Mariel (33 page)

Sitting, Ian listened while Mariel spoke quietly. What she said made no impression on him. He fought his anger. In Foxbridge, Lady Mariel Wythe would always enjoy the prestige she had won through her hard work, as well as the loyalty everyone offered the Wythes, although they were no longer feudal overlords. Elsewhere it would be different. She would receive pity and ridicule, the very things he had fled from London to avoid in the company of former friends.

If this doctor could not help Mariel, her world might narrow to those few miles around her ancestral home. Everything she might have done beyond those boundaries would be denied because strangers would see her blindness first. He understood through harsh lessons what she had not yet learned. He wished he could spare her this torment.

Other travelers came and left the lounge, but did not bother the two seated close together. Ian watched the scenery pass in a steady parade and described anything of interest. When he took her hand, she felt the strong emotions he was keeping pent up within him. She did not ask him to tell her what bothered him. Instead, she tried to comfort him by talking about her last trip to London four years earlier.

Slowly, Ian's anger diminished to frustration. He could not ruin her trip by being so glum when she was making such a valiant effort to be cheerful. When a verbose man and his equally talkative wife sat next to them, he allowed himself to be wooed into the conversation. Pride blossomed in him to lessen his anger. Neither of the two newcomers had noticed Mariel's blindness, so charmed were they by her sparkling wit.

The pompous man lost no time bragging about his position in Salisbury's Unionist government. He intimated that every decision out of the Exchequer bore his signature as well as the minister's. At the same time, his wife was regaling Mariel with all the important people they knew in London.

“Surely we must know your family, Lady Mariel,” she cooed in a tone unsuited for her age. “Wythe, did you say?”

Without showing her amusement, Mariel said, “Perhaps you have met my uncle. He is Lord Foxbridge.”

“Lord Foxbridge?” gasped the man. “You are of that family?”

“Yes,” she answered, without changing her friendly tone. “Do I take it that you have met Uncle Wilford?”

He stuttered, “N-n-no, I must admit I have not had the pleasure. He is abroad, I believe.”

“Lord Foxbridge enjoys traveling.” Her fingers on the arm of the chair clenched tightly on the thick upholstery.

Noticing the distress she would not allow to enter her voice, Ian placed his hand over hers. He watched the other couple's eyes rivet on his motion, and he could read their thoughts blaring from their priggish faces. When they hastily excused themselves, he was glad to see them leave.

Mariel sighed as she relaxed against the plush seat. As if to herself, she murmured, “I had forgotten.”

“Forgotten?”

She smiled tenderly at him. Just by being with a member of her somewhat notorious family, he could find his name sullied as well. “Rumors grow with the retelling. Those who heard of the tragedy at the Cloister fear the crazy Wythes.”

“They are fools,” he retorted to comfort her.

When she laughed, he waited to see what was so amusing. “Don't be angry, Ian,” she said. “I have become accustomed to it. Uncle Wilford's life is different enough to make such narrow-minded people think he is as mad as Georgie was. Perhaps he is, but his insanity is more socially acceptable than my poor cousin.”

“You loved him dearly, didn't you?”

“I adored Georgie. He was the one adult who always had time to listen to me. Because he never outgrew his own childhood, he understood the traumas of that time as no other adult could.” She paused before adding, “I loved him, but he died thinking I despised him.”

He took her hand in his, but said nothing. There were no words to ease the pain in her heart. Although only the scar on her forehead remained visible from that horrid time, other scars hid to torment her. When he suggested they return to collect Miss Phipps and Rosie, to find the dining car, she nodded tiredly.

Through the meal, with its less than succulent fare, Mariel remained quiet. She knew they would be coming into the station shortly after dark. Each time the train stopped to discharge or take on passengers, she was reminded how they neared their destination. In two days, she would be going to see Dr. Gillette. Suddenly she wished she had never come on this trip. It might be. better to stay at the Cloister and dream the dreams that could be destroyed by this man.

