“I apologize, ladies and gentlemen,” Archibald said. “‘Tis true that my passions lead me to gallop where a more sedate pace would be in order.” He brushed a limp lock of blond hair from his no-doubt fevered brow and stared intently at Hallie. “You look to be a sensitive soul, Miss Ashton”
Hallie tried a weak smile.
“I imagine you like poetry,” he persisted.
“I … yes, I do”
“What are your poetic views, Miss Ashton? Do you place all feeling in the mind, as does Descartes, or-in company with most young ladies,” and he shot a pointed glance at Phoebe Lawes, “in the heart?”
Hallie sensed Richard Marksley’s close attention.
“I believe the two are inseparable, Mr. Cavendish. Certainly I believe that we love, or hate, as much with the mind as with the heart”
“You are in company with the finest intellects in saying so, Miss Ashton!”
Hallie was less aware of Archie’s ardor than of Richard Marksley’s quiet regard. She met his gaze, intending to do so only briefly, but found her attention fixed.
“Presumably,” he said, “you would never believe in love at first sight then-my dear.”
Hallie’s chin lifted.
“I do not” She was conscious of all eyes upon her, and felt uncomfortably warm. “Though there may be a certain susceptibility-an inclination. One might wish to love for the mind’s reasons, and one’s heart then approves the first acceptable candidate.”
Squire Lawes laughed. “You must have been inclined to Richard here then, Miss Ashton” He laughed again. “And he to you, of course”
But Richard Marksley was looking grim. He had to be recalling her encounter with his cousin Reginald. He would be all too sensitive to the discrepancy between her stated belief and her behavior in that instance.
“What reasons could one have for wishing to fall in love, Miss Ashton?” Archie Cavendish asked. “The poets liken it to a torture of the soul.”
“I believe Miss Ashton is confusing love with marriage, Cavendish,” Marksley observed dryly. “After all, it is not necessary to be in love to have children.”
Hallie blushed as the vicar cleared his throat.
“Are you certain, Mr. Marksley, that that is what you wished to say?”
“I beg pardon, vicar. Unlike Mr. Cavendish, I am not a poet.”
“Nevertheless,” Squire Lawes proposed with a smile, “I suggest we keep that discussion from this table. We are here to celebrate a betrothal after all” He raised his glass to Hallie and then turned to her uncle.
The discussion at dinner covered the usual specula tions concerning fashion, weather, and politics. Were it not for Phoebe Lawes leaning a bit too freely into his arm, and Miss Binkin’s unrelenting, glassy attention, Richard felt he might even have relaxed. Mrs. Lawes was a frank woman of common sense and good humor. She liked her horses, dogs, and chickens. She spoke affectionately of Phoebe and her absent younger sons, “the twins.” Augusta Lawes was also a competent hostess-capable of carrying a conversation while watching the progress of the meal. She had noticed how often his glance strayed to Harriet Ashton.
“She will make a lovely bride, Richard,” she said now, patting his hand. “We are so glad you are settling. ‘Tis good to have at least one member of the Marksley family with plans here in Denhurst.”
This oblique reference to his cousin’s passing acquaintance with Denhurst and his future tenants did not surprise Richard. Reggie’s preferences had been all too clear to the good townsfolk for many long years.
“You are too generous, ma’am. I have every reason to stay fixed. You must remember that Denhurst is my home”
“But London is as well, Richard. You have been fair, though, and that is something all of us notice.”
The vicar and Phoebe Lawes seconded the comment, while Miss Binkin merely continued to stare. The woman was an oddity.
During a temporary lull in the chatter, Augusta smiled at Hallie. “You seem a very clever young lady, Miss Ashton. I wonder, are you also literary, like Richard?”
“I keep a journal, ma’am,” she said, with a swift glance at him. He wondered why she should admit so little with such reluctance. Her shyness, her sudden diffidence, irritated him. He knew she could hold her own in any discussion. But Phoebe interpreted the tight line to his mouth as disapproval.
“One has to be so careful not to be too broody, Miss Ashton. There is always such a danger of becoming a frightful bluestocking.” Before either of her frowning parents could reprove her she turned to Richard. “You must have endless submissions at your journal from these busy dabblers, ugly spinsters, no doubt, who want all of us to read every dreary word. But you would never care for such trifles, would you, Richard?”
