Chapter Nine

 

 

For the next couple of weeks, Mariah gave herself permission to luxuriate in the knowledge that she was sharing her life with the most unique man. It had gone beyond a sexual adventure into some strange new territory where Marcus had become essential to her well-being, her happiness—her very existence.

And it was terribly wonderful.

Wonderful, since for the first time she was not alone—in the sense that she had someone who could answer her questions, discuss her concerns with her, treat her as something precious and then take her to bed and fuck her until she melted into a puddle.

Terrible in that it had to end. It was an idyll she could never have imagined in her wildest dreams and yet hovering over it was the shadow of their eventual parting. Because it could not last indefinitely.

The weather turned cool, the clouds moved in and rain began to fall, a sure harbinger that autumn had brought its stranglehold to the countryside. There was work to be done and Mariah, in complete astonishment, watched Marcus throw himself into the simple life of a farmer. He followed Ned around, chatting, learning, helping gather the one or two late crops of vegetables, tending to the animals and generally making himself useful.

She even discovered him with Peg one afternoon, sleeves rolled to the elbows, kneading dough.

He seemed fascinated with every tiny detail of her life, poking and prying into the simplest of chores with enthusiasm.

And every now and again he'd flash her a wickedly handsome grin and ask her to marry him once more.

She would always snort and refuse with varying effectiveness. Most often he'd simply smile. Occasionally he'd shake his head. But his persistence was beginning to wear her down.

What would happen if she said yes?

Mariah shuddered at the mere thought. He would marry her, take her to whatever estates he owned and she'd spend the rest of her life trying to fit into the mold that Lady Camberley occupied. And there'd probably been a Lady Camberley since before time began.

She—Mariah—was a simple woman from a simple background. Yes, she was well-educated. But no education could ready anyone for the aristocracy. It was the sort of thing one had bred into one's bones.

Then there was the question of an heir. She had no idea if she was even able to bear a child. She hadn't during her first marriage. And when her monthly courses had appeared right on schedule, she knew once again there was some doubt about her fertility. God knew she'd tested it recently.

And apparently it had come up short.

When she'd bluntly spoken of her current state to Marcus the night it had begun, he'd simply smiled, gathered her close and asked if she was cramping. Then he tucked her against his body and fallen asleep with his palm lying warmly across her belly.

She had to confess that any minor pains she suffered were eased by his heat, but that didn't change matters.

Staring from the kitchen window at the gloomy weather, Mariah knew that things were drawing to a head. If Marcus didn't leave soon, she didn't know if she'd be able to let him when the time finally came for his departure. Not without losing a part of herself forever.

She'd been hurt enough. She didn't know if she could withstand the devastation of losing him.

That evening, as they sat by the fire, Mariah decided to broach the subject once more. And this time, if at all possible, make it stick even if she had to use the fireplace poker to get it through his thick head.

"Marcus." She rested her hands in her lap and looked at him as he lazed in a matching chair to hers and stretched his feet to the flames. It was a corner of the kitchen they'd made their own when the cool rains had begun.

"Hmm?" His face turned to her and smiled sweetly.

That was unfair. And damn him for knowing it. "We need to discuss matters."

"What matters, my love?"

"Our matters."

He nodded. "I agree. I think the barn roof might need a little work before the worst of the winter sets in."

Mariah gritted her teeth. "I wasn't referring to the barn."

"No?" He blinked at her in surprise. "But it's important. With the storage in there and the latest calf..."

"I know it's important. The rain does leak into the feed bin now and again..." She caught herself before Marcus could distract her. "But those are not the matters I wish to discuss."

"Oh. Well, I'm sorry. I misunderstood. Are all your ladies quite well? I saw Nora Dunnigan when I was in the village yesterday. She tells me—"

"Marcus." Mariah snapped out his name.

"Yes?"

"Shut. Up."

His eyes widened and he stared at her in what would—on another face—have been innocent confusion. On his, it was a sign that he knew damn well what she wanted to discuss and was doing his best to avoid the topic.

"I want to talk about something very important. I need to know when you're leaving."

Marcus remained mum, looking at her with an odd expression in his eyes.

"I know it has to happen. And it should happen soon before the winter sets in." Mariah waved her hands. "Although your presence has been accepted surprisingly well by everyone, you and I both know you can't ignore your duties to your houses or estates or whatever. I don't know about such things." She shrugged.

Still Marcus said nothing.

"You have been chivalrous enough to offer me marriage and time and again I've refused your generous proposals. Again, we both know how unsuitable such a thing would be."

She paused, but no comments were forthcoming.

"So, I ask again. What are your plans? I would suggest that you make them soon. The weather will go downhill from here on. Roads will become a nuisance and then, if there's snow, all but impassable."

