The Honorable Marksley (2 page)

He had ridden out early and hard. Now he turned
Apollo toward home.

“This tour has been helpful, Appleby. We meet again
at Ludlow’s, Thursday next?” When the steward nodded, Richard urged Apollo to a canter and headed back
to Archers, the small but comfortable manor that had
come to him ten years before-on his twentieth birthday. Again he blessed the fact that the property shared
only one boundary with Penham. By road, the distance
was four miles; across the fields and fences it was
scarcely one. The greater the remove from his family
the better, particularly at a time like this, when his
patience was at ebb.

He scarcely noticed the magnificent beeches framing Archers’s warm brick. Instead he strode directly
across the stable yard to his library, determined to pen
a few additional instructions for Appleby. The steward, he reflected, was a competent and genial man
whose only fault was a forgiving memory. He continually underestimated the Viscount Langsford’s extravagance.

Richard no longer made the same mistake. Reggie’s
behavior, summer after summer, had predictably
rivaled that of every preceding summer, and this season’s reckonings were another abomination.

The debts tallied to embarrassing sums. Worthier
endeavors would suffer in order to keep Reggie flush
with funds. Richard considered it a testament to his
own ingenuity, and to Appleby’s management, that they
had devised rescues time and again. But he feared for
the future. There were too many pressing demands
upon the estate and its resources to let Reggie’s
escapades continue unchecked.

Reggie, he decided, could not have planned a more
exasperating birthday gift.

Gibbs had been waiting quietly just outside the
library doors. As the butler coughed gently, Richard
rose to give him a few items for the morning’s post.

“You are too patient, Gibbs,” he said, handing the
papers to the older man. “You should have coughed
earlier.”

“Not at all, sir,” Gibbs protested, “I had no thought
to interrupt you. But this has just come by messenger. And you have always said, that whenever such as these
should come-”

Richard snatched the thin letter from Gibbs’s hand
and quickly scanned the familiar scrawl: “I had promised you a poem, but unexpected demands have made it
difficult for me to finish … little time for
application … do apologize …” Richard’s lips
thinned as he read. So the anticipated work from Henry
Beecham would not be available for next month’s issue
of The Tantalus. He should have known the elusive
man would eventually disappoint him in this way as
well; most of the journal’s contributors had found reason on one occasion or another to disoblige their publisher. He had assumed, unreasonably, that Beecham
would be different.

“And the messenger?” he asked, at last looking at
Gibbs. “Is he outside?”

“Already on his way, sir. I could not keep him. Not
even with the gift of a crown. He did say he had come
directly from a rider in Guildford.”

“And that rider no doubt from yet another obscure
little village.” Richard sighed. “It seems Mr. Beecham
truly has no desire to be known to us, Gibbs. And
October’s Tantalus will lack a new poem.”

“I am sorry, sir. ‘Tis a fine journal.”

“Thank you, Gibbs.” Richard smiled, aware that his
butler preferred the racing results from Epsom. “You
do much for the cause” But Gibbs was shifting impatiently in front of him. “Is there something else?”

“Yes, sir. In the drawing room. The countess is here,
sir. Lady Penham”

“At this hour? No wonder you look so pale.”
Richard turned to his library and crowded desk.
“You’d best show her in here, then. She will excuse
herself all the more readily from any evidence of actual labor.”

“Yes, sir. I mean, very good, sir.” As Gibbs departed
Richard glanced reluctantly at his work. The papers
now awaiting his attention concerned his chosen avocation, his one passion-the production of a bimonthly
literary and opinion journal. Over the past two years,
The Tantalus had drawn public and critical acclaim,
delighting both its sponsors and its contributors.
Richard quite naturally believed any commendation
was deserved. With organization and application, and
the means he could spare, he had given talents like
Henry Beecham a forum.

That particular poet, he considered grimly, had no
reason to be coy.

Only a year ago he had received the first Beecham
poems, a trio of such quiet strength and appeal that
Richard had been captivated. He believed them to be
the work of an established wordsmith of his acquaintance, someone among the literary set in London. Yet
inquiries had revealed no clue to the man’s identity or
whereabouts. Subsequent poems found their way to
him via baffling routings of messengers and postings,
much like this morning’s missive. It seemed Henry Beecham enjoyed puzzles. And now, perhaps, he no
longer even cared to be read.

