by Liz Tyner
Avondale checked his timepiece. ‘The woman detests me. You cannot understand the depths of contempt you can experience until you are forced into residence with a person.’
Marcus inspected his father, noting the grey brows, the silver temples and the straight bearing. Every fibre of him the man who believed the world should grant him the excesses he wanted.
‘You have a big house, though.’ Emilie reached through the fence and petted Bluestocking.
‘Except the family quarters,’ Marcus said. ‘They are rather limited in size when Mother and Father are together.’
‘Yes. Those walls close in on me. Particularly when my wife is between me and the door.’
‘Be truthful to Mother,’ Marcus said. ‘She knows about the women. Accept that. Talk to her as you do me. Your grandchildren will know both of you better. I will not let my child visit you at your mistress’s or any place but the family residence.’
Emilie’s hand stilled. She withdrew from the livestock and watched Marcus.
‘That’s cold. You should care more for your mother than to force us together,’ Avondale said.
Marcus refrained from saying he’d inherited his coldness from him. If his father continued his womanising, Marcus would accept that. If his mother hadn’t been able to stop the so-called romances, then no one could except his father.
Avondale checked his timepiece again. ‘We are not companionable.’
‘Don’t look for reasons you can’t be true to her, find ways you can,’ Marcus said.
‘I swear you have different ways of looking at situations.’
‘He does,’ Emilie said. ‘I’m thankful.’
‘I wish you the best, Emilie.’ Avondale stopped, looking at her. ‘I hate to think of you having a marriage to be endured. My wife had already had our three children by the time she was twenty-five and we had essentially parted ways.’
‘That is sad. For both of you.’
They walked to the carriage. Avondale clasped Emilie’s shoulders and bade her farewell.
‘Let me speak with my father a few moments more, Emilie.’ Marcus nodded to her. ‘We’ve a few old grudges to bury.’
‘Then I must be on my way,’ his father said, but he didn’t get into the carriage.
Marcus waited until Emilie left.
He held out his palm and showed his father the cuts, scrapes and bruises.
‘What happened to you?’ His father regarded him.
‘Work.’
Avondale grimaced. ‘Labour is for servants.’
‘I want to take this crumbling estate that was once the home of two people I cared for and turn it into something I can look back on for the rest of my life and know that I took part in the restoration. It is my reason for experiencing physical labour. In some ways, it is my chance to keep myself busy while I chart my course with Emilie. I never questioned that I wanted a marriage of faithfulness, but now I question if there can be more for us.’
‘Good luck.’ He turned. ‘You’ll be a better man than I if you can accomplish that.’
‘If you had it to do over, would you have lived as you have done?’
‘Don’t ask. You might not like the answer.’
‘I’d presumed for a moment you might regret the pain you’ve caused Mother.’
‘I couldn’t give her the connection she wanted.’
‘Why didn’t you marry someone to whom you could be faithful?’
‘I’ve not met such a woman.’
‘Are you certain?’
His father grunted. ‘When Lady Avondale walked into your home...’ He inspected his ring. ‘I saw Emilie trying to please you. I grieved. I grieved in that moment for what might have been in my own household.’
‘I will remain a true husband to Emilie for myself, if for no other reason than I refuse to take the path you’ve trodden.’
‘That’s easy for you to say now. In two years... In five... When she is more fascinated by the children than she is by you?’
His father had shown him, day by day, his inconstancies. Marcus hadn’t been entranced by the lovelies who’d ensnared his father. He’d been sickened by the pain his mother endured. He’d seen her efforts to repair, and lastly, the bitter acceptance.
He didn’t assume either truly loved the other, but in the past, his mother had wanted a marriage. His father had wanted no part of faithfulness, commitment, or more than a Saturday night and a Sunday with his family. They wore on him after that.
‘When Mother said she loved you, did you put as much confidence in it as you did the other women who said the same to you?’
‘She was my wife. Wives say that.’
‘Well, she doesn’t now.’
A groom waited to assist Avondale into the coach, but the Marquess shooed him away.
His father set his jaw.
‘I have been considering moving back with your mother. I thought if I might slip in on the opposite side of the house from her, then perhaps we might discover a friendship. Your mother...she is a remarkable woman. I wonder what it would be like to be friends with her.’
He raised his head and put a swagger in his words. ‘And I will tell her it is all your idea as you have forbidden me to see future grandchildren if I do not live near.’ He snorted. ‘And when she starts writing volumes of complaints, you’d best back me up on that.’
‘I will.’
The dust from the wheels had settled before Marcus stirred. He realised he stood at the threshold of the rest of his days and his behaviour would not just influence him and Emilie, but would even pass on to his grandchildren. Another generation would behold the same surroundings he’d toddled in as a child and, even if he were no longer present, they would see the same lands he viewed and he would have handed down to them a home better than he’d found it.
Yet, he didn’t know if, in some way, he’d chosen Emilie because he’d not perceived her capable of loving him. The same as his father hadn’t been capable of continuing a connection to one woman.
