by Maren Smith
"Hell.” As Varden started after Mallory, servants scrambled to get out of his way.
"She only wanted to help,” Grete stammered when Varden stalked up the front steps. His scowl deepened, and she quickly backed out of his way. “I—I only turned my back for a moment!"
Varden did not want to hear any more. “That is beginning to become a kind of catchphrase for her."
* * * *
"Stay there!” Varden leapt over a table to keep her from escaping up the servants’ stairs, only to watch as Mallory spun and ran back the way she had come. “Get back here, woman! I am not going to chase you down this hall again!"
Her early morning jogging was paying off. Not only was she lighter, but faster, too. Varden had to really push just to catch up as she raced into the dining hall. Somehow she managed to get the forty-foot solid oak table between them. The exertion had not diminished Varden's temper a bit. He glared at her from the opposite side of the table, his hands resting lightly on the smooth wooden surface, fury showing in every line of his face.
"I am tired,” Varden growled. “I am hungry. I have spent all night sitting in a bush, and all morning butchering sheep that by all rights should still be alive and producing wool! I smell like a wet horse, I hurt in places I'd rather not mention, and the last thing I need when I come home is to find my house on fire because you, you miserable wretch, cannot keep your meddling hands to yourself!"
"I swear I—"
"And when I tell you to come,” Varden interrupted with a bellow. “You had bloody well better learn to come!"
"Then calm down so we can talk about this rationally!” Mallory bellowed back.
He lunged at her, and she darted to the right. Varden started to jump over the table, then dropped to his knees when he saw Mallory duck beneath.
"Whoa!” She spun on her knees and crawled as fast as she could between the rows of chairs at either side of her to the far end of the forty-foot table.
Knocking a chair aside, Varden grabbed at her foot but caught the hem of her nightgown instead.
"Let go!” As he pulled her back to him, Mallory kicked at his hand. “Let go, let go, let go!"
The cloth tore. Varden was left holding a strip of flimsy white chemise as Mallory scrambled for safety. He threw it aside and crawled after her. He had a distinct advantage, since he wore pants and she a skirt. But he was also larger than she was. More than once he forgot to duck and cracked his head on the hard underside of the table.
Thwack!
Varden swore.
"Ha!” She shouted back at him. “Serves you right, you heavy-handed brute!"
"Get back here!” he yelled after her.
"When pigs fly and angels oink!"
"Cinglée!” Varden bellowed. “Quèlle cloche!"
Mallory turned so suddenly that they almost cracked foreheads. “What did you just call me?"
He glared back at her. “I said, you are a damned nuisance and your bell is cracked."
Her lower lip jutted out as she considered the insult. It seemed to satisfy her. “I suppose that's all right, then."
"I am so glad you prefer it.” Varden lunged, but she was already gone. God may have robbed her of her mind, but He more than made up for the loss with dexterity. She reached the end of the table barely ahead of him and was back on her feet, running for the door. In contrast, Varden's joints popped when he stood.
"I am too old for this nonsense.” But he hobbled determinedly after her. The next time he married it would be to an elderly, toothless heiress. One who was old and decrepit and too slow to run away. Despite his brief bout of stiffness, Varden gained speed quickly. As Mallory ran through the doorway, she turned and slammed it shut just as Varden collided with the other side. She threw the bar that locked it.
"Ha!” Mallory panted. “Now we're going to stay right like this until you calm down and listen to reason! You're not going to spank me this time! Varden?"
Hearing nothing, she pressed her ear to the door and heard the creak of hinges off to one side. She turned just as Varden stepped into the room through a side door. He smiled unpleasantly.
"This place has more passages than Swiss cheese has holes,” Mallory grumbled.
"God bless the Swiss,” Varden said, sarcasm dripping from every word.
"Please don't lose your temper."
"I am a very patient and understanding man. I only want two things out of life: my home in one piece and you obedient to my every command without question from now until the day you die. I seriously doubt the latter will ever happen. So I am willing to settle for keeping Cadhla whole."
