When they at last returned to Penham, Hallie believed she had acquitted herself well. He could not have found her all that tedious. And heady with the thought that her secret was now safe-that she could mention The Tantalus or even poetry without inviting detection-she smiled as Richard Marksley helped her down from the high seat. She dared hope that the time spent awaiting the Viscount’s return might at least be companionable. She did not wish to be at war with Richard Marksley.
Watching Jeremy haul Miss Binkin from the barouche, Hallie belatedly remembered her note for George Partridge. As Marksley moved to speak to the groom, who was steadying the horses up front, she drew the letter swiftly from her reticule. When Millicent looked down to straighten her skirts, Hallie handed the note to Jeremy.
In her scratch across the vellum he clearly recognized the addressee; he glanced at her expectantly. But Richard Marksley had already turned back towards them. He had most certainly noticed Jeremy’s questioning glance at her. And Jeremy was slow to pocket the letter.
Marksley’s look stung. Hallie knew that she was once again suspect. But to her surprise, Jeremy drew the open rebuke.
“I see I have been de trop this afternoon, my lord,” Marksley said. The words were light, but his expression was not. “Perhaps you have not been entirely honest regarding your reason for visiting Archers. If either you or Miss Ashton chooses to release my family from this arrangement, I should be much obliged.”
With a dark glare at Hallie he bowed stiffly and strode for the stables.
“A very rude young man,” Millicent commented with a sniff, and started up the steps toward the door. Hallie looked pleadingly at Jeremy.
“You must find George,” she urged softly. “I need his help.”
“For what, m’dear? A translation of Urdu?”
She frowned.
“This is not a joking matter, Jeremy. He must sign for me as Henry Beecham at the bank”
“Sign for you? Hallie, you must permit me-”
She shook her head. “You are known everywhere. The Duke of Blythe’s family! `Twould be like asking the Regent himself to pose as Beecham”
“Then at least take the funds?”
“No, Jeremy. You know I cannot. Someone would hear of it, and I would trade one form of notoriety for another. ‘Tis best to find George. I have explained all in the letter. I believe he was heading west with his gypsies.”
“Then I go west as well, m’dear. Especially now that Richard threatens to bar the doors to me. Though I do hate to leave this promising situation.”
“Promising?” Hallie’s voice rose. “What can you mean?”
“Why-I do believe the Honorable Richard is jealous.” At his slow, suggestive smile, Hallie’s face warmed.
“Harriet,” Millicent commanded from the door and Hallie gratefully fled.
Richard slowly sipped his tea and stared out at the rain. The fine weather had ended last night. The drive had puddled and the road would most probably be worse. As he anticipated the visit to church that morning, he thought a difficult trip would prove fitting. It would be his first attendance at a service in months, and all for publishing the banns.
Jeremy had departed early, before Richard even came in to breakfast, which was, as usual, very early indeed. He had been surprised that Jeremy, with his habitual good humor, had not found some way to tease him about yesterday’s incident, to ignore his display of temper. It had been unwise to reproach the two of them, despite appearances. He realized that he had come to rely unthinkingly on Jeremy’s capacity to bear abuse. Certainly if confronted by similar pique in another, he would have found pressing reason to leave. Yet Jeremy had never taken him seriously before, much to his own unending irritation. Why should he do so now-and before breakfast?
“The devil take them,” Richard muttered, staring moodily at the walls of his dining room. He had not taken stock of his surroundings for a while, and now wondered if, though a bachelor, he would be expected to entertain his betrothed and her family here at Archers. But the prospect was unwelcome-his aunt must be convinced to find more suitably staged settings for the next few acts. Apart from having his housekeeper pay additional attention to the draperies, he would not alter a thing. If Harriet Ashton desired to make a splash, she would simply have to wait for Reggie.
Not that she seemed to crave such fripperies, but one could never know about women. Their considerable requirements had confounded him before. Years ago he had believed Caroline Chalmers shared his interests. She had been intrigued by his indifference to most of the ton’s pursuits, including, at the outset, Caroline Chalmers herself. She had claimed relief in his preference for distance and rational conversation. In Caroline he had been thoroughly mistaken. Surely Harriet Ashton had her own indecipherable whims.
