Mary and the Marquis

by Janice Preston

  ‘Come, Mary, leave that and sit down—’ glancing over, Mary saw Rothley slant a knowing grin at her ‘—on the chair, if you prefer. I would know more of the mysterious lady who happened to be walking through my woods at the very time I had need of her.’

  His expression said it all: he knew precisely the effect he was having upon her. Her resolve steadied as she remained where she stood. Did he believe she would fall at his feet in response to his manly allure and handsome countenance? Mayhap he had reason to so believe, after that kiss, but he would find she was made of sterner stuff, she vowed. She would not allow her treacherous body to dictate her relationship with this man.

  ‘There is naught to tell, sir. I was passing through. There is no mystery.’

  ‘Where is your destination? Is there no one to worry over your non-arrival?’

  Mary laughed and, even to her ears, it had a bitter sound. ‘There is no one to worry over me. I am in no hurry to leave.’

  Rothley indicated the chair by the bedside. ‘Please...sit down, Mary.’ He waited until she sat before saying, ‘You still have not revealed your destination, which leads me to wonder why?’

  Mary twisted her hands in her lap. How much could she divulge without letting slip the existence of the children? Mrs Lindley and Ellen had both urged her to conceal their presence from Rothley, but had not said why he was so opposed to the idea of children at the Hall. Nor was she inclined to reveal her family name, given the past acquaintance between their fathers.

  ‘I do not go there by choice,’ she said. ‘I have no alternative.’

  ‘You claim there is no mystery, yet I find myself more mystified every time we speak. If it gives you no pleasure to go to this place, why go? Why did you not remain in...wherever it is you have travelled from...and find employment there?’

  ‘I could not remain there, sir.’ It was a weak reply, but Mary could think of no other. She could read the scepticism in his eyes.

  ‘If you will not tell me your destination, tell me where you have travelled from, Mary, and why.’

  ‘I am a widow, sir...’

  ‘That much I do know.’

  ‘You asked me a question. Be pleased to permit me to answer.’ She was determined not to be cowed by him.

  He grinned at her, unabashed. ‘My apologies, Sensible Mary. Please, do continue.’

  Mary took a deep breath. She had nothing to be ashamed of. Why should she be ashamed of escaping the dreadful fate her father had planned for her?

  ‘I come from a village close to Newcastle where...’

  ‘But that is not where you grew up.’

  ‘Well, no. How did you...?’

  His lips quirked. ‘I detected a hint of an accent, Mary. I guessed you were Scottish.’ His face grew serious, his dark eyes narrowing as he stared at her. ‘Have you really walked all the way from Newcastle to here?’

  ‘No, not all the way, w— I encountered many generous souls along the way who offered to share their transport. I have been very fortunate.’

  ‘Your husband failed to leave provision for you? How did you live, before he died?’

  ‘He was steward to a gentleman and we lived in a cottage on his estate. Michael, my husband, died in a fall and his employer allowed u—me to remain at the cottage. I took in sewing for the household and I also helped with correspondence and other business in return for food and pin money. But then Mr Wen— the gentleman died unexpectedly...’

  Mary faltered. They had been dark days, with two young children and losing the one hope she had of remaining independent. ‘His son did not wish to continue his father’s arrangement and I had no other way of earning money to pay rent. I had to leave.’

  Rothley’s dark brows drew together in a frown. ‘His father’s arrangement?’

  ‘Yes. As I said, I did sewing and some letter writing. He entrusted me with both the household and the estate accounts. I have a good head for...’ Mary registered Rothley’s expression and his tone. She was momentarily lost for words. ‘Oh!’ She hauled in an indignant breath. ‘You think...you think...!’

  Words failed her. Belatedly, she understood precisely what Rothley implied.

  ‘I do not condemn you, Mary. The father clearly had excellent taste, but I can understand the son’s reluctance to take on his father’s obligation. I see now the difficulty in obtaining further employment in the area.’

  She leapt to her feet, her cheeks burning. Rothley’s hand shot out and grasped her wrist. She twisted and pulled, but could not break free.

