The Silent Love (19 page)

"Madam, while I do admit I may have been mistaken to so involve these two young people, I have ruined no one as yet. And with your help, mayhap I can do them a better turn."

"My help?" She looked astonished, yet also interested.

"Yes, for I plan them to wed after I am gone, and I would that you could aid me with Hannah. I know you have been with her these last days and David tells me of her improvement under your hand."

He grinned at her ruefully. "I fear I will need your help more with him, for he has already given me his ultimatum to cease my meddling. He is unwilling to be wed, though he loves her, and has said so." He continued, "He reports as well, that you have sent me to the devil more than once in your anger."        

"And will again, I vow, if you give me cause." She grinned at him in return and poured yet another libation, dribbling the last of the good malt whiskey into their glasses. "Let us toast to an alliance, then. By my grandfathers whiskers, I swear to aid you in this." She lifted her glass as he did and they saluted one another grandly.

"And by my abiding faith in a girl I once loved, by God, I accept."

Clayton Larkspur downed his whiskey then looking pleased that he had not choked upon it in his haste, grew serious a moment later, drawing Mary into his confidence, telling her his secrets. "There is something I would tell you, and you must say nothing, for they cannot know this until I have departed this earth... "

Mary, for her part, listened with a growing hope for her son, and, at the same time, sadness as well. What the Marquis was telling her would mean only his death would release the young lovers.

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David awoke to the sound of the squalling child and lifted himself from the chair, stretching his cramped body, rubbing the aching muscles of his neck. He had spent too much time sleeping in chairs of late, and he was not rested. When the night nurse came bustling into the room and spied him, she looked a bit startled, but saying nothing, went to the child and began to change his nappy.

David retreated, for the odor was noxious, and he was of a bent to be sick... just as a sea fairing man he would never be, for his poor stomach was not adverse only to motion.

He had sat with the babe, rocking him in Hannah's chair, taken a walk in the garden and fought the urge to spy upon his parents. At one point he had gone and sat beneath the window of the study, listening with pleasure to the murmur of their voices. His parents appeared to be getting on well.

When several times he heard his father's laughter, he had been hopeful, but when his mother's golden laugh trilled out as well, he knew all was not lost for them. Mayhap they are too old to become lovers again, David had decided, but friends they will surely be before this night is over.

How little he knew of this truth and how it would affect his life in the days, even years to come. Satisfied with the progress of their impromptu reunion, he had gone once more to the nursery, and fallen asleep in listening to his son's gentle baby breathing.

He now stole from the house and went to saddle his mount, leading him into the moonlight and walking him across the lawn. He paused at the edge of the woods and looked back at the house, his neck prickling as though someone were looking at him. In the window of Hannah's room a small light glowed, and her figure was outlined against the glow of the lamp as she stood looking out into the night.

Feeling her despair drifting on the cool night breeze, he ached to go back and draw her close, hold her and soothe her pain... and his own pain as well. Yet, he could not do so and thus, after a long moment of staring at her, he mounted and went slowly to the cottage, his head bowed in thought. How then, does a man deny his love and his life and leave the place where his heart had been re-born?

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In her bed, Hannah lay sleepless, for the opiates had not been given this day. Mary, who feared a dependence on them, had begun to wean her. Sore and uncomfortable, she shifted her body around, and, finding no peace or pleasure in her lonely bed, arose.

Careful not to awaken Elspeth who snored softly by the fire—she went barefoot to the window. Drawing aside the heavy drapery, she stood breathing in the night, the scent of jasmine wafting to her from the oriental garden below her windows.

She drew back a bit as she spied David walking across the lawns, leading his stallion. Her heart pulsed hard and an aching began in that vicinity as well, for the tall man who was her silent lover.

Her eyes were trained on the moon lit silhouette of his broad shoulders, noticing as well the grace of his long-legged stride. When he reached the trees he was shadowed, yet she knew that he stopped and looked back, for his gaze touched her like a caressing hand.

Shivering in pleasure, she tossing back her head and hugged her arms about her body, his longing reaching out to her from across the expanse of garden and lawn that separated them.

She stepped forward that he might know she was there watching him. She made no gesture that would indicate her knowledge of his regard, yet she wished that she could be so bold. Wished that things were different.

"Milady? What do you barefoot at that open window?" Elspeth scolded as she took Hannah's arm, leading her back to the bed.

"Should you catch a chill I will be in for it, for my cousin—" The maid corrected her speech quickly, "—Ah, I mean,
Mistress Strongbow
, will have my hide nailed to the stable door. Now back to bed with you, and no more going about without your slippers."

Hannah allowed the maid her scold, for she cared not if she caught a chill, but appreciated the servant's position, should she become ill while under the maid's watch. Though she knew a gentle, kinder side of Mary Strongbow, she sensed steel in the woman and a touch of ruthlessness as well. It suddenly occurred to her that sameness between the woman and the Marquis was probably the cause of their separation all those years ago.