In some inner recesses beyond conscious awareness, perhaps he had tried to duplicate the union his parents shared—or didn’t share.
The spectre of Nathaniel materialised before him.
He’d married a woman who had put both someone, and something, before him.
He’d doomed his marriage before he had purchased the special licence. If Emilie had fallen at his feet, professed love and assured him she would always be his, he doubted he would have gone forward.
Someone else would have caught his eye and he would have married her. Some other woman who didn’t cling to him.
He retraced his memories of his previous romances. The ending had never surprised him. Perhaps the timing had. Usually he’d been surprised by the quickness of the parting, even when he requested the split. He’d ended relationships because he’d remained unready to commit to the vows.
He’d done like his father. He’d decided to wed and he’d found someone suitable who’d remain at a distance. But after the vows, he’d had a burst of clarity, not colours. No rainbows appeared.
He’d known his promise not to tread his father’s path was on shaky ground and he’d had to shore it up. He’d had to rebuild himself.
Emilie hadn’t comprehended what she’d settled for, but neither of them had. They’d each been content to form a union on the outside and a solitary existence on the inside.
Marcus’s acceptance of solitude had evaporated when Emilie hadn’t answered one question. One question. The cleric had asked Will you take this man to be your lawful wedded husband?
Marcus’s expectations had crashed amidst the silence.
He’d accepted that she’d changed her mind. Everyone in the room would have held her at fault.
But then he’d looked into her face and he’d seen something he’d never seen before
and something he’d wanted more than he could have imagined.
Then she’d answered, and at that moment she had altered him for ever.
* * *
‘Marc.’ Emilie waited just inside the door. ‘I don’t want a marriage like the one your mother and father share.’
‘No one would,’ he answered, ‘except perhaps Avondale did at the time. He just did as he felt was his due, then the marriage settled into dust around him.’
‘Did he love someone more than your mother?’
‘Well, yes, I suppose he did. Himself.’ Marcus drew a fingertip down the side of her jaw and summoned the memories of Emilie telling him that she must always paint and the knowledge of her putting her fascination above him.
Although, in all fairness, he didn’t know that he could blame her. When he had asked her to marry him, he had offered her nothing of his heart and nothing of himself but a house and a name. And while he considered those of value, particularly his name, he didn’t know if a woman should give up what she cared for in order to get a name.
He put his hand at Emilie’s back and guided her into the dining room. Robert stood, examining the wine bottle.
Marcus realised instantly it was not the same bottle that had been served to them earlier. He would always hope to have Mary and Cook on his side and they appeared more than ready to do his wishes.
‘Robert, you will visit Nathaniel for a few days. You can take my carriage. Today. That will give you an opportunity to search out your lady friends.’
‘Ah.’ Robert poured wine into a glass without paying attention. ‘Lady friends...’ He took a sip and choked. He looked at the glass, the liquid and the bottle. ‘That was uncalled for.’
‘Pretty weak wine, wasn’t it?’
‘Almost lethal.’ Robert thumped the goblet into place. ‘Both Mary and Cook hate me. You have them mixing this swill, don’t you?’ He studied the goblet. ‘But they’re matching the colours well.’
‘Robert,’ Marcus said, fixing the older man with a stare, ‘should my affections begin to wander elsewhere from Emilie, you have my permission to give her full details as long as they are correct.’
Emilie gasped, turning to face him.
‘Because I would tell you first, Emilie,’ he said. ‘Lies destroy more of a person than any pain caused by truths. Trust is the foundation of a home more than anything else and it is more important to have walls that bring you closer than ones you want to escape from.’
‘Are you going to be like your father?’
‘No. Nor do I wish to be like your parents, Emilie. I want us to chart our own course.’
‘My parents get along quite well. They are devoted. We would do well to have a union like my parents have.’
He led Emilie away from Robert, taking her to the sitting room.
‘Just from an outside view, and from the way you comport yourself, Emilie, I wonder if your parents have a marriage in which his service to the clergy comes first in his life and the children come first in your mother’s life.’
‘There is nothing wrong with that.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘There isn’t. But that is their marriage and each of them has something to put before the other. They both get on well because they both step aside for the other’s priority.’
‘You look at that as if it is a flaw. It isn’t. It is love. That you love another person and you step aside for their happiness.’ Her lips thinned and she left the room.
He wondered if he expected too much, both from himself and from Emilie. It would only lead to more dissatisfaction if he set his wishes higher than either could achieve.
Mental flaws could be just as destructive as physical weaknesses. He could not have expected his grandmother to chase him from the room when her knees were too weak to move.
Marcus retraced his steps to find Robert and entered the dining room.
‘Did you not suspect how your voices under the stars might carry?’ he asked, walking to Robert. ‘As you and Emilie discussed me in the night.’
Robert deliberated. ‘No, I was enjoying the brandy, and you manage to work out most things anyway. That woman is amusing and she is quiet when she paints. I was being friendly as you asked for us not to fight.’
‘Well, you may both fight with each other as I believe I prefer that to your companionship.’
