The Hourglass

by Barbara Metzger

  Today was also literal and figurative worlds away from Sir Coryn of Ardsley’s first wedding. That one was held at his bride’s father’s drafty, mildewed castle. He’d ridden there in full armor against marauding bands, with his own troop of knights, vassals, and pages. Hot and sweaty, with no opportunity—or inclination, truth be told—to bathe, he’d knelt in the chapel next to his fifteen-year-old bride, who’d sobbed through the ceremony despite the chest of gold and jewels he’d brought as the bride-price. Everyone got drunk after, and a fight broke out among the two factions, instead of the alliance the marriage was supposed to cement. He did not remember what the girl wore. He barely recalled the color of her hair or her name, only that she sobbed throughout the days of their marriage until he rode off to the wars six months later.

  What a difference an eon made, give or take a century or two. Today he was dressed in the finest garments money could buy, having bathed in oils from India with steaming hot water, and shaved not once but twice. He’d driven to a well-appointed mansion in a fine carriage behind highbred horses, to be welcomed by powerful, intelligent, unarmed gentlemen and their lady wives.

  And his bride was radiant, without a hint of tears.

  Too bad this union was not destined to last longer than the last one.

  Everything was going well until the vicar asked, “Do you, Imogene Hopewell Macklin, take this man…?”

  Silence.

  Did she know he was not truly a man? Ardeth shook his head. That was impossible. He had been facing forward, letting his mind wander to his plans for the reception and the coming trip. He hadn’t been listening to the vicar’s droning speech until the lack of it caught his attention. Why should he heed this stranger when he knew the holy vow he was taking, its rights and responsibilities, as well as the cost of forsaking it, better than any collared cleric?

  Now he turned to face the bride. He’d thought Genie rapt in attention to the vicar, a slight smile on her lips. Now he recognized that smile for the same kind of frozen rictus he’d seen when he’d done his job, his former job. She wasn’t…? No, of course not. She was simply paralyzed with fear, poor puss, and he had no idea what to do about it, not with all these people watching. She was right to be afraid, by Hades.

  He squeezed her hand, bothered that he could not tell how icy hers was through their gloves. His hands were always cold anyway and could not have helped warm her. Damn, he cursed, then prayed that she would not change her mind now. Campbell, beside him, started to gnaw on his lip as the vicar repeated his question.

  Marie, on Genie’s other side as her attendant and witness, whispered loudly enough for half the guests to hear, “You’ll never get a better offer, chérie,” which served only to remind Genie that she was gambling with her life and that of her child on a man who moved in the highest circles and moved like a shadow, a man who looked like a paragon and spoke in paradoxes. She had no business being here, in this society, with this silver-tongued stranger.

  “Of course you will get a better offer,” Ardeth murmured to her. “You are beautiful and kindhearted. Any man would die to have you as his wife. Well, perhaps not die,” he quickly amended. That was the whole point. “But I hope you will choose me, for I will spend what time I have being a good husband, I swear.” He brought her hand to his mouth for a kiss on her glove. “Do not be afraid, lady. I would never let harm come to you. You believe that, don’t you?”

  She wet her lips and nodded. “Yes, I do, I think.”

  “And you believe that we are both entitled to the chance at finding some happiness in this life?”

  This time she spoke louder, with more conviction. “I do.”

  Twenty witnesses let out held breaths, relieved that there would be no more embarrassing moments. Now no one would have to solve the awkward problem of that rotter Macklin’s widow. Now no men would have to worry about their wives sighing over the elegant earl.

  Ardeth thanked Heaven, Hell, and everywhere in between.

  “I do, too,” he whispered.

  “Me three,” came the squawk from atop the unlit chandelier, then another, louder squawk from the unfortunate turbaned lady sitting beneath.

  Chapter 5

  For all the differences, weddings had not changed a great deal. Nor had the wedding nights, except that now no one was expected to hang bloodied sheets out the window, or consummate the union with witnesses present. The male guests at the hotel fete still made raucous, ribald jokes, perhaps more so because the bride was no shy virgin.

