by Cari Hislop
“You’re a horrid beast. What do you know?”
“I know you’d be better named Delilah.”
“Cecil, that’s rude; you just called Lady Alyce a wanton.”
“I’ve always liked the name Delilah, it has a certain ring. Thankfully your name isn’t Sampson or I’d fear ruin was your fate.” Alyce watched red faced as her would be lover was frog marched away down the hall by the arm like a child. She’d upstage the uncivilised Cecil Smirke and with luck, give birth to a black eyed boy. All pleasantness was over for the evening. There was no stalling her husband’s demand for her person.
She wrinkled her nose as she stepped into the conservatory and closed the door behind her. The acrid smoke from Morley’s pipe gave warning he was waiting. Weaving her way through potted palms she found him staring out of rain sluiced glass at the black garden. He appeared undisturbed by his bruises. Sighing in disgust, she mentally prepared herself to accommodate her illegal husband’s unquenchable lust. Sneering she stared at the back of his head and wondered what sort of simple accident would most effectively make her a grieving widow.
“Such loathing my dear, I do believe you wish me dead.”
She scowled as her eyes focused on his sneering reflection in the glass. “Who wouldn’t faced with the prospect of seeing you naked every day for years on end?”
“Speaking of revelations, I’ve had a heart to heart with Mother. After sharing my fears on your unsuitability as wife Mother had the brilliant idea that we simply pretend the marriage never happened. It took place after all without your legal guardian’s permission. After your brother’s violent display, Mother’s convinced your blood is tainted.” Morley’s reflected lips curved into a sinister smile. “Without Mother’s witness you’ll never persuade a single soul that you have the least entitlement to my name. Checkmate!”
“You’re a vile pig and I hate you.”
“Is that the best you can do my dear?”
“You’ll publicly acknowledge me as your wife or I’ll kill you.”
Her husband’s parted sneer revealed blackened teeth, “You’re killing me with boredom.”
“You will acknowledge me.”
“No, I’d rather wed someone a little more…humble.”
Alyce sneered in disgust, “She’ll never marry you.”
“She will.”
“You’re mad.”
“You’re a slut. You were seen kissing the pretty Robert Smirke the day before you planned to marry me. Don’t cross me or London will be lapping up the details of your scandalous behaviour.”
Alyce stamped her foot and screamed, “I hate you!”
“The feeling is mutual. If I were you I’d entrap the Smirke child into matrimony. All you need do is frolic with the boy and then ensure his father hears of it. Adderbury will insist the boy marries you. You’ll have a name for my bastard and I won’t have to kill you. If he wasn’t a Smirke I’d pity him.”
“Fine, I will…and you and your saggy naked flesh may go to the devil.”
“With pleasure my dear. In the mean time, to thank you for sharing your virgin flesh I’ll acquire a couple bottles of wine from Bucktooth’s cellar and bring them to you tonight. The more wine Robert drinks, the longer he’ll remain by your side déshabillé. If you stack the cards in your favour, you should have a pretty husband within weeks. You needn’t thank me for my generosity; the thought of you spending your life in Adderbury producing Smirkes every ten months will be gratitude enough.”
Alyce saw a pleasant future unfold where she married the beautiful Robert Smirke and shared his kisses morning and night. “Would you bring me a couple bottles of sherry? Robert likes sweet wine.”
“Consider it done. I’ll bring them at the usual time…” Morley sneered in amusement as the door creaked opened and then closed with a slam. “Ah Bucktooth, the white Knight, has hopped along to save you.”
Alyce blushed as she turned to find Lord Buckingham looking at her with an expression that made her squirm. “Your sister is feeling poorly and desires your company. She’s in her chamber.”
Alyce flounced past the disapproving Buckingham and slammed the conservatory door before carefully reopening it and pressing her ear to the crack. Her mouth fell open as she heard the innocuous Buckingham roar at his unwanted house guest, “…blame myself for giving in to Lady Alyce’s demands that I invite you. Pack your trunks and leave my house at once.”
“I’m not in the mood to relocate Bucktooth. Force me to leave and London will hear how Lady Alyce tumbled into my bed like an overripe fig. You know what they say about identical twins…” A dull thud was quickly followed by splintering glass and another dull thud.
“Mother taught me to turn a deaf ear to insults, but I’ve had a bellyful of your bile. You dare besmirch Lady Emily’s reputation and I’ll ask the Lady in the Lake to make a frog hop out of your mouth every time you lie. Keep your mouth shut Morley or you’ll be the talk of London.”