“Miss Lawes, I would not be so particular. There are certain trifles, as you call them, that have appealed to both men and women through the centuries. Certainly if The Tantalus were to receive high quality work from ladies, I should like to think we would be keen indeed. `Twould be an honor to publish such as Anna Seward or Joanna Baillie. To date, however, we have received little.”
“And you will not, sir,” Alfred Ashton asserted. “Women do not undertake to refine their language. Nor do they have the logical minds required for rational argument. There are simply natural limits that cannot be denied. Even a girl as well read as my niece would be the first to agree to that”
Harriet Ashton did not look as though she agreed with any of it. If eyes alone could be mutinous, Richard deemed that hers were.
“I should not wish to deny the possibility, Mr. Ashton,” he said. “I think that every age has its own arrogance. Looking beyond our own time requires a remarkable leap. I might find writing today that I believe will last in appeal for centuries. But I cannot truly know. Similarly, I suspect we are often indifferent, even stubbornly blind, to greatness among us. Fashion, by definition, is fickle and short-lived.”
“Oh la, yes,” Phoebe Lawes sighed, and fluttered her eyelashes at him.
Archie Cavendish looked excited.
“Are you submitting, sir, that some of those ignored and ridiculed today might a hundred years hence be considered `great’?”
Richard tried not to smile.
“It is possible, Mr. Cavendish. Although few appear to last more than a generation if they make no impression on their own. But there are always exceptions.” This time he did smile. “I have told you I am only enough of a poet to be a critic. All of us have our likes and dislikes, find subjects or phrasing that speak to us and to our experience where another might dismiss them. I imagine everyone at this table has differing preferences as to what is memorable, be it beautiful, haunting, or simply … true”
“I say, shall we give it a go?” Archie urged. “Let’s hear what people select”
“Oh, Archie, dear,” Mrs. Mayhew said, “This is not the time or place for a game. Our hosts-”
“Nonsense, Eleanor,” Augusta Lawes exclaimed. “The girls have just removed the pudding. If the gen tlemen are willing to forego their cigars and have some port here at the table, I would be most pleased to entertain Archie’s experiment.”
“Thank you, madam” Magnifying his pale blue eyes by affectedly raising a lorgnette, Archie surveyed the table. “I believe we should begin with the ladies. Perhaps Miss Binkin?”
All gazes sought Millicent Binkin as she turned to Archie, a scowl making her face fierce.
“What am I to do, then?” she asked.
“Why, quote us something you like. Some bit of poetry. Something you have always remembered”
“Young man, I do not clutter my mind with rhymes and other nonsense. It is a distraction from more improving pursuits.”
As Archie’s face fell, Richard took a sip of port. He had dealt with many of the world’s Binkins. Nowadays he rarely troubled himself to persuade them.
“Perhaps,” Mrs. Mayhew ventured, “you recall something from your school days, Miss Binkin. Something you memorized for classe
s”
Miss Binkin frowned at the vicar’s wife. Then her brow cleared.
“I do remember something useful. A rule” And she quoted:
Phoebe Lawes coughed dramatically, drawing sharp looks from her parents. The rest of the gathering sat mute.
“Most practical, Miss Binkin,” Squire Lawes said at last, sending another admonitory glance at his daughter.
“And you’ve remembered it all this time?” Archie Cavendish asked snidely, still smarting from her earlier dismissal.
Millicent Binkin glared at him. “It has not been all that long, Mr. Cavendish,” she snapped. “And this is not much of a game if you are the only one to play it.”
“Michael, what do you have for us?” Augusta Lawes asked, turning quickly to the vicar on her left.
“Well, I’ve a fondness for Cowper,” he said with a shy smile. Clearing his throat, he recited in good voice:
“Capital!” Hallie’s uncle exclaimed, immediately gratifying the gentle vicar. “I’ve always liked that as well. Never knew it was Cowper. Thought it was the Bible.” As the vicar winced, Augusta Lawes wisely moved ahead.
