by Jo Beverley
* * *
Loxsleigh did not attempt to seduce her, and indeed how could he when both her mother and aunt fluttered around him like adoring moths to the flame.
He entertained them with the wonders and follies of the court. He pretended interest in Anne Darby's impressions of London, and even in Aunt Clarissa's chatter about Newark. His sympathetic manner soon drew out the story of Canon Darby's long illness, and of Aunt Clarissa's old tragedy. He mentioned his own mother's death three years ago with tender feeling.
Where was the artificial peacock? This might be a different man.
All the same, beneath easy manners, he was intense. A strange word, but the only one Martha could find. And his intensity was centered on her. When their eyes met, she felt it its power. That must be a skill of practiced seducers, and on a weaker woman it might work, for it created the illusion that she was special, that she was important to him.
When he invited them all to dine at his inn the next afternoon, Martha agreed with as much pleasure as the rest. It appeared he might plan an attempt on her virtue. Perhaps dry spinsters from the provinces mere a new dish for such as he, and she looked forward to seeing what other skills he would bring into play. Would he attempt to get her alone? He’d fail, but it would be like watching a play, and the performance of this leading actor should be a wonder to behold.
However, the price for her amusement was more embarrassing dreams, and others even odder. Where did the woodland scenes come from? She’d spent her life in a city, but in the night she visited dense woodlands, and glades woven through with a hauntingly beautiful song, where strange creatures danced, loved, and quarreled.
Quarreled over her.
An exquisite lady in iridescent draperies and a lord in dark velvet prowled and snarled. Over her…
When she awoke to her sunlit bedchamber, Martha felt as if the misty greenwood still surrounded her, but by the time they left to walk to the Crown inn, she was sensible again.
She could wish Aunt Clarissa so. That lady was in alt at Loxsleigh's high station and had spent the morning making enquiries of her friends, which also allowed her to spread the word about her interesting new acquaintance. “He is the heir,” she’d told Martha and her mother. “And the family is famously rich!”
As soon as they were seated at the inn, she said, "I understand your home at Five Oaks is most unusual, sir. Famous for its antiquity."
"It is, ma'am."
"A part of it dates back to the thirteenth century!"
"A small part," he said as soup was served. "Only the old great hall and some rooms above it."
"Five hundred years old!" Aunt Clarissa declared.
"Is it not rather uncomfortable?" asked Martha's practical mother.
He turned his smile on her. "Which is why it’s hardly used, ma'am."
"Are there five oaks?" Martha challenged.
"Of course, Miss Darby."
"Trees die, even oaks. There cannot always be five."
Her sharpness did not cut him. "There can if one counts saplings. But yes, there have always been five mature oaks." Before she could debate that point, he added, "Or so legend says. There are certainly five now. Perhaps you would care to visit and see for yourself?"
He addressed it nicely to both Martha and her mother, but she knew it was intended for herself. So that was it. He wanted her in his home, in his power….
Before she could forestall it, her mother had agreed, and then she made it worse.
"I hope we’ll be able to return your hospitality soon, sir, and serve you a dinner when next you visit York. Perhaps we can show you some entertainments. We will soon be out of mourning. Dear Martha missed so much of her youth while helping me nurse Mr. Darby that I look forward to her enjoying parties and assemblies."
"I'm past the age for such frivolities, mother."
"Why say that, dear? I declare I am not. I intend to dance when asked, and enjoy many entertainments."
"And so you should, ma'am,” Loxsleigh said. “I will certainly ask you to dance."
He addressed her mother, but Martha felt the message was to her. She found her hand tight on her knife and fork as if she'd need to fight him off.
Talk turned safely to musical evenings and assemblies, but then both Martha's mother and aunt shared stories from their youth that implied more liveliness than Martha had imagined. Her mother had flirted with a number of suitors, and even slipped aside from a dance for a kiss? And not with the future Canon Darby, either. In their recollections, the older ladies became more youthful, brighter-eyed, rosier-cheeked, while Martha remained herself, dull and lacking memories to share.
Did everyone dance and flirt their way into their twenties except her?
She became aware of hunger, and not for soup.
She hungered for touches and dances and teasing and flirtation. All the things the older ladies remembered with such pleasure. All the things she'd missed and feared never to experience, especially in Dean Stallingford's embraces.
Good heavens. She'd never let her imagination go so far, and now the idea revolted her.
She caught Loxsleigh looking at her and immediately envisioned embraces that would not revolt her. How was he doing this to her?
She seized her wine glass and drank. He also raised his glass, but sipped, his eyes remaining on her, bright as fire. Heat rose through her body. She began to sweat.
This wasn't a play, and it wasn't harmless. She would not go to Five Oaks. She would return directly to York and marry Dean Stallingford and be safe.
The meal seemed to take an age, and when they rose to take their leave Martha gave thanks that the torment was over. However, Loxsleigh insisted on escorting them back home and walked beside her as they left the inn. She could feel his presence, perhaps even a vibration. She welcomed fresh air and the hubbub of ordinary life -- people in the street, vendors calling their wares, a line of chairmen offering transport.
"I feel quite fatigued,” said Aunt Clarissa. “I do believe I'll take a chair."