  Ardeth was offended. What kind of gentlemen spoke so in front of a lady? He might have done the same in his time, but had these puny people not learned better manners in all the years? He would not reprimand any of them or order the innkeeper to stop pouring the wine and ale that loosened even well-bred tongues. He needed their goodwill back in England. Besides, taking umbrage for such a small slight was a poor reflection of his own character, he decided. Instead, he decided to leave.

  Genie was exhausted and embarrassed. She believed that half the risqué songs would not be sung if she were a real lady, born to the aristocracy. She hated the thought of the earl realizing he’d married so far beneath him, and on the same day as the wedding. Leaving was appealing, but impossible. “We cannot simply disappear, my lord,” she said with regret. “This is our party. We are the hosts.”

  “We are an earl and his countess, my lady. Have you not yet realized that we can do almost anything we wish? Watch.”

  He tapped his wineglass. It was a small enough sound, but everyone in the vicinity stilled. “Friends, my lady and I thank you for coming to help celebrate our wedding. Your good wishes are sincerely appreciated. As you know, marriage is a journey, an exploration of uncharted waters, learning which shoals are treacherous, which reefs offer safe harbor. We begin our voyage tonight. So we bid you farewell. Let the celebration continue.”

  The cheers were for the new bottles of champagne being brought out. The party would be more festive anyway without the groom’s disapproving glares.

  Instead of leading Genie upstairs to their rooms, Ardeth led her out to the carriage, where Marie sat up with Campbell on the driver’s seat. Trunks were already strapped to the back and the roof, and Ardeth’s black stallion was tied behind.

  “We are not to spend the night here?” Genie asked.

  “We travel to the coast, to the yacht I have hired to return us to England.”

  At her quiet “Oh,” he took up her hand again. “Should I have consulted you? I fear I am not in the habit of asking another’s opinion. I was right—we have much to learn about each other and being part of a pair. I have been solitary too long.”

  “No, traveling now is fine. In fact the celebration was growing far too lively for my taste.”

  Lively? Was that what it was? Ardeth had found death far more peaceful. He relaxed against the cushions, glad to be away. “At least we agree on that.”

  Genie fussed with her gloves. “I am concerned about the heirloom that you lost. Should we really be giving up the search?”

  “Oh, I have rewards posted everywhere. If the bauble is close by, someone will find it and return the thing for the money I promised.”

  “Will they recognize it? I thought you were not sure of its description.”

  He unfolded a sheet of paper with a small picture on it, with the reward offer written in four languages.

  “But it is just an hourglass. Our governess used one to time lessons. Surely that cannot be so valuable.”

  “The size is deceptive. The piece is actually a gold and glass brooch. Although the sands do shift, they do not keep accurate time as you know it.”

  Once again he’d managed to rattle her. “As I know it? Doesn’t everyone mark hours and minutes the same way?”

  “I have seen clocks of dripping water, sundials, and monoliths,” he said, avoiding her actual question. “You might say this timepiece has a sentimental attachment far beyond its usefulness.”

  “I see. Was it your
mother’s?”

  Coryn the boy had been fostered out to a brutal warlord at such an early age that he could not recall having a mother, although he must have. “No, it was a more recent acquisition.”

  Genie was still troubled. “But how will you know it from all the replicas people are bound to bring you in hopes of winning the reward?” She handed back the sheet of paper. “It appears easy to duplicate, especially if it does not work correctly.”

  “Nay, it is impossible to copy, and no one will part with its match. I will know the original. You must trust me on that.”

  It seemed to Genie that she had already taken a great deal on faith. What was one more irreplaceable hourglass that did not work? Her husband was definitely daft. She might as well humor him, Genie decided, so she asked, “Have you left the crow behind to search?”

  Ardeth looked around, noticing for the first time that the gremlin was missing. “No, I have little control of the beast, ah, the bird. I am sure he will turn up.”

