is hope, it seems, Lady Christina. Lord Prestwick’s plans have proven to be wise ones indeed.”
“I am so very relieved,” Lady Christina breathed, her fingers finding his and twining through them, the darkness of the shadows to their left hiding the gesture. “What do you think he will say?”
“I cannot imagine,” Richard replied, seeing how Lady Newfield stood nearby but did not look over towards them. “But I shall write to you just as soon as I know.”
Lady Christina said nothing, her face tilted towards his, looking up at him and smiling gently. There was such warmth and tenderness in his eyes that he could barely move, feeling his heart ache with all that he felt for her. He didn’t want to move away, did not want to remove himself from her, and yet knew that he would soon have to do so.
“Lady Christina,” he said, softly, “I...” The words he wanted to speak died on his lips, finding his heart too full of emotion to express it properly. Instead, she nodded, perhaps aware of what it was he had intended to say, her hand still holding his.
“Perhaps you might wish to sign my dance card?” she asked, making him smile as she reluctantly let his hand free and held it out towards him. “I have not, as yet, had any name written down upon them.” Her lips twisted, and she frowned. “Save for Mr. Markham, of course.”
Seeing that Mr. Markham had taken the first waltz, Richard lost no time in writing his name down for the second. The other he chose was the country dance, glad that he would be in Lady Christina’s company on at least two more occasions this evening. “I have chosen two,” he said, handing it back to her, lifting his head and letting out a long breath as he looked around at everyone. “In fact, I—”
Stopping dead, he let his eyes follow Mr. Markham, noting with interest that he was walking alongside a young lady who was, it seemed, entirely unchaperoned.
“What is it?” Lady Christina asked, her hand now on his arm, her fingers tight on his. “Have you seen something that is of conce
rn?”
Richard did not immediately answer but waited until he had seen where Mr. Markham went before letting his gaze turn back to Lady Christina.
“I have just seen your betrothed leave the ball with a young lady by his side,” he said, seeing how her brows shot upwards. “It may be a little daring, Lady Christina, but might I suggest that we go after them at once?”
“And see who she is?” Lady Christina asked, color rushing into her cheeks.
Offering her his arm, Richard let his lips curve to one side. “More than that, Lady Christina,” he said quietly. “Precisely what it is they are doing.”
Chapter Ten
Christina did not know what to think, her arm in Lord Harlow’s as she walked alongside him, with Lady Newfield following quickly behind. Lord Harlow had murmured to Lady Newfield what he had seen and there had not been a moment’s hesitation from Lady Newfield herself. Instead, she had been eager to hurry Christina along, an expectation in her eyes that Christina herself was beginning to feel.
Her mind whirled as Lord Harlow led them through the ballroom, leading her up a short staircase and through a door. Christina did not know where it led, but she went willingly, her heart pounding with anticipation as the door swung open before her.
Disappointment rose at once as she saw nothing but a few doors and a couple of footmen standing in front of them. Of Mr. Markham and this young lady, she could see no sign.
“They must have gone somewhere,” Lord Harlow murmured, reaching across to pat her hand. “Wait a moment, Lady Christina, if you please.”
Christina nodded and waited silently as Lord Harlow spoke quickly to a footman. Nervous anxiety rose within her, and she waited, her fingers twisting in front of her. She was not, of course, in any way upset or offended that Mr. Markham had gone off with another lady, although she had to confess a little concern over the lady herself. If she was unchaperoned, as Lord Harlow had said, then there was surely a worry as to why she was without a companion. The last thing Christina wanted to know about her betrothed was that he was the sort of gentleman inclined towards seeking a mistress or taking his pleasure with whomever he wished, regardless of the lady in question’s safety or reputation.
“This way.”
Lord Harlow held out a hand to her, and Christina took it at once, her steps quickening as he hurried her along the hallway. No one spoke for some moments, Lord Harlow’s hand holding hers with a strength and yet a gentleness that spoke of his affection for her. Hope and anticipation began to wind through her as her steps slowed, Lord Harlow pointing out one door in particular.
“This is where Mr. Markham went,” Lord Harlow murmured as Christina’s heart began to pound furiously. “The footman was quite certain of it.”
Christina hesitated, pulling Lord Harlow back as he made to push the already ajar door open a little further.
“Wait,” she said, quietly, one hand to her lips as he looked down at her. Gesturing that they ought only to listen rather than storm into the room and demand to know what Mr. Markham was doing, she carefully let go of Lord Harlow's hand and moved a little closer to the door.
Making sure to stay out of sight, she held her breath and tried to listen carefully, but all she could hear was the pounding of her heart. Breathing very slowly and carefully, she waited until her heart was no longer as loud nor as furious, closing her eyes to keep herself steady.
When she opened her eyes, Lord Harlow stood opposite her, leaning against the wall, with Lady Newfield just behind him. Forcing herself to pay attention to what she might hear rather than on Lord Harlow, Christina waited and focused entirely on what snatches of conversation floated towards them.
“There is nothing I can do, but surely you know just how much I do not desire this.”
Her eyes widened. Mr. Markham was speaking with a good deal more emotion in his voice than she had ever heard before. There was no arrogance in his tone, no smudge of conceit. Instead, there was a note of desperation there, and, as she continued to listen, Christina was certain she could hear a hint of sadness.