Loxsleigh summoned a sedan and paid the men. "Mistress Darby? Would you, too, care to be carried home?"
"I confess the idea appeals, sir. Don't feel obliged to join us in laziness, dear,” she said to Martha. “I know you enjoy a walk and Mr. Loxsleigh will ensure your safety."
If Martha's senses were any guide, Mr. Loxsleigh planned the exact opposite, but she took a sudden resolve. Even if she refused to visit his home, he could follow her to York. The only way to put a stop to this was to directly dismiss him.
"Yes," she said. "I should like to walk. It's a lovely afternoon."
3
Chapter Three
As soon as the older ladies were carried away she turned to him. "And now, Mr. Loxsleigh, we will talk plainly, if you please."
He extended his arm. "I will be delighted, Miss Darby."
Martha didn’t want to touch him, but propriety compelled. She curled her hand around his arm and they set off down the street. Even through gloves and sleeve that vibration rippled into her. She twitched and glanced around. Had she heard that song again? The one from her dream…
"Plain talk, Miss Darby?" he prompted.
"I wish to know, plainly, sir, why you are pursuing my mother and myself. We can hardly be amusing to you after court."
"Court is a constantly repeating play. Its charms soon wear thin."
She gave him a look. "So we are a new play, a novelty?"
"As I am for you, I'm sure."
"I'm certainly not accustomed to such elevated company." She was launched on an argument about their different stations, but he said, "I assume you meet the archbishop now and then."
"That is hardly the same."
"But extremely elevated. Where does the Archbishop of York come in the order of precedence? Closely after royalty, I believe, and far, far above the heir to a viscountcy."
Jaw tense, Martha said, "I have very little to do with the archbishop."
"But would not reject his co
mpany as unsuitable. Come, Miss Darby, why are you so prickly? What have I done to offend?"
She glared at him. "Do you pretend that you encountered us in Newark by accident?"
"It is on the North Road, which we both must take. But I confess that I wanted to meet you again."
"Why?"
Martha suddenly realized that they'd taken a short cut through the churchyard. It was the route her party had walked to the inn, enjoying the tranquility. Now the leafy quiet seemed dangerous.
She released his arm and stepped away. "Why?" she demanded again. "What interest do you have in us?"
"In you. Your mother is delightful, but you are the lode stone."
"Lode stone?" But that was best ignored. "I insist you leave us be, sir. There is no connection, and can never be."
"There was a handkerchief," he said whimsically. "My dear Miss Darby, my intentions are completely honorable."
"Honorable?" She was becoming an echo, but he'd opened the way to an attack. "That sounds as if you intend to propose marriage."
She waited with relish for him to show panic, but instead he smiled. "I believe I do. But first I must kiss you."
"What? You wretch, to make fun of me. And to suggest something so wicked!"
"A kiss is wicked? Then the whole world is destined for hell. Including you. With such tempting lips, you must have been kissed many times."
"Certainly not!" Martha snapped, but instantly regretted the admission. "My father's illness.... Mourning...."
He sobered. "As your mother said, you have missed much." He captured her hands. “Allow me to introduce you to the kiss.”
He didn’t wait for permission, however, but pulled her beneath a tree.
And kissed her.
A mere press of lips to lips, yet sparkles started there and spread throughout her body -- into her chest, down her spine, right to her fingers and toes. She almost felt that her tight-pinned hair crackled.
She tried to step back, but that brought her hard against the tree's trunk and he pressed over her, his hot mouth claiming hers hungrily, destroying both conscience and will. She gripped his jacket, lightning-struck and helpless, until a deep, urgent ache awoke her to peril.
She pushed him away with all her strength. He crushed closer, as if he might force her...
But then he put hands to the tree and thrust violently backward, as if breaking bonds, breathing hard, eyes bright and wolfish in their hunger.
A hunger that pounded in herself.
He went to one knee. "Miss Darby, will you marry me?"
She stared, then snapped, "Of course not!" from an instinct as sharp as that which snatches the hand from a burning pot.
His eyes still shone. "You must, you know."
Martha backed away, but the infernal tree blocked her. "Must? From a kiss. A kiss forced upon me? I fear you're mad, sir!"
And he looked it, with those wide, burning eyes and flushed cheeks.
"I will be if you reject me. Why do you refuse?"
"Why? My father was a canon. Yours is a viscount. You will be a viscount one day. I have an extremely modest portion to bring to a marriage and no idea of how to behave at court."
"I don't live at court," he said, rising to his feet. "And I don't need your portion, but in fact you bring a dowry of immense value." He stepped forward. "Let me kiss you again."
Martha pushed him away. "Stop that! I know what you're about. You're trying to seduce me."
"I'm trying to marry you."
"I don't believe you."
He sighed and looked up. "I thought an oak would have some power."
"What?"
He took her hand -- "Come" -- and dragged her toward the church.
"What are you doing? Stop this!" Martha stumbled along unable bring herself to scream. They turned a corner, and there at last were people -- two gravediggers, chest deep in the ground. "Sirs!" she cried.
"I want to marry this lady," Loxsleigh interrupted. "Will you stand witness?"