‘You do not have to be so testy. I do not fight with her much. Her nonsense is amusing.’ Robert took the wine glass, testing a sip again, before scowling. ‘I must warn you, Marc, should you ever criticise her daubs, she gets clumsy with the paper.’
‘You should not provoke her.’
‘And she is innocent?’ Robert sputtered. ‘When she is truly, truly incensed, a light chuckle will make her too angry to speak.’
‘Well, you must keep me informed of any future conversations the two of you might have as I don’t want to be in darkness. I should have had a proper valet.’
‘Marc.’ His bottom lip protruded. ‘You surely don’t mean...’
Marcus didn’t want to see tears. ‘Robert, you know you are dear in my heart, but you are an imperfect valet and you have used that position to eavesdrop on me.’
‘Thank you for saying I am in your heart. But I...’ he sniffed and his words wavered ‘...hate to have failed you in any way. I am a tutor first and foremost, former thespian of the stage, and fortunate to be able to valet someone of your stature. The advice I give is a bonus because of my deep loyalty and affection.’
‘To me or my brandy.’
‘You. Certainly.’
‘How does my brandy taste now, Robert?’ Marcus said, his voice low.
Robert slumped. ‘Exceptionally weak.’
‘Enjoy. I shall not be purchasing any more soon.’
‘Well, I know I could be a smattering at fault with the lovely lady you ignore and send me traipsing after, but perhaps you should ask to see the flower portfolio.’ Robert’s countenance changed and he stifled a grin.
Marcus stared at him. ‘Her watercolours?’
‘She has three books she uses.’
The reference to the notebooks ripped at Marcus’s throat. He’d seen the picture of Nathaniel in the book she placed importance on. And he’d seen the lines on the page after Nathaniel. Just circles to indicate where features would go. If not for the completed family ring in the corner, he wouldn’t have even guessed the sketch was of him.
Marcus studied Robert again. ‘What is in the portfolios?’
Robert wet his lips. ‘She only shows her two portfolios. Her family book, with all the drawings of her relatives and her sisters, and the one of Nathaniel and an unfinished one of you.’ He grimaced away the words. ‘Her sketchbook is full of whatever whim takes her at the moment. But she has a portfolio that she has told me is full of blossoms. It is her flower book.’ Robert drawled out the word flower. ‘No one is permitted to approach her when she is drawing flowers.’ Robert interrupted his own snort. ‘I suggested I might fetch a wrap for her when she went to check on the chickens she’s so besotted with. The sketchbook was lodged behind her washstand. So, I opened it since she took no great pains to hide it.’
‘And, what did you see?’
Robert bent forward, stretching his neck to Marcus, giving a wry smirk. ‘Lord Grayson, nothing I haven’t seen every day for the last ten or so years.’
Marcus glared, silently commanding Robert to speak.
‘A drawing or two of you. Perhaps a hundred.’ He scratched his chin. ‘Flowers—’ He sputtered, then muttered in laughter, ‘It has been difficult not to refer to you as Lord Flower, but I fear for my safety if she were to hear me and I didn’t foresee you would find it humorous either.’
Robert tucked his chin in. ‘Silence about this has been difficult. You have no idea. This has been the hardest thing to remain hushed about and I was a base-born
child. That was easy, compared to keeping silent about Lord Flower.’
‘You are truly sacked.’ Marcus spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Now. I mean it.’
Robert clutched at his heart and stumbled backwards. ‘You would do this to your uncle? The man who saved your life? At the risk of his own?’
‘I will reflect on rehiring you next week when my temper has cooled.’
‘Thank you. Lord Grayson.’ He stood tall, again the actor and the sublime valet. ‘As you know, the good fortune of watching you grow from childhood into a man has filled me with the most pride I’ve ever experienced. You are, to me, all things family. If the situation arose again, I would sacrifice myself for you, as I prove daily in my dedication in keeping your Lady Grayson safe.’
Marcus levelled a gaze at him. ‘You are not on the stage now.’
‘Pardon, sir.’ Robert slumped. ‘I believe a valet should know his master so he can serve well. It is my job. And you promised me I could have the position for eternity.’
‘I will pay you, but I might send you to stay with Nathaniel for the duration. My time with my wife is my domain and you are not to meddle, matchmake or attempt any efforts concerning it.’
He held himself proud. ‘I have not...overmuch.’
Marcus put his nose near Robert’s. ‘And this list you mentioned? A list of the qualities I desire in a woman. Where is it?’
Robert retreated, lowering his stature. ‘You overheard a simple jest between friends and a thank you to her for drawing the hideous picture of me as a shepherd with blisters on my feet.’ Robert grimaced. ‘That was not a nice thing for her to do.’ He kicked. ‘That was terribly unkind of her and she refused to apologise until I said I wouldn’t traipse with her the next day as I would complain to you of sickness and I meant it.’ He stopped on his way out the door. ‘I will be returning in a week and please remember that I am your loving uncle and dedicated valet.’
Robert slipped away and Marcus paced the room.
Emilie had sketched him. He remembered telling her not to draw him nude and how she’d gasped at him when he’d removed his shirt.