“I have no other choice,” Mr. Markham said as though he were begging someone to believe him. “If I could change the situation, then I would do so, but you must know that I—”
“Perhaps if my husband had not left me a poor widow, then your father might…” Christina could not hear the rest of the sentence, her brows lowering as she frowned, trying to understand what was being said. Why was Mr. Markham so markedly different in speaking to this particular lady? What was it that he was so eager to change? The desire to push her way into the room and to discover who was speaking to him was strong, but Christina knew she could not. Instead, she began to step away, and, after a moment, Lord Harlow followed, with Lady Newfield coming after.
Christina said nothing, keeping her voice silenced until they had made their way back into the ballroom. As they had walked into the ballroom, once the noise of the guests and the laughter and the music washed over them, she found herself letting out a breath she had not realized she was holding.
Turning to Lord Harlow, she saw the astonishment still written on his face, looking from one side of the room to the next as though he were trying to work out what to say about what they had heard. Christina’s mind was whirring, and, from the expression on Lady Newfield’s face, she too was just as surprised as Christina.
“My goodness,” Lady Newfield murmured, speaking for the first time since they had returned to the ballroom. “Whatever was that odd meeting?”
Lord Harlow shook his head and shrugged. “I do not know,” he said slowly. “We should move away, however, so that when they return, we may take note of the lady.”
Christina nodded hurriedly and moved away from the stairs and back into the shadows where they had stood previously. Seeing the way Lord Harlow was shaking his head to himself, Christina could not help but smile.
“You are as surprised as I, I think,” she said, as Lord Harlow dragged his eyes back to her for a moment, a rueful grin on his face. “I have never heard Mr. Markham speak in such a fashion before!”
“If I had not known that it was Mr. Markham within, I should not have believed it,” Lord Harlow answered with a smile. “And I must confess, I wonder what it is that the lady was speaking of.”
“At least we know now why she was unaccompanied,” Lady Newfield remarked, glancing over her shoulder towards the stairs. “A widow, did she not say?”
Christina nodded. “And not a wealthy one, although why that should matter, I cannot say.”
Lord Harlow caught his breath, his hand reaching out to grasp her hand. “Unless,” he gasped, his eyes wide, “there is an attachment there that he cannot speak of to anyone.” His fingers gentled on hers. “Much like there is between us, Lady Christina.”
Christina stared back at him, wondering if Lord Harlow was truly aware of what he was suggesting. She could not imagine Mr. Markham to have such an affection for a lady.
“It might sound particularly foolish, given what we know of him, but we must consider the possibility,” Lord Harlow continued, only for Lady Newfield to grasp Christina’s arm, her head turned towards the stairs.
Instantly, Lord Harlow turned, letting go of Christina’s hand. Christina watched carefully, seeing Mr. Markham stepping down into the ballroom, that supercilious smile back on his face. She could barely believe that what she had heard from within that room had come from Mr. Markham’s lips, not when she saw him as he was now.
“Do you think the lady will have left?” Lady Newfield asked as Lord Harlow shook his head.
“She will return, but, most likely, a few minutes later than he,” he said quietly, as Christina watched Mr. Markham walk a little further into the room—although, much to her relief, he stepped away from them rather than towards them. “Her reputation will not be of particular interest to others, given she is already a widow—and, from what it seems, a somewhat impoverished one.” He made to say more, only for the door to open again, and a young
lady begin to descend the steps.
Christina studied her closely, not recognizing the lady at all. She had fair hair, her cheeks were rosy, but, from what Christina could see, there was a hint of sorrow about her expression. Christina glanced at Lady Newfield, feeling the tightness of her great-aunt’s grasp on her arm.
“Do you know the lady?” she asked as Lord Harlow frowned, shaking his head in answer to her question.
“I am not acquainted with her, no,” he said as Lady Newfield turned back to them, her expression more than a little excited.
“I most certainly am!” Lady Newfield said as Christina’s heart quickened with excitement. “That is Lady Burroughs. She is the late wife of Viscount Burroughs, who was rather old when he wed her.” She shook her head, a frown beginning to form over her brow. “There was a lot of disapproval, given Lord Burroughs had already wed two other ladies—both of whom passed away shortly after their marriage. He was much too old for her, but Lady Burroughs' father was quite willing to remove the encumbrance of a daughter as yet unwed from himself and so agreed to the marriage.”
Christina let out a slow breath, wondering what it was that Mr. Markham could have discussed with the lady. “I see.”
“Although what she was doing speaking to Mr. Markham, I cannot imagine,” Lady Newfield answered, looking towards Lord Harlow with interest. “Unless it is what Lord Harlow has suggested.”
Christina shook her head. “Surely, it cannot be that,” she said with a shake of her head. “I cannot believe that there is any sort of attachment between them!”
“And yet, that might well be the only explanation,” Lord Harlow remarked slowly, turning back to face her. “He spoke of being unable to change the situation but being very eager to do so. There was regret in his voice.”
“And Lady Burroughs implied that perhaps Lord Fulham might be more contented with her should she have wealth,” Lady Newfield said, her eyes brightening as she smiled at Christina. “I think, despite our astonishment at this situation, it may be as has been suggested.”
Betrayal and Lies: Convenient Arrangements (Book 4) Page 10
