The Honorable Marksley (9 page)

Jeremy had departed early, before Richard even
came in to breakfast, which was, as usual, very early
indeed. He had been surprised that Jeremy, with his
habitual good humor, had not found some way to tease
him about yesterday’s incident, to ignore his display of
temper. It had been unwise to reproach the two of them,
despite appearances. He realized that he had come to
rely unthinkingly on Jeremy’s capacity to bear abuse. Certainly if confronted by similar pique in another, he
would have found pressing reason to leave. Yet Jeremy
had never taken him seriously before, much to his own
unending irritation. Why should he do so now-and
before breakfast?

“The devil take them,” Richard muttered, staring
moodily at the walls of his dining room. He had not
taken stock of his surroundings for a while, and now
wondered if, though a bachelor, he would be expected
to entertain his betrothed and her family here at
Archers. But the prospect was unwelcome-his aunt
must be convinced to find more suitably staged settings
for the next few acts. Apart from having his housekeeper pay additional attention to the draperies, he
would not alter a thing. If Harriet Ashton desired to
make a splash, she would simply have to wait for
Reggie.

Not that she seemed to crave such fripperies, but one
could never know about women. Their considerable
requirements had confounded him before. Years ago he
had believed Caroline Chalmers shared his interests.
She had been intrigued by his indifference to most of
the ton’s pursuits, including, at the outset, Caroline
Chalmers herself. She had claimed relief in his preference for distance and rational conversation. In Caroline
he had been thoroughly mistaken. Surely Harriet
Ashton had her own indecipherable whims.

Yet there was something about the girl, something in
that clear gaze that hinted at humor and reflection. She was well-read, she refrained from senseless comment,
her voice was low and pleasant. She had quoted Pope.
She was unquestionably intelligent. He conceded it
crossly, placing the cup and saucer on the table with a
clatter.

Despite such signs of sanity, she had still tossed her
cap at Reggie.

The carriage was ready and waiting. Richard cloaked
himself to Gibbs’s satisfaction and took the two
umbrellas proffered, he assumed, as insurance should
Miss Ashton and Miss Binkin beg a ride home. He
knew his intended would do no such thing, but Miss
Binkin very well might. After the banns were
announced, even after that annoyingly public declaration, they would be expected to show some continuing
preference for each other’s company.

The village church, a tidy stone building of disputed
history and considerable weathered charm, stood back
from the road. As Richard made his way up the flagstone walk, beneath the looming, age-old oaks, the
drizzle renewed. Unfortunately, the rain in no way
dampened the curiosity of the many neighbors, tenants,
and tradesmen he had known for nearly two decades. In
foisting this deception on them, Richard felt he was
committing a crime.

The church was full. Richard noted the fact, conscious that perhaps the Earl of Penham should propose
building an addition. He settled along the aisle toward
the back. Then his gaze found Harriet Ashton.

He had been irritated with her, even angry, yet anger was not what he felt when he met her anxious gaze. As
he took his seat he pondered his reaction, attempting to
identify the unusual sensation. When the answer finally occurred to him it was a surprise.

He wished to protect Hallie Ashton.

With the thought, he managed to look everywhere
other than at her. It was taking family responsibilities
a bit too far, in addition to everything else, to now feel
protective. Over the centuries countless others had
wed to pay a debt, to preserve an ancient, respected
name, to extend property or produce an heir. That line
must be strong in him that he would contemplate surrendering so much else to fulfill it. Certainly the Earl
of Penham had done nothing to deserve such a sacrifice. And Reggie would never trouble to reflect on any
of it; the heir apparent would sneer at the outmoded
notion of honor. Reggie thought the virtues were for
others, but the vices … those had always been well
worth pursuit.

What should he make of this baffling desire to shield
the winsome Miss Ashton? Richard kept his gaze
averted from her simple straw bonnet. He had almost
convinced himself that she was an innocent victim of
Reggie’s transgressions. After all, Reggie had used others before. Miss Ashton could not have anticipated
danger.