Morley’s evil chuckle sounded winded, “You’re as mad as your mother. I recommend you drown yourself and spare poor Emily the embarrassment of giving birth to rabbits. She must be desperate to be a wealthy…what was that title you’re in line to inherit?” Alyce smiled with glee as the sound of knuckles momentarily silenced Morley.
“Mother taught me to be kind to my enemies; you have twenty-four hours to leave at your leisure before I use my boot and kick you out of my house. Stay away from every female in the vicinity or you may find yourself sorely cursed.”
“As I already possess every unmentionable disease recorded by man, I think it more likely they’ll be the one to feel cursed.”
“Stay away from the ladies.”
“Even the lady in the lake?”
“I wouldn’t go near the lake if I were you; she doesn’t like villains.”
“Is she comely in the moonlight? Perhaps I’ll go down to the lake with a salt cellar and conjure up a wet goddess. I’ve never ravished a mermaid. Is she fat?”
“You couldn’t ravish the Lady of the Lake, she’s enchanted.”
“There’s no such thing as mermaids Bucktooth, but if there’s some barmy female swimming in your lake I’d only need five minutes on the shore to give her the pox.”
“Keep your vile hands off the ladies or else.” Morley’s sinister gurgle almost sounded like laughter. Another dull thud was followed by the sound of a body slumping to the floor.
Straining her ears Alyce could only hear deafening stillness. Slipping off her shoes she picked them up and hurried towards her sister’s room. The prospect of being Mrs Robert Smirke was making her feel giddy. It was disappointing that she wouldn’t be a Marchioness, but if all of Robert’s older brothers were to die in accidents she could still become a Viscountess. He’d be furious at being trapped, but her dowry would soothe his anger. All she had to do to was kill Morley before he could kill her brother.
Chapter 19
The pink silk coverlet under Mary’s cheek was sopping wet as Marshal slammed his chamber door. Suddenly she could hear the mantel clock ticking and the rain pelting the window as if time had resumed with his return. He could have been gone five minutes or five hours. A suffocating loneliness pinched her heart. All she’d wanted was to hear him apologise for hurting her feelings and then hold her. Clearly apologising to his hired wife was beneath him. Her vision blurred as her heart threatened to burst with unnameable feelings. The man in the next room uttered a loud curse as something ceramic crashed onto the floor. She listened, but could hear only a deathly stillness. Had he fallen? He might have had apoplexy. She tensed to leap up and rush to his aide when hesitant footsteps approached the connecting door. A key clanked into the empty keyhole scraping her taut nerves, “Merry? Are you asleep?” He wasn’t dying. Exhaling her relief into the damp coverlet, she lay still as if asleep.
The door closed with an indelicate bang making her start. “Good, you’re awake…” The mattress heaved as he climbed onto the bed beside her. The warmth of his nearness made he
r shiver with longing. If she turned over, he’d take her in his arms, but just because he’d hold her and kiss her didn’t mean he cared about her feelings. “…I was going to kill Henry, but I couldn’t find him. Unmerry Heart, what have I done? Tell me or I’ll kiss your neck.” Feeling his hand on the small of her back she forcibly rose up on her elbows to avoid being kissed into submission. The back of her head cracked against something hard and she fell back to the bed. Rolling onto her back she sat up in shock. Blood oozed through Marshall’s fingers as he clutched his nose. “I was only trying to kiss you.” Mary rolled off the bed and grabbed her wet chemise drying in front of the fire. Marshall moaned in pain as she tipped back his head and covered his mouth with wet linen.
“Shove that up your nose; you’re getting blood on the bed clothes.”
“You broke my nose.”
She peered at the injured feature. “It doesn’t look broken.”
“It feels broken. I’ll be so ugly you won’t want to remain married to me. I’ll be an extra ugly unwanted stupid brute. I’ll die a lonely wretch with a shrivelled empty heart and a crooked nose.” The man groaned as the linen shroud was pulled back revealing his distress.
“This would never have happened if you’d apologised for humiliating me. Don’t I deserve to hear the words ‘I’m sorry’ or are your servants undeserving of simple courtesy?”
The two bruised lips fell open in disbelief, “You want an apology? Why didn’t you say so?”
“One doesn’t ask for an apology unless one wishes to hear a lie.”
“So now if I tell you I’m sorry for being a stupid brute I’m a liar?”
“Are you sorry?”
“I told you I was.”
“No you didn’t.”
“Yes I did, I told you I didn’t mean to humiliate you.”
“That’s not an apology.”