  He sat back and closed his eyes, ending the conversation and leaving Genie to wonder about a man who cared so much for a scrap of broken jewelry, and so little for his constant companion. She could not help wondering also what that meant for her and this hasty marriage.

  Genie could not nap despite her weariness and the well-sprung coach. She sighed and wriggled around, trying to find a more comfortable position, which must have disturbed Ardeth. He rapped on the carriage roof, ordering Campbell to pull up, then got out and mounted Black Butch.

  Now Genie had to fret that she had offended her new husband. If this marriage journey was a sea voyage, as he’d said, her ship was already leaking. Genie sighed again and gave up worrying. At least she was not hungry or homeless, and that was enough for now. She fell asleep this time, without Ardeth’s dark presence to disturb her mind.

  He came alongside the coach near dusk and tapped on the window. “I am sorry to awaken you, but we are near the harbor. We’ll set sail in the morning, so we could sleep aboard the ship, but we will find more amenities at an inn. You see, I am learning, asking which you prefer.”

  Genie chose the inn, thinking that they were bound to have separate chambers there. Who knew how many cabins were on the ship? Who knew how committed the earl was to his promises?

  Ardeth rode ahead to make arrangements.

  At the inn he’d selected, he sent a rider back to direct the coach. Upstairs, he ordered baths, dinner, rooms for the servants, stalls for the horses. The innkeeper hurried to serve without even hearing his name or title, once he’d seen the earl’s gold. Ardeth could have bought the inn for just a bit more.

  His lordship chose a room overlooking the innyard so he could see the coach pull up. He knew this was no lawless borderland where women were held for ransom or worse, but he still worried. He was resolved not to fail in this simple test of being a married man.

  He heard a tapping on the window and opened it to let in the accursed bird.

  “Kiss the bride? Kiss the bride?”

  Ardeth looked around at his solitary room, then at the door beyond which his new wife would be housed. He’d ordered wine and flowers for her, and a tray for her supper so she could rest. Alone, as promised.

  “No.”

  The crow tried to quack from the windowsill.

  “Dumb duck.”

  “Numb fu—”

  Ardeth slammed the window.

  —

  Marie shook her head after she’d taken away the dinner tray, and helped Genie out of her bath and into her night rail. She chattered about the wedding guests, their clothes, their manners, and which married men had roving eyes. The French maid’s own eyes kept straying to the connecting door between her mistress’s room and the earl’s. As soon as his lordship appeared, Marie could go on to find her own room in the attics, unless she decided to enliven Campbell’s night.

  The door stayed closed. Marie brushed Genie’s hair again, rearranged the few jars and bottles on the table, and yawned a time or two in case her mistress missed the point.

  Genie had not. “I think I will read in bed awhile,” she said, dismissing the maid. “We make an early start in the morning, I believe.”

  “Me, I believe I have never seen such a honeymoon,” Marie muttered on her way out the door, with a grim look toward the earl’s chamber.

  Marie might be a competent maid, and she might be the only female acquaintance Genie had in this place, and she might be—must be—far more experienced with men than Genie, but she was still the maid. Genie was not born to a house full of servants, but she knew better than to tolerate criticism of her marriage, particularly from a woman who was no better than a light-skirt.

  Genie almost asked exactly how many wedding nights Marie had experienced—not how many beds she had shared with married men. Instead she merely said, “Lord Ardeth is not like other men.” She ignored the older woman’s grin, fervent nod, and crossing of herself as an afterthought. “He makes his own rules, and you had better obey them, especially about gossiping about your employers. Good night.”

  Well, Genie had experienced one wedding night before, and she knew what men wanted out of marriage. No matter what Ardeth said, he’d be here, sooner or later. After her nap in the carriage, Genie was not tired, not with thoughts like that battling in her brain. She owed Ardeth for rescuing her; the least she could do was be an acquiescent bride. After all, he was clean—she’d heard servants carrying out his bathwater—and sober. How bad could it be? She doubted the earl would hurt her, not when he was so gentle with the injured soldiers and his horses. Surely a wife rated higher than a horse? Maybe not. She had not, to Elgin.