"But I have nothing to do!” Mallory complained.
"Then do nothing."
"I'm bored. I never thought I'd say this, but I want a job. I actually want to go to work."
"Duchesses don't work. They do needlepoint, sew, share society gossip, and eat dainty candies with their dainty fingertips."
"That doesn't sound like much fun."
"It doesn't send the castle up in flames, either!"
She had the grace to look sheepish. “That was an accident."
"I certainly hope so."
"Isn't there anything I can do? Maybe something that doesn't have a high risk of being flammable?"
"If I promise to find something, will you promise to obey me?"
She blinked. “Well. I promise to do my best."
Varden calmly extended his hand. “Let's make the agreement official."
Mallory looked at his outstretched hand, then back at him. She reached out to take it. “Thank you for being so understanding about this."
In the time it took to grab her arm, Varden's expression changed from calm reasoning to dangerous fury. Bracing his boot on the bottom rung of the nearest chair, he hauled her roughly across his knee.
* * * *
In front of his bedroom mirror, the back of her nightgown bunched up around her waist, Mallory examined her bright pink derriere. “I can't believe you beat me again!"
Having already called for a bath, Varden sat down at the edge of his bed to remove his boots. “We've had this discussion before. If you don't like the punishment, then the next time I tell you to come I suggest you not run."
"I ran because I knew you were going to hit me!” she argued.
"And I hit you because you're doing your bloody best to bloody well irritate me!"
"That's no excuse, and I'm not going to put up with this anymore!” Mallory dropped her skirt and turned to face him with her hands on her hips. “If you touch me in anger one more time, Varden, then I will divorce you. I will leave you and take half of this castle, half of your dukedom, half of all your money, and Devin with me!"
Varden stared at her in stunned silence, then threw back his head and roared with laughter. “I'll never consent to a divorce. And even if I did, do you honestly think the Church or the Queen will give theirs?"
"If I tell them what you just did—"
"Mon âme, they would laugh you right out of court! I daresay, a good many people might wonder that I didn't begin such disciplinary action sooner."
Bottom and pride both stinging, Mallory lifted her chin stubbornly. “Fine. I don't need a legal divorce. I never married you anyway."
He laughed even harder.
Mallory swept up her skirts and stomped from the room when Varden fell back on the bed and laughed himself to tears. She took vindictive pleasure from slamming Claire's door.
Pacing at the window and wringing her hands, when Grete saw her, she rushed over. “Are you all right?"
"Fine.” Stalking to the fireplace, Mallory stood with hands on hips, glaring at the flames. After a moment, she turned that dark look on Grete. “How much chalk do we have?"
Grete took a wary step back. “What are you thinking?"
"He only thinks I've irritated him before. I'm about to show him the error of his ways."
"Oh dear.” Grete began to wring her hands again. But by the following day, both she and Mallory had drawn chalk lines d
own the middle of every room, hall, and staircase in the castle. True to Mallory's word, Devin was on her side of the line and Varden wasn't laughing anymore.
"That is your half,” Mallory explained, pointing to one side of the hallway outside the nursery room door. “This is mine. You may not cross the line."
"You can't be serious.” Everywhere Varden looked, there was a white line. Even the paintings on the walls had lines drawn through them. He couldn't even begin to calculate the small fortune it would cost to have them repaired or replaced. Had he known wives were this expensive, he'd have settled for a comparatively cheaper, significantly less complicated mistress. “I can only look at half the picture?"
"That's right. The left side is yours and the right is mine. I've marked everything with either a ‘B’ or a ‘J,’ so you'll know which is yours."
"This is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard of! Have you marked the towels, too? After each bath, may I only dry off with half of one?"
"Don't get sarcastic with me, bright boy,” Mallory said briskly. “I've done everything I can to save this marriage, so it's your fault that it's turned sour. Had you taken better care of me, I'd still be your stand-in wife right now. Notice I am using the past tense. That's because ‘we’ are no longer plural. ‘We’ are now the singular ‘you’ and ‘me.’ You should be glad this dysfunctional marriage is finally over and we can both get on with our lives. Varden, you're getting too close to my side."