  ‘Wait, Mary, please. There is no need to be ashamed. You said yourself you are only travelling from necessity and that your intended destination is not from choice. I can offer you an alternative. Stay here, with me. I will take care of you.’

  He wants me as his whore. He is no better than Simon. As his grip loosened, Mary snatched her wrist free and backed out of his reach. She whirled to face him.

  ‘Just because I am a widow you gentlemen seem to believe I exist simply to slake your thirst. Well, I don’t! Do you hear me? I shall never...’

  She paused, willing her voice not to wobble. ‘I am a respectable woman and I beg leave to inform you I resent your...your...insinuation...that I might have behaved immorally with Mr Wendo— with my employer. He was a lovely gentleman and extraordinarily kind to me and my...my...Michael. I...’

  To her horror, tears blurred her vision. She had never imagined Mr Wendover’s kindness to her could be so badly misconstrued. Her breath juddered, loud in her ears. She must get out of here. She ran to the door.

  ‘Mary...wait...’

  She ignored him, slamming the door behind her.

  Chapter Six

  Lucas tightened his hands into fists. What had possessed him? Of all the cack-handed fools! He didn’t even want a mistress. The words had spilled out without thought. He had eagerly anticipated Mary’s visit and now he had driven her away with his ill-considered words. Why had he blurted out his suspicions? Would it have hurt him to conceal his thoughts, at least until he could decide if there was any merit in them?

  Her reaction had been an honest one, he felt sure, although it would not be the first time he had been taken in by a woman. But...Mary? Was she such a skilled actress, to put on such a convincing performance?

  He was roused from his conjectures by the rattle of the doorknob. His heart leapt at the sound, but it was not Mary’s expressive countenance that met his eager gaze, but the impassive features of Trant.

  ‘The doctor is here to see you, my lord.’ The valet crossed the room to pick up the tray discarded by Mary. ‘Shall you require me to remain?’

  ‘No, thank you, Trant, there is no need. Please send Dr Preece up.’

  ‘Very well, my lord.’

  ‘I showed myself up,’ a cheerful voice announced from the doorway. ‘No need for Trant to be put out, I know my way around well enough by now.’

  Lucas experienced an unexpected spurt of pleasure at the familiar voice and features of his old friend, Robert Preece. He felt his heart shift in his chest. The burden that had weighed so heavily on him since his father’s death eased a fraction.

  ‘Rob...’ he held out his hand ‘...it is good to see you.’

  Why had he been at such pains to deny all his old friends and neighbours since his return to Rothley? Had he really convinced himself no one in this world could be trusted? That every person beyond the boundaries of the Hall was blighted by the same immoral bankruptcy as his erstwhile London intimates? Could he now put the past behind him and rebuild old friendships?

  Robert approached the bed, a quizzical smile on his lips, and grasped Lucas’s hand.

  ‘It is a pleasure to hear you say that, Lucas. After all, you have not been the most attentive friend and neighbour since your return from the metropolis.’

  ‘Touché, my friend. As direct and to the point as ever, I see.’

  ‘I have determined to make the most of your current weakened state, old chap, for I am persuaded that, onc
e you are on your feet again, you will revert to that evasive fellow I have been trying to pin down these past two years.’

  Guilt washed over Lucas at his treatment of his old friend. ‘I fear I would have provided very poor company in those years.’

  ‘That would make no difference to a true friend, Lucas. What happened in London to make you shun all company bar that of your mama?’

  Despite himself, Lucas laughed. ‘Goodness, man, you never hesitate to walk where others fear to tread, do you?’

  Robert shrugged. ‘You might bite my head off for asking difficult questions, but at least you are incapable of knocking my head from my shoulders at such presumption.’

  He stood smiling down at Lucas for a moment, then turned away and placed his bag on the table at the foot of the bed. He removed his coat, then approached the bed, rolling his shirtsleeves to his elbows.