On The Tantalus’s accounts a tidy sum accumulated,
unclaimed, in Beecham’s name.

“Cheeky scop,” Richard muttered softly, “haven’t
you need of the lucre?”

“I do not care for your tone, Richard,” his aunt said
sharply from behind him, compelling him to turn.
“‘Tis most abusive. With whom do you imagine yourself at odds?”

“With myself, madam,” Richard acknowledged with
a bow. Geneve Marksley, the Countess of Penham, was,
as always, fashionably dressed, in a pink morning gown
that flattered the artificial blooms in her cheeks. Her
hair was still gold, her azure eyes still bright, but
Richard had long ago discovered their blindness to anything beyond clothes, society, and her darling Reginald.

When she offered her hand, he took it and bowed
low, but he did not kiss her. Geneve and the Earl had
raised him from the age of twelve, when he had lost his
parents, and in all that time he had learned to respond
in kind.

“Dear Richard, I am so gratified to find you home.
You spend so much time away with your … hobbies.”
She glanced dismissively at his crowded desk. “We
really must speak”

As the two comfortable chairs by the fire were temporarily hosting parcels of books, Richard offered her
his own desk chair and chose to remain standing.
Anything, he thought, to speed the visit.

“How well you look,” Geneve said as she settled her
skirts. To her credit she might actually have looked at
him, but Richard only acknowledged the compliment
with the slightest tilt of his head. Geneve rarely spoke
to him without considering her direction. And he knew
this was no birthday call.

“I fear our Reginald has done something rather
dreadful.” Her indulgent smile robbed the words of any
reprimand.

Richard stifled his instant distaste for the inclusive
“our.”

“I must agree with you, madam. Unless, of course,
you refer to something other than his obscene debts?”

“His debts? Really, Richard, why should I know anything of the sort? Reginald should not be living like a
pauper. You and his father are supposed to arrange for
him to have what he ought” Richard’s lips firmed. “No,
my dear. This is truly serious. I cannot imagine….
Well, the damage has been done. And she is really quite
attractive, though not at all the sort one would choose
for our Reginald, of course. Which is why I thought of
you at once, and not only because of the name, mind
you. It is, to be quite honest, your problem now, and not
dear Reginald’s-”

“If you please, ma’am,” Richard interrupted, “I fail
to understand you.”

“Ah! Well-it seems we must believe Reginald has
compromised a girl. A most impressionable young
woman, to be sure, but a gently-bred miss, nonetheless.
Her uncle is being frightfully tiresome.”

Richard looked through the tall French doors and out
at the courtyard garden. This was not the first time
Reggie had pursued the temptation of a pretty face.
Could his cousin never exercise any judgment? Despite
a ready supply of willing muslin, he persistently
ignored the strictures, though to date he had not strayed
into the more carefully tended folds of the eligible.

When Richard’s attention returned to his aunt, he
realized why mannerly behavior was so rare in his
cousin. Excuses flowed as bountifully as her devotion.

“How much does this offended personage want?” he
asked wearily.

Geneve shrugged. “My dear Richard, if it were only
that, I should scarcely have had to trouble you this
morning. No, this particular gentleman, this Alfred
Ashton, is most insistent on a wedding. He is …
beside himself, and has even spoken of a special
license.”

Richard barely restrained a smile. It seemed that
dear Reginald had finally been snared. But Geneve was
not smiling.

“You needn’t look so superior, Richard, as this concerns you as well”

“In what way, madam?”

“Apparently Reginald used your name.”

“Used it?”

“The Ashtons believe the Viscount Langsford is
Richard Marksley. ‘Tis R.E. Marksley, Richard Evan
Marksley, they intend to bring to heel, and not my son,
Reginald Falsworth.”

Richard’s hands tightened into fists. “Where is
Reggie now?”

“Reginald? Why, he left for Ireland yesterday”

“And my dear cousin told you that he used my
name? Why would you not simply acquaint these people with the truth?” His anger summoned a stubborn
line to Geneve’s lips.