Emerging from the hubbub of the busy station, Ian wasted no time finding a cab. It was barely large enough for the four tired travelers and their luggage. Mariel held Rosie in her lap as they crowded into the small space. Her feet rested lightly on a hatbox, and she could feel Ian's arm around her shoulders. The tightly packed hansom would have been amusing if they had not been so exhausted.

After a ride through the twisting streets of the city, it stopped smoothly in front of a row of houses. Ian helped the two women from the carriage as the driver removed their larger pieces of luggage from the boot. With his fingers on the brim of his hat, he thanked his passengers for their fine tip.

Mariel listened intently as Phipps described the house before them. In the lamplight, she could pick out the Gothic Revival details of the arched windows contrasting with the classic style columns around the door. The brick house closely resembled its neighbors. Hedges edged the short walk and narrow front yard where a stone bench offered a streetside view. Chimney pots of all sizes and shapes clung to the shingled roofs above. A single tree stood guard between the sidewalk and the road.

Ian took her hand and placed it on his arm, he drew her toward the house. “Three steps.”

“Thank you.”

Noting the stiffness of her voice, he asked, “Honey, is something wrong?”

A smile flitted across her face and disappeared. “Just nervous. So much depends on these next few days.”

“Try not to think of that now. Just enjoy your visit here. After all the wonderful visits I have had to your ancestral home, let me play the genial host in mine.”

The opening of the door drew his attention away from her wan face. He greeted the butler by name and introduced the two women and little girl with him to Barbon. The round man, perfectly correct in his spotless suit, welcomed his employer's guests without allowing his reaction to show. On short notice, he had been warned to prepare the house for Mister Ian, as he still thought of the man he had watched grow from a child. Although Mister Ian had no use for the house, he arranged for the staff to continue to work there. The house was kept ready for an infrequent visit like this one or for use by the guests of one of his mother's parties.

Mariel thanked a maid as her hat and cloak were taken. She felt the thickness of carpet beneath her feet and smelled the undisguisable scent of gas burning overhead. Listening quietly to Phipps's whispered description, she hid her astonishment.

Her companion described quickly the pair of rooms she could see opening off the central hall. They were furnished as richly as any room at Foxbridge Cloister. Images of the overcrowded chambers of the parsonage, filled with castoff, threadbare furniture, contrasted with this wealth. She wondered what other surprises of Ian's past would be revealed during this trip.

When he suggested they might wish to explore the house in the morning after a good night's sleep, she acceded. She was tired, not physically, but emotionally. Like a procession of ducklings, they followed the butler up the stairs.

Phipps urged her lady to rest. She would put the child to bed. With a weary smile, Mariel agreed. In her dreams, she might be able to escape the dread churning her stomach to spasms. She kissed Rosie good night and promised to join her in the morning to peek into all the corners of the house.

A maid opened the next door along the corridor. “My lady?” Awe filled her voice as she spoke. She had never met a blind person before and had not guessed one could appear so normal. Answering Mariel's questions, she stumbled on her words in her attempt to act correctly. A mumbled “Good night” accompanied her out the door.

Mariel placed her hat and bag on a chair. The maid had been disconcerted by her questions about the location of the furniture and doorways, but she needed the information. Cautiously she crossed the room to where the bed should be. She found it When her legs brushed the footboard. Running her hands along it, she found the twisted carving of the canopy uprights. This room was lovely. She would enjoy staying here for their visit to London. The thought of renting a room in an unknown hotel had worried her.

“Will this do?”

She spun to face the door. An involuntary smile brightened her eyes. “This is wonderful, Ian. Why are you hiding this part of your life?”

“I never meant to conceal it from you. It has been easier to gain the trust of the people in Foxbridge if they think I share more of their background than of yours. I have not lied.”

“I cannot imagine you lying. You are too honest sometimes.” She laughed as she walked toward him.

Ian lowered his eyes, unable to meet her smile. If only she could guess how he lied over and over. Every word he said to her was encased in a falsehood. His faked optimism about this visit to Dr. Gillette, as well as his acceptance of her resistance to his love. He wanted to be done with these lies. He longed to pull her into his arms and love her. He yearned to rest his head against her skin as he released the anger and sorrow within him.