"What is to prevent me from crossing the line?” Varden stepped over the chalk to stand on her side of the hall, nose to pixie-freckled nose with her. His fingers twitched. He was sorely tempted to put her across his knee right here and now.
He wanted to kiss her, too. She was beautiful when she was being annoying.
At this point, either would have been equally satisfying.
Kenton, who had been silent until that point a short distance behind them, pulled a piece of parchment and dark chalk from his doublet and made a small tally. “That will be two pounds, Your Grace."
"Two pounds for what?” Varden demanded.
Tucking the scorecard back into his pocket, the unflappable manservant clasped his hands behind his back and stared passively straight ahead. Though he seemed as neutral as always, Varden could have sworn there was a glint of amusement in those black eyes.
"You get fined,” Mallory said smugly. “As of this moment, I declare us divorced. Our life together is over. Custody of Devin has fallen to me because I am his mother. You may see him on weekends and alternate holidays. I'll let you have Thanksgiving, or England's equivalent thereof, but he's mine for Christmas."
"What happens when you walk on my half?” Varden snapped. “You have no money, and do not tell me you have somehow magically confiscated half of all mine in this farce! It will be a cold day in hell before I give you the key to my treasury!"
Mallory smiled sweetly. “Well, I have two pounds now, haven't I?"
Varden glared at her, then at Kenton, and finally at the floor. He took small satisfaction from the fact that if she wanted to visit the nursery, she was going to have to hop over the wide section that was his half of the hall.
Noticing the direction of his gaze, Mallory said, “The doorways are neutral territory, as are the lavatories. I couldn't quite see myself trying to divide the garderobe or chamber pots."
"Thank God for that shred of sanity."
Gathering her nightgown around her, Mallory hopped over his half of the hall to open the nursery room door.
Looking at the floor, Varden frowned. “Claire?"
"Mallory."
"Whatever. The line across this room is horizontal, not vertical. I would need wings to get to my half without accruing a fine."
"Start flapping.” She batted her eyes at him even as she turned her back and skipped all the way to Devin's cradle. As she reached for him, she cooed, “There's my big boy. Are you ready for your bath?"
"Two days!” Varden roared, startling the baby who began to cry. He stalked across the floor to his area, flung a chair against his half of the wall, and threw himself down on it. “I don't give this two bloody days!"
"Ha! Kenton, you saw that. That's two more pounds to me!” Mallory bounced the baby and began singing, “I'm in the money, I'm in the money—"
"Bless me,” Nanna whispered to Kenton. “Are they both moon-touched?"
"Absolutely,” Kenton replied, taking out the scorecard again.
"Daddy's making Momma a rich woman,” Mallory cooed, as she gently rocked Devin back and forth to calm him.
As he made the appropriate mark next to Varden's name, Kenton shook his dark head. “Personally, I don't give this two hours."
They were both wrong. It lasted all day and most of the night.
Mallory divided everything including the dining room table. There was a place set for Varden at one end and one for Mallory opposite him. The candles, condiments, and the extra trays of food were all set on ‘neutral ground’ along the chalk line that left the rest of the table dark and extremely bare. As were Abigail and Godfrey, who were both watching the show with hostile amusement. Wilcox had taken one look at the situation, then retired to his room to eat his meals in relative peace.
"May I please have a candle?” Varden droned for the hundredth time. “I can hardly see what I'm eating."
"That's probably for the best,” Mallory said. She squinted at her plate. “Chef What's-His-Name has really outdone himself tonight. All I did was ask for french fries. What is this stuff, mashed beets? Gag me."
A candle sputtered and, in that flickering instant, Varden almost seemed to smile. A dark, angry, evil smile. And Mallory could well believe him capable of taking her off-hand remark to its literal lengths.