The men grinned, showing crooked teeth. "If you wish, sir."
"I do." He tossed them both a coin. "Come." He dragged Martha onward.
She grabbed a headstone. "You're drunk, sir. You must be. It would serve you right if I took up your offer."
He stopped, beaming. "Do, please, my marrying maid."
"Your what?"
"You, my dear, my darling Miss Darby, are my marrying maid. I have sought you high and low, long and far, despairing of ever finding you in time. But here you are, and here I am, and all is wondrous!"
He grasped her at the waist and swung her around in the air. Nothing so alarming, so wonderful, had ever happened to Martha Darby before. She swatted at his head, beat at his shoulders, and when her feet touched the ground again she exclaimed, "You're mad, or drunk, or both!"
“Not a bit of it!”
But then he swooped down to dig his fingers into the long grass by the edge of the path.
Mad, Martha thought, tears gathering in her eyes. Tragically, the man was mad.
"See." He straightened, showing her a small golden earring as if it were a wonder of the orient. “Is it not wonderful?”
"You must return it to its owner," Martha said gently.
"Of course, but it's proof, you see."
"Proof of what?"
“That you’re my marrying maid. How soon can we be wed?”
“Mr. Loxsleigh, I am not going to marry you.”
He shook his head, as if she were a moonling.
Martha reached for the only weapon she had. "I'm promised to another."
That did cloud his sun. "Do you love him?"
Martha couldn’t quite lie. "We are very well suited," she said and set off along the path toward the street, toward people. Sane people.
He passed her and spoke walking backward. "You don’t love him. Of course you don’t. A marrying maid wants no other. I wonder why I didn't find you years ago."
"Perhaps,” she said tightly, “because we belong in different spheres and still do."
"Ah! Your father was a canon. Did you live close to the Minster?"
The safely of the street lay ahead, but he blocked her way. "Yes."
"And in the long years of caring for your father, did you mostly stay at home?"
"Of course."
“That explains it, then. Faery powers can't work in powerful Christian spaces."
Fairies. He was a worse case than she'd feared.
He turned and opened the gate for her. "If I try to explain, you'll never believe me."
"Quite likely I won't," she said, safe at last on the street.
"Martha, my dear, just say yes."
She looked him in the eye. "No."
"Come to Five Oaks."
"No,"
"What harm can it do?"
"Said the spider to the fly." She marched on. Aunt Clarissa’s house was in view. Martha had never been so glad to see it.
"Come to Five Oaks,” he persisted. “It will change your mind. But if it doesn’t I’ll bother you no more. And that is a painful promise for me to make.”
Martha was struck by his sincerity and slowed her steps. “Why?”
He didn’t immediately answer and seemed to be calculating her reaction. “If you don’t marry me,” he said at last, “I will die.”
“Die of love? We hardly know each other!”
“Simply die. And not just me. Many others.”
Mad, mad, but she was suddenly unable to abandon him. If she went to his home, she would be with her mother. Aunt Clarissa would know where they went. Perhaps his father didn't realize how sad a case he was. There might be some way to help him.
"Very well," Martha said at last. “I will visit Five Oaks.”
He beamed, all that bright light shining, but the song came from elsewhere, as did the burst of ethereal laughter. Martha looked around even as she knew neither was anything to do with the here and now.
Was insanity infectious?
4
C
hapter Four
By morning Martha had second, third, twentieth doubts about the wisdom of her decision, especially in light of her dreams. That one kiss had unleashed wickedness beyond comprehension, and even more vivid images of impossible things.
Mr. Loxsleigh arrived, and though he was striving to appear normal, his eyes revealed that madness still rode him. Not dangerous madness, she assured herself. What was more, he’d brought a luxurious traveling carriage drawn by six horses, which meant three postilions who would hardly allow evil.
She guessed he intended rash speed, however, and said, “We will travel only as fast as is reasonable, sir.”
He handed her into the carriage. “We must reach Five Oaks today.”
Martha paused in the doorway. “Why?”
She caught him staring into nowhere, but then he was with her again, smiling. “My impatience to see you there, Miss Darby. But my word on it, we’ll travel no faster than is safe.”
With yet more misgivings, Martha took her seat at her mother’s side, facing the horses. It was difficult to be a well-bred lady who never behaved improperly, and did not upset arrangements.
“How lovely to travel post,” her mother said. “So kind of you, Mr. Loxsleigh.”
He took the opposite seat. “It is you who are kind, ma’am, agreeing to come to Five Oaks.”
As the carriage moved off, Martha gripped her hands together. She forced them to relax. She was safe. Any other impression was a lingering effect of her dream.
Or proximity to a man. The seating put her far too close to Loxsleigh. Their knees almost touched. Unless she chose to look outside all the way, she must look at him, be aware of how he looked at her with eyes that now seemed to gleam emerald bright.
She turned away as if fascinated by the sight of the castle over nearby houses.
He said, “Our road is good according to those coming south.”
In other words, he claimed speed was safe. To prove it, as soon as they left the town the horses picked up their pace. It did not jolt over ruts, however, so Martha couldn’t reasonably complain.