“Rosie is anxious to investigate the back garden,” she continued as she took his hands in hers. “I am glad we brought her with us. It is so much fun to share her excitement.”

He laughed, but the sound was false even to his ears. “I don't know who was more thrilled with the train. Rosie or Miss Phipps.”

“Ian?”

Patting her hand, he did not have to ask what was bothering her. It was him. “It has been a long trip, my dear.”

Mariel put up her fingers to search his face for the truth. She felt the tightness of his lips vanish beneath her soft touch. When he caught her hand and pressed it against his lips, she felt the too familiar surge of longing. His other arm circled her waist. The hard line of his cane pressed her closer. Her mouth welcomed his.

Hungrily, he kissed her again and again. His lips moved along her face while she laughed with the happiness coursing through her. That sound vanished as he captured her mouth once more. His tongue probed within it to tease awake the passions she had tried to dampen. Her fingers slipped beneath his coat to hold him tight to her. The solid strength of his chest against her softer curves weakened her bones and her resolve not to be his again.

When he raised his mouth from the bewitchment he had been creating along her neck, he whispered in her ear. The warmth of his breath sent a flame along her.

“Sleep well, my love.”

She put out her hands to keep him from stepping away. “Ian, must you go?”

“I must, unless you want me here with you all night.” A single finger etched delight along her as it moved from her collar down along the front of her jacket. “You hesitate in answering me.”

“I love you,” she said helplessly.

“And I love you. That is why I am telling you good night now.” He kissed her lightly. “I want you to want me without that hesitation.”

She clasped her shaking fingers in front of her as he went from the room. The sound of his cane striking the wood floors did not go far before she heard a door open and close. Slowly, she shut her own door.

Undressing for bed, she fought her yearning to run to him and ask to be held in his arms as she once had been. Only because she feared that becoming his lover would precipitate another proposal did she delay. She loved him too much to risk that again.

In the loneliness of her bed, she could not weep out her sorrow. It was too potent for such relief. She felt the darkness weigh on her until she ceded herself to it. In the depths of her sleep, she could not escape her longing to believe in the impossible hope of regaining everything she had had for three short, perfect days.

Chapter Fifteen

Phipps pressed the ostrich-feather fan into Mariel's hand. Stepping back, she regarded the nervous woman objectively. “There, my lady. You look perfect.”

“Phipps, I can't do this.” Mariel dropped the fan onto a chair.

“And why not?” She busied herself picking up the discarded clothes. “You do not need your eyes to attend this ball. Your ears can hear the music. Your feet can move to the steps of the dance. Go and enjoy yourself.”

“I am afraid of shaming Ian.” Her fear was so potent, she could hide it no longer.

Phipps put her hands on the shivering arms of the young woman and turned her to face her. “Lady Mariel, you could ride as naked as Lady Godiva through the streets of Coventry and not shame him. Don't you understand? He loves you.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“Tell me?” She laughed with easy amusement. “Dear child, did you think either of you could hide the truth from the ones who love you? Nothing stays hidden long in Foxbridge. Still, no one ever spoke of seeing your automobile and buggy parked behind the parsonage for the nights Mrs. Reed was away with her ailing sister.”

Her cheeks flushed. “You simply—”

“You are a grown woman, Lady Mariel.” She pressed the the feathers back into her lady's hand. “What you choose to do is a matter between you and your conscience. At first, I feared you would be haunted by the gossips. When I heard nothing other than an acceptance of the fact that you and Reverend Beckwith-Carter loved one another, I knew the people of Foxbridge cared enough about both of you to leave you alone.”

Mariel's fingers tightened around the fan. Never, in the warmth of newly discovered love, had she guessed what others were thinking. Only the bigots like Mrs. Rivers and Mr. Turner had made their opinions known. Those opinions she had discounted as worthless at the time. She had wondered about the lack of interest among their friends, but gave it little thought. Loving Ian in those stolen moments was all she wanted in her heart and in her mind.