“Sweetheart, if it had occurred to me in my brutish rage that shouting out Henry’s villainy would distress you I’d have cut out my tongue. I’m sorry I humiliated you. I’m sorry I shouted at you. I’m sorry I left you unprotected. Unless you think I deserve to die a lonely wretch dreaming how you and your enchanting kisses once filled my boring life with living poetry…why are you laughing?”
Her heart free of pain and distress, Mary was overwhelmed by the absurdity of her misunderstanding. “You look funny with a chemise stuffed up your nose.”
“Am I forgiven?”
“Yes.” Sighing loudly with relief Marshall crumpled back onto the bed, his sapphire eyes drawing her closer. “I’m sorry I bloodied your nose. Let me look at it.” The invalid whimpered as she unplugged his nose. “Does this hurt?” Marshall’s pain filled scream needed no further answer. “And this?” Blood gushed as he roared in pain, “It doesn’t feel broken.”
“If it wasn’t broken before it’s broken now. Pray spare my life until you give me an heir and a dozen spares…”
“Shove the linen back up your nose and keep your head tilted back. You should live long enough to have your grandchildren climb on your knee and poke their fingers into your hairy nostrils.”
“Heartless mermaid!”
“I had to check if it was broken. How else would we know if you needed a surgeon?”
“Blood suckers…I don’t need anyone, but my wife. A gentle kiss wouldn’t go amiss…” Smiling, Mary leaned over and kissed his forehead. “…that’s not what I meant.”
Mary smiled as he captured one of her hands and pressed it over his heart “Your lips are swathed in linen. Lie still, you’re getting blood everywhere.”
“I was having the best day of my life before we went into that cursed castle on the island. That vile snake, he touched you in the castle didn’t he? He’s lucky I couldn’t find him, or he’d already be dead. If he touches you again…” Marshall clutched her hand tighter to his chest, “I won’t let him hurt you again. I swear it. I’ll kill him!”
“I don’t want you to murder anyone, not even that devil!”
“I’ll do what I have to do.”
“Promise me you won’t kill anyone.”
“I promise I’ll kill the liar in self defence.”
“I’ve never met anyone so skilled at weaving lies; even his own mother believes them.”
“Tell me again you forgive me for being a stupid brute?”
“You’re not a stupid brute.”
“And you forgive me?”
“Yes, I’m sorry I misunderstood you.” Blue eye shimmered with relief. “Look at all this blood. This silk is going to be ruined. It was probably Buckingham’s mother’s favourite coverlet.”
“The woman’s dead, who cares if she liked it? A man can’t look at the same rug or paint all his life. When…if you decide to make me the happiest of men I hope you’ll redecorate my house. It needs a Mistress. It hasn’t felt like a home since my step-mother died.”
“You might regret that offer…sit up and spit on my hand.”
“Did you just tell me to spit on your hand? You’re not going to cast a spell on me? I think a bloody nose is punishment enough for being a stupid brute.”
“I need your spittle for the blood stains on the coverlet.”
“Spit on it yourself, I have a yard of linen shoved up my nose.”
“It’s your blood; it has to be your spittle.”
“My nose is more important than an ugly old coverlet. I don’t care if it was embroidered by Mary Queen of Scots; my spit is staying in my lips where it was meant to be. Where are you going?”
“To ring for a maid, it needs to be washed in cold water before it dries.”
“No one cares about the stupid coverlet.”
“I care, it’s a personal rule. Borrowed items must be treated with care and returned as leant. Any other course would be ungrateful and rude.”
“Great, now I have two more unpleasant adjectives added to my epitaph.”
“It’s not your fault you’re rude and ungrateful, you’re an aristocrat.”
“What did you say?”
“It’s not your fault you’re an aristocrat.”
“No, it’s my parents’ fault.” Marshall sighed as he rolled his eyes to watch Mary roll off the bed and ring the bell. “You look different upside down. Tell me again you don’t hate me. If you hate me I’ll have to tie you up and read you John Donne until you lo…se all hope of escape.”
Mary climbed back onto the bed and was captivated by sapphires brimming with emotion. “You must be in pain. Shall I send for some laudanum?”
“Promise me you won’t stay out of pity…”
“Why would I stay out of pity? I don’t pity you Marshall.”
“You might. Give me your word, that’s an order.”
“Very well my Lord, I won’t remain your wife out of pity. Are you going to make me promise not to stay for food as well?”
“You can stay for any reason, but pity or duty. Tell me you don’t hate me.”
“I’ve been irritated and upset with you on occasion, but I’ve never hated you. You’re a good man; you just don’t always communicate it well. What’s wrong?”
“I wanted to feel better, not worse!”
“How can being told you’re a good man make you feel worse?”
“I don’t want to be good, I want to be loved.”