  Heavens, she ought not be thinking of Elgin on her wedding night. Then again, if he was watching from wherever his reckless, feckless soul had landed, let him see that another man appreciated her, that another man treated her like a lady. And that another man almost made her want to please him.

  Almost.

  Let neither Elgin nor the earl see her knees knocking together.

  Genie pinched color into her cheeks, prodded steel into her backbone, and knocked softly on her husband’s door.

  “Yes?”

  Yes, she was going in. Yes, she was going to offer herself to the scowling man who’d been staring out the inn’s window. Yes, she was going to pretend to enjoy whatever happened. On the other hand…

  “No. I mean, nothing. I just wanted—”

  He pulled her into the room to see her face by the candlelight. “Is everything to your liking? Have you enough covers and coal for the hearth?”

  She was already too warm, just stepping into his room with its blazing fire. He was wearing a thick robe and fur-lined slippers, despite the warm night air.

  “Everything is fine. The room is lovely. The dinner was delicious.”

  “Then…?”

  She had no answer. Was he caper-witted as well as crazy? This was their wedding night and she was wearing a nearly transparent robe over her equally gossamer nightgown. Her hair was loose around her shoulders instead of in a neat plait, and she smelled of some exotic perfume Marie had produced. What did he think she was doing at his door? She licked her lips, thinking that moisture might make the words easier to pronounce, but he spoke first.

  “I suppose you cannot sleep, either. Here, let me—” He reached over to touch her neck, the way she had seen him touch the severely injured soldiers, lulling them to a pain-free sleep.

  She jumped back. “No, thank you. Whatever it is you do, I would rather not know. That is, I would rather you didn’t.” She need not have pinched her cheeks, Genie realized. They must be scarlet by now. “I mean, I am not tired at all after resting in the carriage.”

  “Ah.”

  “Ah” was as helpful as a cup of hemlock. “I thought we might—”

  “Talk? Quite right.” He led her to a chair in front of the fireplace, then leaned against the mantel. “We should speak of where you’d like to live, if you have an older woman you would like to
invite to live wim you as companion, how much—what do you call it?—pin money you will need. We were in such a rush I never thought to ask.”

  “Whatever you decide will be fine. I have no great needs, nor any female in mind. Perhaps one of your relatives?”

  “I doubt you’d care to dig up any of them.”

  “Dirty dishes, are they? We have a few scoundrels and squirrels on the Hopewell family tree that we never mention, either. I suppose I am one of them.”

  “Scoundrel or squirrel?”

  “Just unmentionable.”

  He smiled. “That will change. We are invited to the prime minister’s house. People will speak of you, but only with admiration.”

  Genie doubted that, after her second scandalous marriage. “Thank you, but that is not what I came for.”

  “You want to speak of finances?”

  “I do not want to speak at all.” She was growing so warm in the overheated room, so near to the fire, that she started to undo the top button at the closure of her robe. While she was doing it, she decided to continue down the row of buttons. Perhaps he would get the idea then.

  His nearly black eyes followed her fingers the way a castaway’s eyes followed a ship on the horizon, his last hope sailing away without him. Ardeth cursed. He knew why she’d come, of course. If the martyred look on her guileless face did not tell the tale, her clumsy fingers fumbling with the buttons did. Like a nervous virgin, she had come to offer the only commodity she had. And if he took it, he’d be lost forever. He cursed again in several obsolete languages. Foul words were not going to solve his immediate problem, however.

  He reached out to still her hand, wondering if he ought to send her to dreamless sleep after all. As wary as a fawn, she pulled back.

  “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t be afraid.”

  “You do things to people, influence them. Sway them to your opinion. I have seen you do it, at the dinners, today at the reception. Other times you know what they are thinking, what they need.” She had hoped this would be one of those times. Sadly, it seemed not to be, and she ought to be glad. “I do not know how you do it, but please do not. I have given my hand to you, not my thoughts.”