  ‘Whilst you are deciding how little you can reveal in order to satisfy my curiosity, let us dispense with the tedious medical side of this visit,’ he suggested. ‘Then we can have a proper catch-up of all our respective news. For I, too, have led a full and active life since we were last confidants. You may therefore rest assured that my side of the conversation will not be confined to inane responses to your titbits...’ His voice rose an octave, mimicking the tone of a gossiping woman. ‘“Did you really, Lucas?” “And what did you say then, Lucas?” “Goodness, whoever would have believed it?”’

  They both laughed, then Robert sobered.

  ‘No problem becomes easier by keeping it to oneself, Lucas. You would do well to remember that.’

  ‘Who says I have a problem?’

  ‘That is your pride talking, my friend.’ Rob eased Lucas forward in the bed, helped him to take off his nightshirt and removed the bandage from his shoulder. ‘It is no secret your father did not leave the Hall in the best of financial situations. Sir Gerald has made certain of that, gabble-mongering about his expectations, both in the village and all around the district.’

  ‘Expectations?’

  ‘The terms of his loan to your father are no secret. He is convinced he will be in possession of that land of yours next to Dunwick by the end of the year.’

  Lucas clenched his teeth, both against the stab of pain as Rob manipulated his shoulder and at the mention of Sir Gerald Quartly, a local landowner and mine owner who lived on the far side of the village at Dunwick Manor. The loan had been secured against the Hall’s best pasture and arable land, and the next payment was due on the Quarter Day: Michaelmas, the twenty-ninth of September. Barely three weeks away.

  Dread snatched at his insides, twisting his stomach into knots. Unless he obtained a good price for his livestock at Hexham market he would default on the loan and the estate would lose its most productive land. Thank goodness he had been in the right place to stop the theft of his sheep.

  ‘That seems fine, all healing very nicely,’ Robert said, rupturing the silence that had greeted his comment about Sir Gerald. ‘You have a good range of movement in the joint, which is a positive sign. Now, let me examine that thigh.’

  After more prodding, Robert declared himself satisfied with the healing process and he rolled down his sleeves and donned his coat, pulling the chair round to face the bed. He flicked his coat-tails out of the way as he sat down.

  ‘Now my professional duties are fulfilled, I shall allow my curiosity full rein. What happened on that day, Lucas? Did you recognise the men who shot you?’

  ‘No. I’ve never seen any of them before.’

  ‘How many were there?’

  ‘Three. On horseback. There was a dog with them, rounding up the sheep.’ Lucas relived the moment he had come upon the gang: the agony as the first bullet had ripped into his shoulder; the struggle to control Sultan as he reared and spun; the white-hot pain as the second bullet speared his thigh. He gave a short laugh. ‘It was fortunate, after the second shot, Sultan bolted towards them. They turned and ran, and I got my sheep back. If he had gone the other way...’ He paused. That scenario didn’t bear thinking about. If that had happened, he would now be fully immersed in the mire, with no way of paying his debt come Michaelmas.

  ‘I’d recognise the dog again, though. It stayed working the sheep after the men had gone. A collie: wall-eyed, with half a black face and half white, and a merle ruff—very distinctive. Have you ever seen such an animal hereabouts?’

  ‘Wall-eyed?’

  ‘One brown eye and one blue, on the white half of its face.’

  ‘No, I can’t say I have, but I will pass the word around—the whole village is still abuzz with the news. I had half-expected to hear of others losing stock, but there have been no more reports.’

  Thinking about that day brought Lucas’s financial worries into sharp perspective. ‘I need to get up,’ he said, pushing the bedcovers away as he sat up. ‘I must attend to the estate, Rob.’

  ‘You are recovering from a debilitating fever, Luke. Do not expect too much—you must be patient until you regain your strength. If you try to do too much, too soon...’

  Lucas levered himself round, swinging his feet to the floor. ‘But you don’t understand! I must...’

  ‘Whoa! Steady!’ Robert pushed at his shoulders and, to Lucas’s chagrin, he subsided against the pillows, his energy all but spent.

  ‘When can I get up?’

  ‘My advice is to remain in your bed for at least another two days. You may then decide if you feel strong enough to rise. Your thigh will soon tell you how long you are able to sit in a chair without too much discomfort.’ Robert folded his arms, head tilted to one side, as he studied Lucas. ‘Can you honestly tell me—hand on heart—that you have the strength to get up at this very moment?’