As the vicar’s voice droned on, Richard looked
ahead to where his aunt sat in the Penham box. It was
in front, and she sat there alone, looking as misplaced
as a flamboyant tropical bird, one that had inexplicably settled among sparrows. She had exhibited no restraint
in her choice of dress. Her bright yellow turban must
have blocked the view of those even three rows behind
her. The mystery lay in why she had troubled to come.

Richard stifled a sigh. It was unfortunate, this public
affirmation of a lie. But a special license would have
been worse; he and Miss Ashton would not have
retained the luxury of time.

As he caught the too-curious gaze of one of
Denhurst’s busybodies, Richard quickly looked away.
He stared at the small church’s single stained glass
window, depicting John the Baptist in the wilderness.
Richard’s inspection focused sympathetically on the
innocent lamb at John’s feet.

When the vicar obligingly read the banns, Richard’s
attention returned immediately and painfully to the
proceedings. The low murmur of the congregation surrounded him, trapping him. Had the service not then
been nearing its close he would have excused himself,
for lack of air.

He glanced at Hallie Ashton. Her features were pale
but composed. If she could look so, he knew he could
not shame her.

“My dear boy,” Squire Lawes was upon him at once,
pounding him on the back even as he attempted to rise
from the pew. “This is wonderful news. You must bring
Miss Ashton and her family to supper. A celebration,
what? Perhaps Tuesday?”

“Tuesday? I regret to say, sir-”

“Tuesday would be lovely, Squire,” Geneve accepted quickly. Her gaze cautioned Richard. “I know Miss
Ashton and her uncle would be delighted. We shall all
come together. Your lady is always such an incomparable hostess”

The Squire beamed. “You are too kind, Lady
Penham. Our honor, to be sure. Shall we say six?
Augusta does prefer country hours”

Richard bowed and thanked him, then offered an arm
to his aunt.

“Surely it will not be necessary to accept every invitation, madam,” he protested in low tones. “Or do you
feel some need to gratify the curiosity of the populace?”

“You must begin sometime, Richard. You will, after
all, be marrying the girl.”

“Ah! We differ there. I believe my commitment
extends only to pretending to be marrying the girl.”

Geneve managed to smile and nod to an acquaintance, but Richard could see that the smile was forced.

“Three weeks from today, Richard, you shall have to
abandon all thoughts of pretense”

“On the contrary. Three weeks from today, once my
messengers have succeeded in locating him and dragging
him home by the ears, your son will have to abandon all
pretense. And some mammoth measure of his freedom.”

Geneve bristled. “You are serious?”

“Indeed”

“I cannot believe this of you. That you could be so
ungrateful! And I had your promise-”

“Marksley,” Alfred Ashton had managed to work his
way to their side as they exited the church. “We may not have begun well, but I wish to shake your hand now
in the hopes of a better future”

As Geneve’s blue eyes still blazed indignantly,
Richard shook Ashton’s hand. Hallie’s uncle would be
even happier when he snared a viscount.

“And Miss Harriet?” Richard asked, aware that his
betrothed had not followed them out into the damp.

“Receiving some well-wishers. Ah! But here she is.
Well, let us see the two of you together.”

Richard thought her gray spencer appropriate for the
occasion. Against the gray stone walls of the church,
under the gray sky, with her own gray eyes watching
him in that disconcerting way, he thought he would
have chosen to have her painted just so. Whatever
brightened her cheeks and hair and lit her eyes from
within seemed that much fresher in this dreary setting.

He moved to stand closer to her and was instantly
conscious of a sensation of touching, though they stood
some distance apart. He cleared his throat.

“What did you think of the service?” he asked.

“I confess I paid scant attention to the service.”

“And what could have distracted you, I wonder?”

As her gaze shot intently to his, he knew she had been
thinking about him. With that recognition, they stood
silently for some seconds in unintentional communion.

“Where is Lord Jeremy?” she asked at last.

He could not have explained his reaction. But the
question reminded him of his earlier apprehensions,
and the suspicions that roused feelings unhappily akin
to jealousy. With some low and inarticulate demure, he excused Jeremy’s absence, then lapsed again into
silence-this time decidedly less easy.