“Now I must claim my turn, even though I am hostess and should doubtless surrender my spot to someone else. But we do seem to be going `round the table this direction, after all. I declare this next to be my very favorite. Though you’ll think me foolish for failing to recall every word” She pressed a plump hand to her bosom:
Her rapt expression spoke of her absorption; Richard believed she needed only a moment more before continuing. But Archie Cavendish was unwilling to wait.
“A heavenly paradise is that place, and so on and so on,” he finished rudely. “Yes, yes, Campion had a certain panache, but now, don’t you know, that business about ripe beauty isn’t at all the thing.”
Augusta Lawes’s stricken gaze sought Richard’s. “Oh dear, Richard, is that truly the case? I have always thought it so lovely.”
“It is unquestionably lovely, ma’am,” Richard assured her. He intended then to direct his attention across the table to Archie Cavendish, but his gaze sought his betrothed. How was he to interpret that look in her eyes? She had no reason to appear as wounded as Augusta Lawes, nor as outraged as he himself felt, yet somehow she managed both.
“Perhaps, Mr. Cavendish,” he said to the offender, “you might set an example for the rest of us and carry on? We are loath to try your patience much longer.”
The young fool beamed. “Why, of course. I shall be delighted. Ladies and gentlemen, my own selection.” He drew breath, holding it as though preparing to dive, then launched:
As Archie gazed triumphantly around the group, several guests looked down uncomfortably. Others turned toward Richard, though this was a burden he would rather not assume. His teeth had been so tightly clenched that he had difficulty speaking.
“I have not come across this before, Mr. Cavendish.”
“It is my own, sir,” he boasted. “As yet unpublished.”
Richard wondered if the unbridled pup expected him to offer for it. He could not help his troubled frown, or his silence.
“It is most … moving, Archie,” Augusta Lawes said at last, with greater courtesy than Cavendish had shown to her.
“I think it’s terrible,” Phoebe said bluntly, her nose in the air. “A dead, cold child! How awful!”
“It is meant to be awful,” Archie protested.
“Well, I think you were awful for writing it.”
“You have no knowledge of great poetry! Why, you’re barely out of the schoolroom!”
“Children,” Squire Lawes said mildly, “this squabbling is affecting the digestion. Perhaps we had best stop-”
“Oh no, Papa!” Phoebe cried. “‘Tis my turn! And I do know fine poetry” She defiantly tossed her curls as she flounced in her seat and leaned close to Richard. “‘Come live with me and be my love,’” she began, with a speed and determination that jarred,
“That’s sleepy mountain,” Archie corrected loudly.
But Phoebe chose not to hear him. As the girl ogled him, Richard inched away. Phoebe’s pert rendering had robbed the lines of any subtlety, of even the faintest hint of invitation. He would never have believed Marlowe could so repel him.
“Lovely, my dear,” Augusta Lawes said. “Richard, what do you have for us?” She intended to be kind. But at that moment Richard wanted only for the torturous game to end. And he blamed his discomfort-he blamed the fact that he was here at all-on Hallie Ashton. He stared accusingly across at her.
“‘Married in haste, we may repent at leisure.”’
Her cheeks flushed. Was she embarrassed? Good. The whole evening had been an embarrassment.
“Good heavens, Richard, you cannot mean it,” Augusta Lawes laughed. “But you are a sly one, are you not? Do not tease us now. You must give us something else. Here is Miss Ashton hoping to hear more romantical stuff.”
Romantical? Surely not, with those pale, clenched fists. Miss Ashton looked as though she would have much preferred something martial. Only the eager Phoebe, who was once again pressing her arm against his own, wanted something “romantical.” He was in the mood to disoblige her.
” `If thou be’st borne to strange sights,’ ” he began slowly, pleased by the recognition in Hallie Ashton’s gaze-
He read the silent, angry message from his intended. Then Phoebe Lawes leaned close to whisper, “Caroline Chalmers truly did break your heart, did she not, Richard?”
His withering glance at least sent the peagoose back to her seat.
“I protest, Richard, these sentiments are not at all the thing,” Augusta Lawes lightly tapped him on the arm. “Not at all the thing for an affianced gentleman. You are much too hard, and I fear I shall never forgive you” But her smile robbed the threat of any sting. “Now, Mr. Ashton, perhaps you have some words for us?”