“Reginald left me a note with an apology.”

“How considerate of him to apologize to his mother.
Although-if I understand you-at least three other
people are more deserving of that courtesy”

“You are too sharp, Richard. You always have been.
And how was Ito tell the Ashtons the truth? Think what
that would mean for Reginald!”

“Believe me, I am quite aware of what it might mean
for him.”

“You have never understood the responsibility he
faces as Cyril’s heir. All the demands of position, no
small matters I assure you, scarcely balance the benefits you are so fond of pointing out to him. In fact, I
have wondered if you might even resent him.” As she
surveyed her smoothly-gloved fingers, Richard
schooled his features. He had heard the charge on more
than one occasion; its injustice no longer rankled. He
had determined long ago that he would much rather be
the gentleman he was than Reginald Falsworth
Marksley.

“In any case, madam, why are you here?”

Geneve looked astonished. “I have already told you.
You must marry the girl. Or at least set to rights the family’s standing. This mustn’t be bruited about.
Permit Ashton to have the banns published, or some
such. Perhaps you shall be clever enough to stop a marriage. I know you can be terribly clever, Richard, with
your head for figures and your little journal.”

“You would endorse my substitution for Reggie?”

“Why, I believe it most necessary. You are, after all,
R.E. Marksley. And you are his cousin.”

“But I am not the man, madam. Hardly a minor consideration. Ashton’s niece must have found something
appealing in Reggie. Or, should I say, in his behavior.”

Geneve had not listened. She fingered her skirts and
added proudly, “Reginald has more than a title to recommend him, as you well know. He is such a handsome, good-natured young man. ‘Tis no surprise to me
that the ladies are quite wild for him.”

“You wisely use the plural, madam. This is not the
first time Reggie has made promises to females, promises he had no intention of keeping. Unfortunately, he
has only one cousin whom he can leg-shackle. What
would you propose he do with the next adoring
damsel?”

“You’ve no call to be impertinent, Richard. When I
come to you for help, I should expect more. But you can
only criticize-” She probed her reticule for a linen
square. “We have asked nothing of you. Nothing-after
all we have done for you. This is your cousin, your only
cousin, who has been like a brother to you. How can
you turn your back on him?”

She managed to squeeze a single tear from her
beseeching eyes. Richard watched her with little tolerance and less feeling. Reggie had been sly, spoiled, and
cruel all his life. It was true that he and Richard were of
an age, but far from brothers.

“I have one suggestion, my dear aunt. And that is
that you and Mr. Ashton await Reggie’s return from
Ireland. Let him explain himself to the girl. Perhaps she
still believes he is fond of her. Once disabused of that
notion, no rational being would have him.”

“But you simply do not understand. Reginald compromised Miss Ashton. They were alone together, they
were seen. Her wishes are of no consequence. No consequence at all. Her uncle insists on a wedding.”

Richard stared accusingly at his aunt. “The young
lady’s virtue…?”

“Is unquestioned! Really, Richard, ‘tis indelicate of
you even to ask. Reginald is your cousin, and a gentleman” She avoided his gaze. “You must not draw such
conclusions, merely because this has happened so precipitously. Just before Reginald left.”

“I am certain his departure was just as precipitous.”

Geneve sat very straight. “He wrote that his plans for
Ireland were made months ago. ‘Tis beneath you to
imply that he would so deceive us”

“As he has certainly deceived the Ashtons?” As
Geneve started to pout, Richard pressed her. “When
does he intend to return?”

“In two months.”

“Two months?” Abruptly, Richard paced, moving to
the garden doors and moodily staring out at the small
courtyard. The morning sun was beginning to warm the
gravel walk. A few roses lingered in the autumn air.
They seemed to mock his confinement. He knew he
would have to deal with this as he had dealt with everything else. Yet still it infuriated him.

Reggie would have thought it all a grand joke-to
pose as his cousin, then flee the country. He must be
having a good laugh just now. And Richard hoped
Reggie choked on whatever expensive Madeira he was
no doubt at that moment imbibing.