  Lucas wasn’t about to admit how weak he felt. ‘What about tomorrow?’

  Robert sighed. ‘Whatever I say, you are likely to do as you please. I know you too well. But I have no wish to be summoned because you have been stubborn and taken a tumble down the stairs. A broken neck will not help your cause, my friend. You must accept your strength will take time to recover.’

  Lucas glared up at Robert, who chuckled.

  ‘Do not think to intimidate me with your fearsome scowls, Lucas, for I know them to be pure humbug. Please; will you not humour me on this, even if my professional advice is not to your liking?’

  ‘Speaking of which—about your bill...’

  ‘Oh, no need to concern yourself with that, old fellow. Mrs Vale and I...’

  Mary’s stricken expression as she fled his bedchamber pricked at Lucas’s conscience. ‘Mrs Vale? What has your account to do with...?’

  ‘Eminently practical lady, Mrs Vale,’ Robert continued. ‘As I was about to say, we have come to an agreement about payment in kind.’

  Robert’s words ignited Lucas’s habitual distrust. He battled not to voice his immediate suspicions, conscious of his irrationality. Had he not known Rob since childhood? He was not of the same ilk as the London bucks Lucas had once thought his friends, men who thought nothing of stabbing one another in the back. And had it not been just such a suspicion—voiced without any consideration of the facts—that had upset Mary? He looked at his old friend, his familiar features. How could he suspect Rob of making some clandestine arrangement with Mary? Indeed, how could he believe such a thing of Mary, particularly after her earlier reaction?

  Bitter with self-recrimination, Lucas began to see how badly Julia and Henson had soured his trust in those around him. It was time to change, to start to put his trust in people again and stop driving them away. Mary’s face swam into view, before transforming into Julia’s. He put his hand to his head, massaging his temple.

  ‘Lucas? Are you all right?’

  The concern in Rob’s voice stirred Lucas and he squeezed his eyes shut against the unexpected moisture that gathered. He felt weak. Weak and stupid and humble.

  ‘A slight headache, that is all. You were about to explain your arrangement with Mrs Vale?’

 
‘Indeed. Mrs Vale has been overseeing both the estate and the household accounts...’

  Lucas stiffened at the knowledge Mary was privy to his business affairs. ‘She has no right! What business is it—?’

  ‘Lucas, please calm yourself. She only offered in order to help. Mrs Lindley has been in one of her frets, not only about you and your health, but about the tradesmen’s bills; do you not realise it is as much her home as it is yours? She cares very much about you as well, although who knows why when you have—by all accounts—behaved much like a rampaging goose since you came home.’

  Lucas stared at Rob, then burst out laughing. ‘A rampaging goose? Mrs Lindley described me as a rampaging goose?’

  ‘Ahem. No, actually, they were my words.’

  ‘I am stung, Robert. Could you not have found a more fitting analogy? A rampaging bull, perhaps? Or a marauding stallion? Yes...I like that last one. But a goose? Not even the courtesy of calling me a gander, I note!’

  Rob laughed. ‘Sorry, old fellow, but it had to be a goose. Do you not remember that time when...’ and then they finished Rob’s sentence in unison ‘...we were cornered in old Mrs Draper’s orchard by her geese?’

  ‘Yes, only too well,’ Lucas said, memories flooding back. Good memories. ‘And I still bear the scars to prove it! My word, but they were vicious, those geese. There was no reasoning with them, was there?’

  ‘Reasoning? With a goose? I can see you’ve lost none of your nonsense, Lucas, despite everything. Can you deny your attitude over the past two years?’

  ‘I may have been a touch prickly at times.’

  Rob threw his head back and guffawed. ‘A touch prickly? My dear fellow...’ He sobered. ‘I do hope we may now re-establish our old friendship.’ His hand alighted on Lucas’s uninjured shoulder. ‘I have missed you. I must confess...when I heard what had happened...and then, when you almost succumbed to the fever...it was...’ Rob faded as his fingers tightened their grip.