Yet there was something about the girl, something in that clear gaze that hinted at humor and reflection. She was well-read, she refrained from senseless comment, her voice was low and pleasant. She had quoted Pope. She was unquestionably intelligent. He conceded it crossly, placing the cup and saucer on the table with a clatter.
Despite such signs of sanity, she had still tossed her cap at Reggie.
The carriage was ready and waiting. Richard cloaked himself to Gibbs’s satisfaction and took the two umbrellas proffered, he assumed, as insurance should Miss Ashton and Miss Binkin beg a ride home. He knew his intended would do no such thing, but Miss Binkin very well might. After the banns were announced, even after that annoyingly public declaration, they would be expected to show some continuing preference for each other’s company.
The village church, a tidy stone building of disputed history and considerable weathered charm, stood back from the road. As Richard made his way up the flagstone walk, beneath the looming, age-old oaks, the drizzle renewed. Unfortunately, the rain in no way dampened the curiosity of the many neighbors, tenants, and tradesmen he had known for nearly two decades. In foisting this deception on them, Richard felt he was committing a crime.
The church was full. Richard noted the fact, conscious that perhaps the Earl of Penham should propose building an addition. He settled along the aisle toward the back. Then his gaze found Harriet Ashton.
He had been irritated with her, even angry, yet anger was not what he felt when he met her anxious gaze. As he took his seat he pondered his reaction, attempting to identify the unusual sensation. When the answer finally occurred to him it was a surprise.
He wished to protect Hallie Ashton.
With the thought, he managed to look everywhere other than at her. It was taking family responsibilities a bit too far, in addition to everything else, to now feel protective. Over the centuries countless others had wed to pay a debt, to preserve an ancient, respected name, to extend property or produce an heir. That line must be strong in him that he would contemplate surrendering so much else to fulfill it. Certainly the Earl of Penham had done nothing to deserve such a sacrifice. And Reggie would never trouble to reflect on any of it; the heir apparent would sneer at the outmoded notion of honor. Reggie thought the virtues were for others, but the vices … those had always been well worth pursuit.
What should he make of this baffling desire to shield the winsome Miss Ashton? Richard kept his gaze averted from her simple straw bonnet. He had almost convinced himself that she was an innocent victim of Reggie’s transgressions. After all, Reggie had used others before. Miss Ashton could not have anticipated danger.
As the vicar’s voice droned on, Richard looked ahead to where his aunt sat in the Penham box. It was in front, and she sat there alone, looking as misplaced as a flamboyant tropical bird, one that had inexplicably settled among sparrows. She had exhibited no restraint in her choice of dress. Her bright yellow turban must have blocked the view of those even three rows behind her. The mystery lay in why she had troubled to come.
Richard stifled a sigh. It was unfortunate, this public affirmation of a lie. But a special license would have been worse; he and Miss Ashton would not have retained
the luxury of time.
As he caught the too-curious gaze of one of Denhurst’s busybodies, Richard quickly looked away. He stared at the small church’s single stained glass window, depicting John the Baptist in the wilderness. Richard’s inspection focused sympathetically on the innocent lamb at John’s feet.
When the vicar obligingly read the banns, Richard’s attention returned immediately and painfully to the proceedings. The low murmur of the congregation surrounded him, trapping him. Had the service not then been nearing its close he would have excused himself, for lack of air.
He glanced at Hallie Ashton. Her features were pale but composed. If she could look so, he knew he could not shame her.
“My dear boy,” Squire Lawes was upon him at once, pounding him on the back even as he attempted to rise from the pew. “This is wonderful news. You must bring Miss Ashton and her family to supper. A celebration, what? Perhaps Tuesday?”
