The Honorable Marksley (25 page)

Jealousy? Of his cousin? Reginald Marksley could
never have held a candle to him-surely he must know
that.

“I would never have married Reginald Marksley,”
she told him.

“I am glad to hear it, although I suspect you would
have had no more choice in the matter than you had in
marrying me. For the past two days, however, I have
been very busily engaged in assuring you are not married at all” He turned away from her to watch the
river. “In addition to forwarding the funds Beecham
earned in all fairness, I have arranged for your passage
to Italy. You will, I hope, enjoy my friend’s villa in the
north, at Lago Maggiore, for however many weeks or
months may suit you. An annulment is difficult, but
hardly impossible. I have sounded out my solicitor.
The process will take some time. Needless to say, he
was surprised and concerned” He paused briefly.
“‘Twas just last week he was drawing up settlements.
But Fulton is discreet. You will be at liberty to write
and travel as you choose-as you deserve, Hallie. The
thought that a sensibility such as yours should be confined in any manner is abhorrent. Henry Beecham
always wrote freely-and of freedom. He might enjoy
its experience.”

For a moment, Hallie could only study his back-the
implacable set of his shoulders in that midnight blue
coat. Then he turned to her.

“It is a remedy, of a sort. If after some time you
choose to return to England, my expectation would be
that any gossip will have run its course. There is a certain relief in how quickly new misfortunes claim the
scandalmongers’ interest. Then, should you wish to
marry Jeremy, you would face no difficulty.”

“I do not wish to go to Italy,” she said softly.

“Well, perhaps somewhere else then. Jeremy might
wish to help you with your plans. Though why he could
not simply have given you the funds you needed-”

“I would not have taken money from him. `Twould
not have been proper.”

“Less proper than marrying me? I believe I hold the
institution of marriage in higher esteem than you do,
my dear. Now if Jeremy had married you-”

“I would not have married Jeremy. I might have married Jeremy at any time,” she told him boldly, “and I
did not.”

Again, he frowned.

“I have been trying-I have tried to make amends,
Hallie. If none of this appeals to you, you must of course
let me know. A certain amount of notoriety is inevitable,
but those with literary leanings seem to be indulged
these days. Conventions need not bind anyone of talent
and purpose, particularly with the wherewithal-”

She interrupted him. “You speak of conventions, of
how objectionable they can be, and yet you have professed that what might be acceptable to the radicals
would not be acceptable to you.”

“I do not recall-”

“You said as much to Archie Cavendish … and to
me”

“There are many things I’d have dearly loved to have
said to Mr. Cavendish, Hallie. Yet as I remember that
particular interview, I was trying-rather too hard-to
feign an indifference I was far from feeling. Your friend
Cavendish assumed I must condone certain reckless
and dishonorable behaviors. I mustn’t, and I do not. I
have not,” he stressed. “Surely one may speak generally with regard to society’s strictures, without advocating their eradication?”

“Then you will understand that I … I do not want an
annulment.”

At that he looked perplexed. Then his gaze narrowed.

“I see. You prefer, after all, to be a viscountess.” He
shrugged, which incensed her. “Perhaps Fulton can
arrange something along those lines. I shall not marry
again. My aunt will no doubt find that unacceptably
contrary, but I-”

“Oh, will you not listen?” Her own voice startled her
even as it silenced him. “You have made every plan,
you have been most honorable and generous, yet everything you have said … everything you have chosen to
interpret-oh, I cannot breathe!” She turned to the windows and spread her fingers against the cold glass
panes. The darkness outside reflected her ghostly white
form, framed by Marksley’s dark shape behind her.

“May I tell you what I wanted?” She spoke to his
image in the glass. “All I have ever wanted? I wanted to
continue as Henry Beecham, to write to you and have you respond to me, as nobly and kindly and cleverly as
you always had. I wanted to save something of that, of
what I treated as friendship. And to have you value me,
not knowing anything else of me. But I also wanted to
sit at breakfast with you and hear you laugh and have
you hold my hand. To have you look at me as you do
sometimes, even when you are angry. I wanted both.
Only everything changed-such that I knew I could
not have both. And now I see I shall have neither.”

For a moment she heard only her heart, beating too
loudly in her ears and in the stillness. Then Marksley
asked softly, “That poem-the one you left me the
night I set out to find George. The night you braved the
gypsy camp. I would have sworn Henry Beecham was
in love-with Jeremy Asquith?”

She turned at the question, but hid her trembling
hands behind her.

“Would Henry Beecham be in love with Jeremy
Asquith?” she asked. She felt at once expectant and
afraid.

“Would he?” Some growing comprehension softened Marksley’s expression. “When did you write that
poem, Hallie?”

“I was writing it at Penham. I finished it at Archers
that morning. I wished to say goodbye”

“That was not a farewell,” Marksley insisted. “It was
a love poem” His steady gaze would not permit her to
look away.

She swallowed and raised her chin.

“Perhaps it was, then. Or one of joy. A joy that prom ised everything in life for the faint favor of my own. I
could not … I could not refuse it. But it had to be
returned, in the only way I knew to return it. In a small,
spare sum of words. Yes-if it pleases you,” her gaze at
last fell to the floor. “‘Twas of love.”

In the seconds following, she wondered at the
silence. Surely he should laugh, or clear his throat in
embarrassment, or storm from the room in disgust? She
was too conscious of the warmth in her cheeks and constriction in her chest.

“Do you wish to know my very first thought on seeing you, Hallie,” he said at last, so gravely that she was
drawn to look up at him, “that astonishing morning at
Archers? With your red-faced uncle breathing down my
neck, and Miss Binkin and Geneve pushing me at once
toward marriage and Bedlam?” While she hungrily
watched his face he stepped closer. “I wondered what
unintended good I had done in life to deserve even to
meet you”

“Then you played … as carefully at our contest …
as I,” she managed, “for you gave every indication …
you despised my company. And after we were wed …
you could not suffer more than fifteen minutes in my
presence.”

“My sweet, I could not bear it,” he said simply.
“What hint had I that you had ever come to me willingly? My harsh treatment had all to do with Reggie
and the circumstances, naught to do with my inclinations. And after discovering your secret, I knew that I
would have to let you go. The prize seemed always to dance before me, ever out of reach” He captured one of
her hands. “Dare I believe that I might make you
happy? I find I haven’t the heart for anything else.”

He drew her arms to his. He kissed her hands and
fingers and finally both palms, while she still stood
entranced.

“The gypsies read my fortune that night, Hallie,
before they took me to see George Partridge. They
believe their gift of foresight offers a glimpse at character, into divining one’s purpose. Amid much jesting
they revealed to me that I would love a man. Needless
to say, I was surprised.” He drew her a few inches closer and again kissed her trembling fingers.

“And do you,” she breathed, “‘love a man?’ “

“Aye,” he smiled broadly. “Henry Beecham-and his
fiendish twin, Harriet”

She knew she returned his smile. Every part of her
smiled.

“But if I had … if Henry Beecham had been a man?”

He sighed and pulled her abruptly to him.

“Then, dear heart, you may trust I’d have quoted
something else at Augusta Lawes’ dinner. `Let me
not,’ “he spoke to her lips, “`to the marriage … of true
minds … admit impediments.’”