“I wish-” Hallie Ashton began as the others chattered around them. “Well, it is just that there is something so very final about a churchyard. There is no escaping.” She indicated the small graveyard. “Thomas Gray
understood: `Each in his narrow cell for ever laid.”’

He turned to her, unwillingly drawn by the power she
seemingly had to charm him without effort. But now
the vicar was upon them, and Richard rallied.

I am afraid,” he said, glancing pointedly at the
Countess, “that ‘til death do us part’ is included in the
script.”

“You have always had a fondness for the quips, Mr.
Marksley, have you not?” the vicar observed dryly.
“Perhaps if we were to see you here more often-”

“Which reminds me, Mr. Mayhew,” Richard said
quickly, “that I have indications the Earl is considering
your needs for a larger church. Perhaps you might come
see me sometime soon about a likely remedy.”

The vicar, managing to look stunned and joyous at
once, mumbled thanks as Geneve pulled Richard to the
side.

“Cyril has never mentioned such beneficence,” she
hissed.

“You are correct, ma’am. To date he has not. But I
have every confidence he shall. ‘Tis needed and appropriate. I should have noticed before.”

“‘This is … extortion, Richard.” Geneve actually
stamped her foot.

“No, madam. This is generosity. But you should not
be surprised that I am capable of schemes of my own”
Pleased with managing even such a small victory, he
left her abruptly and turned back to the Ashtons. Vicar
Mayhew and his wife and nephew had been added to
Squire Lawes’s supper party; Richard feared that the
night’s gathering would grow larger. Yet as he watched
Hallie Ashton in conversation, he admitted to a great
curiosity. She was not a quiet country mouse. She was
polite, yes, but the quick wits he had noted in her were
not accidental. He wondered if the various diversions
of company might topple her guard, and lead her to
reveal more of herself.

In the end, the night’s party was not large. As they
took their seats for the meal, Augusta Lawes and her
husband hosting the two ends of the table, Richard
Marksley sat at Augusta’s right, Hallie on the Squire’s
right. They were as far away from each other as they
could possibly be. Between them were Hallie’s uncle,
young Phoebe Lawes, Vicar Mayhew and his wife,
Eleanor, the ever-present Miss Binkin, and the
Mayhews’ nephew, Archibald Cavendish.

The Countess of Penham did not attend. Having
forced the invitation upon them, she had discovered,
typically, that her ailing husband’s needs obliged her to
send sincerest regrets.

“Now, Miss Ashton, you must tell us all about yourself.” Augusta Lawes beamed down the length of the
table. “Have you had a season?”

Hallie was very aware of the interest the other guests
exhibited in the answer. Phoebe Lawes in particular
looked as though she enjoyed the question, being-as
she was-certain of Hallie’s response.

“No, ma’am. I’ve not had that pleasure. I have only
visited London for short periods, and not during the
season”

“But you have had an opportunity to shop and to
attend the theater and such. Phoebe is so looking forward to spending next spring there with my sister.”

Phoebe, looking immensely pleased with herself,
shot a superior glance at Hallie. “London must be deadly dull when no one is there,” she sniffed.

“The city is a growing metropolis, Miss Lawes,”
Hallie offered, “with a thriving, permanent population.” She thought she heard Richard Marksley stifle a
laugh.

“I meant society, Miss Ashton. The very best people”

“They are not always so easy to find, Miss Lawes. In
such a large and bustling place.”

Phoebe’s look dismissed the statement; having misunderstood so far, she continued to misinterpret. She,
of course, planned to mingle only among the First
Circles.

“And when did you last visit London, Miss Ashton?”
Squire Lawes inquired.

“Almost two years ago now, sir. To attend services
for my cousin Tolliver.” Her uncle was not going to aid
her in this, though he looked miserable enough. She
wished desperately to change the topic.

“Well, we look forward to welcoming him here to
Denhurst. No doubt he will be coming to the wedding?”

“Miss Ashton’s cousin Tolliver, Mr. Ashton’s son,
was fatally wounded in France, Squire, at the battle of
the Nivelle River.” Richard Marksley relayed the information dispassionately, while Hallie breathed her
relief. “Tolliver Ashton was an officer with the Light
Horse, my old regiment.”