She wondered at it and wished for the courage to ask for the story. Her young romantic heart, though broken and torn, was wont to love a good and tender story of love lost, and her very imaginings were a sign that she might be healing... in some things, at least.

Chapter Twelve

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"He has gone to London, I tell you. My stableman, Sparks told me he ordered the carriage early this morning. Said he would have it sent back." The Marquis stood, leaning heavily upon his cane, looking up at the woman who stood on her porch.

In the small garden to his left, a white butterfly flitted among the roses. They were enormous, proud blossoms; some red, some yellow. In a special corner of the garden, a single black rose, just opening, stood out regally from the others. He shifted his stance awkwardly, following Mary's eyes as they, in their turn, followed the butterfly.

She did not speak.

He tried once more. "Have you nothing to say? Did you not talk to him about staying?"

Mary Strongbow looked down at her one time lover at last and the sorrow in her eyes gave him a start. Her words only added to this alarm. "Yes... I spoke with him. He came to me last evening, very late. He cannot stay here Clayton. 'Tis better he is gone just now. Time and distance is what they both need.

"The gossip will die quickly in his absence. Would that my cousin had her mouth sewn shut... but there is nothing for it, the girl is a magpie and her observations much too keen." She paused a moment, then continued in a low voice, "He fears for her mental well being and the taint of gossip upon the babe, should he stay in this place. He tells me that he cannot help his visits, and he is bound to be away from here lest he give away the secret—" She stopped abruptly, realizing the presence of Dobson, the aide.

"Did he not leave a message for me?" The Marquis' eyes and voice held pleading.

"Aye, he gave me a letter for you." Softening her stance, she took pity on him, saying, "Come and sit awhile Clayton. You look weary to death and surely that sun does you no good. I'll fetch the letter... ."

The Marquis moved along the path, aided by Dobson, and climbed the short step to the porch. Once he was seated in the small wicker chair, he sent his aide along to the inn, for a libation. "I may be some time. Return in about an hour. Should I have need before then, I will send someone for you."

Nodding and bowing, Dobson went off down the road at a rather hurried pace. The sun was hot, and the servant was thirsty. The Marquis smiled crookedly as he observed his aide's hasty departure then turned his attention to Mary as she returned, the letter held out to him.

She went to her chair and seated herself, speaking not a word while she waited for him to read it.

'Dear Father, I am sure by now my mother has told you of my decision... "

Clayton looked sharply at Mary, but she looked out over her small garden plot still, so he dropped his eyes again to the page,

"... And I am truly sorry that I had not the courage to tell you face to face. I know that you have wanted my assistance with the estates, and I shall give it, though perhaps not in person.

I promise you that I will oversee the guardianship of the heir, when the time comes, and I hope it will be not for many years. You must understand, father that I cannot stay near her. It can do her no good to see me about the place, feeling about me as she does. I've thought long and hard, and my decision did not come easy. I will be in communication with you very soon.

Once I've established my residence, I will go along to see Maguire and though him, I shall keep appraised of events at the manor. Please forgive my cowardice in not seeing you, but I knew you would want to dissuade me from this course. I wanted not to argue nor be swayed from this decision. Know that I love you, respect you and hope for the same on your part. Regards, David.'

The Marquis handed the letter to Mary and turned his eyes as well to the garden, while she read it. The black rose, its velvet petals opening just a bit, edges curling outward, caught his attention. He had seen such a blossom once, on Hannah's bedside table, when he had visited her on one of his excursions to throw a false trail to the servants.

It would not do were the master never to visit his wife's rooms, and she to produce an heir. His thoughts wandered to the girl, and he knew that, stay or go, David would be the cause of her pain. Mayhap David was right, he thought. Maybe time and distance
were
needed here.

"You would keep this missive? Or shall I burn it?"

"Burn it."

"Yes, it is just as well no trace of their... alliance should be committed to paper, no matter how vague the message. Would you have a glass of port then Clayton?"

Consulting his pocket watch, he replied, "I shall have time for a small glass and we needs discuss the girl." Since his sons return it had become harder for him to refer to Hannah as his wife.

"You soothe her with your presence. I would that you could impart your great wisdom to the child, for she has no mother to comfort her, and I am ill equipped to aid her in this." He paused for an instant, and then plunged on, "Will you help?"

Not speaking, Mary nodded her consent, and touched his shoulder lightly in some sympathy, for she could see that he was driven by his desire to right the wrongs he had caused, but she could see as well, that he did not fully comprehend them.

And so the pair of them sat, working through the tangle of deceit and misery, seeking to aid their child and the woman he loved. Anyone passing the house of Gillian Strongbow might have spied them and wondered at their companionable ease of manner with one another, and, in truth, there were a few who did just that, adding a new slant to the gossip about goings on at the manor house.

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