"Why not simply pass the candles out along the table, an equal number for you and an equal number for me?” Varden suggested.
"Half the light from every candle in this room is mine, and I'm not going to let you hog it."
Varden threw down his knife and napkin. The silverware bounced off the table and fell to the floor with a clatter. “I demand that you be sensible about this!"
"If you want my opinion,” Abigail began. “I recommend—"
"Stay out of this!” Varden roared, and for once she obeyed.
"The nice thing about being divorced is that I don't have to do a thing you tell me to,” Mallory calmly replied, ignoring the dark look of warning he sent her way. With her spoon, she poked what she privately hoped was not the eyeball that it appeared to be floating in the grease in her soup. She tipped the bowl to the candlelight and a river of gravy spilled over the rim. She quickly covered the mess with her napkin and hoped that it was too dark for anyone else to notice. “Besides, you've only yourself to blame if you're unhappy. It was your heavy-handed tactics that started all this."
"Your persistent disobedience started this!"
"You want obedience? Get a dog!"
And they carried the argument all through dinner and into the library, where they sat on separate halves of the same settee in front of separate halves of an equally divided fireplace. Varden glared at the destructive chalk line drawn up the wall to halve the only portrait he had of his great grandfather, poised with his fourth wife, who had been twenty years his junior and quite a lovely young woman at the time. “I still don't see how you can charge me ten pounds for getting a drink of brandy."
"The liquor table is on my half of the room,” Mallory said from the other side of the settee. “Face it like a man. You broke the rules, now you have to pay."
"Ten pounds?” he demanded.
"You walked across my space, stood there, then walked back again. I think I'm being generous. Technically, I could charge you by the step."
"The least you could do is put the table on the neutral line, or draw a line through it the way you've done with everything else I enjoy around here."
"It wouldn't matter if I had drawn a line through it. The brandy would still be on my side and you would s
till be fined."
"You don't even drink!"
"But you do,” Mallory snapped. “This is a nasty divorce, Varden."
"It's my brandy!” Varden thundered, his face mottled with rage.
"I beg to differ.” Mallory calmly held up a finger. “Now, it is my brandy. It's every woman's prerogative to drive her ex crazy; I'm exercising my right. Move over, Varden. You're hogging the couch."
He got up to get another drink, but halfway into pouring his second glass he changed his mind. Setting the brandy decanter aside, he picked up the liquor table and began to slide the heavy furniture over the dividing line to his half of the room.
"Hey, you can't do that!” Mallory jumped off the settee and rushed over to stop him. Bracing both hands on the opposite side of the table, she tried to push it back. “This is mine!"
"Ha! That's two pounds for crossing the center line.” He shoved the table back over the line again. “At last I have the chance to win back some of that hundred and sixty-four pounds I've already lost to you."
"It's not my fault you were standing on the wrong side of the room!"
"You cheated!"
He was simply too strong. Realizing that she'd never be able to out shove him, Mallory abruptly gave in. She folded her arms across her chest and glared while the table was relocated back to his side of the room. “I didn't either cheat."
"You purposely stood on the marks to prevent me from seeing which side I was on. What was I supposed to do, lift your skirts and look? Lifting your skirts is what started this outrage in the first place!"
"It still wasn't cheating,” Mallory stubbornly maintained.
Varden glared at her. “Then what do you futuristic, dead people call it?"
"An ingenious financial strategy."
Varden growled, stalking back to the settee. “When you make enough, are you going to leave me?"
"I might!"
"Good!” he snapped.
Hurt, Mallory snatched up the brandy decanter, as well as the bottle next to it, and stormed to the window. She opened the shutter, shouting down into the bailey, “Look out below!"
"Don't you dare!” Varden bellowed, but the second bottle was airborne before he could get the words out. He leapt at her, jumping over the settee in his haste. Mallory drew back her arm to send the brandy sailing just as Varden reached her, grabbing first her arm and then the bottle. “Give me that!"