“Tuesday? I regret to say, sir-”
“Tuesday would be lovely, Squire,” Geneve accepted quickly. Her gaze cautioned Richard. “I know Miss Ashton and her uncle would be delighted. We shall all come together. Your lady is always such an incomparable hostess”
The Squire beamed. “You are too kind, Lady Penham. Our honor, to be sure. Shall we say six? Augusta does prefer country hours”
Richard bowed and thanked him, then offered an arm to his aunt.
“Surely it will not be necessary to accept every invitation, madam,” he protested in low tones. “Or do you feel some need to gratify the curiosity of the populace?”
“You must begin sometime, Richard. You will, after all, be marrying the girl.”
“Ah! We differ there. I believe my commitment extends only to pretending to be marrying the girl.”
Geneve managed to smile and nod to an acquaintance, but Richard could see that the smile was forced.
“Three weeks from today, Richard, you shall have to abandon all thoughts of pretense”
“On the contrary. Three weeks from today, once my messengers have succeeded in locating him and dragging him home by the ears, your son will have to abandon all pretense. And some mammoth measure of his freedom.”
Geneve bristled. “You are serious?”
“Indeed”
“I cannot believe this of you. That you could be so ungrateful! And I had your promise-”
“Marksley,” Alfred Ashton had managed to work his way to their side as they exited the church. “We may not have begun well, but I wish to shake your hand now in the hopes of a better future”
As Geneve’s blue eyes still blazed indignantly, Richard shook Ashton’s hand. Hallie’s uncle would be even happier when he snared a viscount.
“And Miss Harriet?” Richard asked, aware that his betrothed had not followed them out into the damp.
“Receiving some well-wishers. Ah! But here she is. Well, let us see the two of you together.”
Richard thought her gray spencer appropriate for the occasion. Against the gray stone walls of the church, under the gray sky, with her own gray eyes watching him in that disconcerting way, he thought he would have chosen to have her painted just so. Whatever brightened her cheeks and hair and lit her eyes from within seemed that much fresher in this dreary setting.
He moved to stand closer to her and was instantly conscious of a sensation of touching, though they stood some distance apart. He cleared his throat.
“What did you think of the service?” he asked.
“I confess I paid scant attention to the service.”
“And what could have distracted you, I wonder?”
As her gaze shot intently to his, he knew she had been thinking about him. With that recognition, they stood silently for some seconds in unintentional communion.
“Where is Lord Jeremy?” she asked at last.
He could not have explained his reaction. But the question reminded him of his earlier apprehensions, and the suspicions that roused feelings unhappily akin to jealousy. With some low and inarticulate demure, he excused Jeremy’s absence, then lapsed again into silence-this time decidedly less easy.
“I wish-” Hallie Ashton began as the others chattered around them. “Well, it is just that there is something so very final about a churchyard. There is no escaping.” She indicated the small graveyard. “Thomas Gray understood: `Each in his narrow cell for ever laid.”’
He turned to her, unwillingly drawn by the power she seemingly had to charm him without effort. But now the vicar was upon them, and Richard rallied.
I am afraid,” he said, glancing pointedly at the Countess, “that ‘til death do us part’ is included in the script.”
“You have always had a fondness for the quips, Mr. Marksley, have you not?” the vicar observed dryly. “Perhaps if we were to see you here more often-”
“Which reminds me, Mr. Mayhew,” Richard said quickly, “that I have indications the Earl is considering your needs for a larger church. Perhaps you might come see me sometime soon about a likely remedy.”
The vicar, managing to look stunned and joyous at once, mumbled thanks as Geneve pulled Richard to the side.
“Cyril has never mentioned such beneficence,” she hissed.
“You are correct, ma’am. To date he has not. But I have every confidence he shall. ‘Tis needed and appropriate. I should have noticed before.”
“‘This is … extortion, Richard.” Geneve actually stamped her foot.