Harriet’s uncle muttered something much like a “harrumph!” Richard expected the old goat to refuse to participate, but Ashton surprised him with a firm and forceful:
He earned applause from the table and the smallest of smiles from Hallie. Richard was gratified to know Alfred Ashton could feel affection for his country, if not for his niece.
“Well done, sir,” his host acknowledged. “And now perhaps-Eleanor?”
Mrs. Mayhew demurred. “I cannot hope to contribute anything near as grand as the rest of the company,” she said.
“My dear Eleanor,” Augusta Lawes advised. “This is not a competition. You simply must say something, for I know you have a memory for such things so much better than my own.”
Mrs. Mayhew smiled sweetly. “Well then, this is from Mr. Coleridge, and I think it rather special:
She stopped, and modestly covered her lips with one hand.
“Oh, Mrs. Mayhew,” Phoebe enthused. “That is so beautiful. Do you not think so, Richard?”
“I do,” Richard said with a smile. “And Mr. Coleridge would no doubt thank you for saying so”
“Too fantastical for my taste,” Archie Cavendish claimed irreverently. “Everyone knows Coleridge is not quite to rights in his head. Opium eater too, as they say.”
Richard looked at him with such severity that the pretentious popinjay actually gaped.
“Perhaps we should draw this to a close then, shall we?” Squire Lawes offered quickly. “We have only to hear from you, Miss Ashton-saving the best for last,” he smiled. “You have been observing all of us so quietly. I understand all the young ladies are entranced with Lord Byron. Perhaps you recall some of his verses?”
“I do admire Lord Byron, sir,” Hallie said, “but if you do not object, I should like to respond to Mister Marksley’s selection.”
“Respond?” The Squire looked amused. “That would be a good bit of work. Had no idea that could be done with this. By all means, m’dear.”
Richard watched Hallie Ashton’s face, aware of his own expectant tension. What the deuce was the girl up to? Her gaze was steady. It surprised him that he e
njoyed the sensation of holding her interest, however defiant.
“‘But true love,” she began softly,
She could not have been more direct-an ideal of love to counter his own cynical choice. But Richard still had to wonder what she meant by it. Was she in love with Reggie after all? He raised his glass to her.
“I commend you, my dear,” he said. “We shall be a family of Elizabethans.” It was not what he wanted to say to her; he wanted to tell her she was too clever by half. And he was thinking that she was certainly much too subtle for vain cousin Reggie to comprehend.
“I admire that greatly, Miss Ashton,” Archie Cavendish announced. “About another pilgrimage, but unlike Mr. Marksley’s Donne, with a faith in love at its close. And your Ralegh addresses whether the head and heart are one. `True love is a durable fire, in the mind ever burning,”’ he repeated. “Splendid!”
The besotted youngster was practically drooling on her sleeve. Despite the fact that Richard actually agreed with Cavendish, as pompous as he sounded, he had to repress the wish to grab him by the cravat and hold hard.
“Oh Papa,” Phoebe pleaded, apparently resenting the attention given Hallie Ashton. “We cannot finish until you have said something! All the rest of us have”
“All right then, child. But mind you, you will regret asking me to perform. Let’s see, I knew what I intended to say. The only bit I can recite. Here now, and mind your mother’s blushes …
The company dispersed in the midst of laughter. Richard thanked his host and Mrs. Lawes, wished the Mayhews well, spared a polite goodnight for the irrepressible Phoebe, and managed to avoid Archie Cavendish’s attempts to engage him further. He watched with some satisfaction as the Mayhews drew Archie, protesting, away to their carriage.
As Richard helped Miss Binkin into her seat beside her cousin in the Penham carriage, he noticed Hallie Ashton kept her face turned from him. He had decided she was definitely deceiving him about her true feelings for Reginald or at the very least about her knowledge of poetry. Recalling their lively discussion while driving on Saturday, he suspected she had some unreasonable fear of being termed, as Phoebe Lawes put it, a bluestocking.
The Honorable Marksley Page 7