“No, madam. This is generosity. But you should not be surprised that I am capable of schemes of my own” Pleased with managing even such a small victory, he left her abruptly and turned back to the Ashtons. Vicar Mayhew and his wife and nephew had been added to Squire Lawes’s supper party; Richard feared that the night’s gathering would grow larger. Yet as he watched Hallie Ashton in conversation, he admitted to a great curiosity. She was not a quiet country mouse. She was polite, yes, but the quick wits he had noted in her were not accidental. He wondered if the various diversions of company might topple her guard, and lead her to reveal more of herself.
In the end, the night’s party was not large. As they took their seats for the meal, Augusta Lawes and her husband hosting the two ends of the table, Richard Marksley sat at Augusta’s right, Hallie on the Squire’s right. They were as far away from each other as they could possibly be. Between them were Hallie’s uncle, young Phoebe Lawes, Vicar Mayhew and his wife, Eleanor, the ever-present Miss Binkin, and the Mayhews’ nephew, Archibald Cavendish.
The Countess of Penham did not attend. Having forced the invitation upon them, she had discovered, typically, that her ailing husband’s needs obliged her to send sincerest regrets.
“Now, Miss Ashton, you must tell us all about yourself.” Augusta Lawes beamed down the length of the table. “Have you had a season?”
Hallie was very aware of the interest the other guests exhibited in the answer. Phoebe Lawes in particular looked as though she enjoyed the question, being-as she was-certain of Hallie’s response.
“No, ma’am. I’ve not had that pleasure. I have only visited London for short periods, and not during the season”
“But you have had an opportunity to shop and to attend the theater and such. Phoebe is so looking forward to spending next spring there with my sister.”
Phoebe, looking immensely pleased with herself, shot a superior glance at Hallie. “London must be deadly dull when no one is there,” she sniffed.
“The city is a growing metropolis, Miss Lawes,” Hallie offered, “with a thriving, permanent population.” She thought she heard Richard Marksley stifle a laugh.
“I meant society, Miss Ashton. The very best people”
“They are not always so easy to find, Miss Lawes. In such a large and bustling place.”
Phoebe’s look dismissed the statement; having misunderstood so far, she continued to misinterpret. She, of course, planned to mingle only among the First Circles.
“And when did you last visit London, Miss Ashton?” Squire Lawes inquir
ed.
“Almost two years ago now, sir. To attend services for my cousin Tolliver.” Her uncle was not going to aid her in this, though he looked miserable enough. She wished desperately to change the topic.
“Well, we look forward to welcoming him here to Denhurst. No doubt he will be coming to the wedding?”
“Miss Ashton’s cousin Tolliver, Mr. Ashton’s son, was fatally wounded in France, Squire, at the battle of the Nivelle River.” Richard Marksley relayed the information dispassionately, while Hallie breathed her relief. “Tolliver Ashton was an officer with the Light Horse, my old regiment.”
“Is that how you met, then?” Phoebe asked, with too eager an interest. “Did Tolliver Ashton introduce you?”
“No, Miss Lawes,” he said shortly.
“Oh, I wondered,” Phoebe continued lightly, “because Caroline Chalmers had been married about a year by then, yes?”
“Phoebe,” Squire Lawes warned. “You will not annoy our guests with such tattle.”
Phoebe sat back, but the peevish glance she sent Hallie signaled her intention to persist. Hallie thought the girl immensely foolish; if Phoebe were not careful she would provoke her adored Marksley. Hallie could read his displeasure on his face. But Caroline Chalmers. Who on earth was Caroline Chalmers?
“Ah, the incomparable Caroline Chalmers,” Archie Cavendish conveniently supplied. “Now the Dowager Marchioness of Wrethingwell-Drummond. `She walks in beauty like the night.’ ‘Tis whispered Byron wrote more than one of his stanzas for her. Saw the Exquisite myself not three months ago. `A lovelier flower on earth was never sown.’ Indeed!”
Richard Marksley eyed Cavendish with what Hallie could only term weary tolerance. She did not believe that was entirely due to the youth’s wild tribute.
“You must be careful, Archibald,” the Vicar advised, “to allow for the deficiencies of our party. Not all can spring as swiftly from one reference to another.”
The Honorable Marksley Page 6