Marcus blinked.

"Say something."

He shook his head.

"Why not?"

"You told me to shut up. I'm simply following orders."

Mariah reached for the poker.

He laughed and held up his hands. "All right, all right. You don't need to resort to violence."

"You make it damn hard not to."

"Forgive me?"

How could she refuse him? He sat so comfortably, looking at home and relaxed in the informal atmosphere of her kitchen, for heaven's sake. Once again, her heart lurched just from the sight of him.

It probably always would.

She straightened her shoulders. "This is serious, Marcus."

"I know, love. It would be much easier if you'd just accept my proposal."

"Nonsense. That's the height of absurdity and you know it."

"So you say."

"So I know. We've been over this. I've explained to you why I would make the most unsuitable wife for someone of your status. I've also explained the hundred and one other reasons why we wouldn't suit. I've thanked you politely, thanked you with my tongue between my teeth and come close to smacking you with a cooking pot a few times, but still you refuse to accept my decision." Mariah glared at him. "What the devil is wrong with you?"

Marcus sighed and stood up. "Not a damn thing. Come on. Let's go to bed."

"Oh, good grief." She tossed her hands in the air.

He grinned. "So you'll marry me?"

Mariah frowned fiercely at him even as she gave him her hand and let him pull her to her feet. "No."

Undaunted, he kept on grinning. "That's my girl. Never give an inch."

"You're—you're incorrigible."

"It's all part of my charm." He put a log on the fire, checked that the screen was in place and turned for the door. "But you're right."

"I am?" She paused. "About what?"

"It's time to settle this for once and for all."

"Oh."

"Tomorrow, I think."

"Tomorrow what?"

Marcus put his finger to her lips. "Don't worry about it. I'll take care of everything." He led her upstairs, pausing only to blow out the candles on the way. "It's gone on long enough."

Mariah's heart dropped to her boots as she followed him silently.

So it had come. Tomorrow he would finally leave.

And her life would never be the same.

 

*~*~*~*

 

Mariah had been right, mused Marcus as he rode home late the next afternoon. The winter was fast approaching and the wind had a bite to it that gnawed through his coat to his bones.

He'd hated the flash of pain he'd seen in her eyes when he'd come into the kitchen in the morning and told her he was off to run a few final errands. But Peg had been there and Mariah had done nothing but nod.

However, that flash of emotion told him everything he needed to know. Mariah might not have ever weakened enough to tell him she loved him in so many words, but he knew—just knew—she did. Any schemes he might have in mind...well, they were all justified if the end result took that pain away.

And got him what he wanted at the same time.

A wife.

Now he was returning, his tasks accomplished, the stage set for their final showdown.

And oddly enough, he was nervous.

Not about Mariah or that she didn't love him enough to spend the rest of her life with him. No, she'd shown her feelings every time they touched, every time they loved, in the small things and the large. And above all, she'd shown it in her eyes each time they met his.

It was there, the heat of passion, the warmth of desire, the urgent quickening of something within her that found a mate in his own heart.

A heart that beat faster as he rode around the back of the farmhouse and found Ned finishing up the day's chores.

"Hello, Ned. Bit on the cold side today."

"That 'tis, Sir Marcus. That 'tis." The old man nodded. "You all ready then, are you?"

"I am, my friend." Marcus grinned. "You remember what you and Peg must do, right?"

Ned grinned back. "Aye."

"That's good. Thank you." He tossed the reins to Ned. "Hold him ready. I'll be out again shortly."

With more ceremony than usual, Marcus strode into the kitchen. "Mariah?" He shouted for her, making Peg giggle as she busied herself with pots of something on the stove. He frowned at her as he heard Mariah's step on the stairs and held his finger to his lips. She nodded back.

"What on earth—Marcus, are you all right? You're shouting loud enough to wake the dead." Mariah hurried in, her hair askew. "I was turning out the winter linens."

"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you. I just wanted to tell you I won't be here for dinner tonight. Rogue Chambers has invited me over to the regimental mess and I've rather neglected him, so I thought it would be all right to accept."

"Of course."

He noticed her throat move as she swallowed.

"And there's a chap heading back to London tomorrow. He says I might ride with him if I wish."

She turned away then. "Ah. Well, that'll be nice."

He ached, knowing the pain he must be causing with his words. But it was necessary. It was her own fault, damn her, for being so bloody stubborn.

"Good. I knew you wouldn't mind." He lied through his teeth, of course, but fortunately she was staring in the other direction at the time. "Before I forget, Mrs. Partridge wants to know if you could stop by the vicarage at about five or so. She needs to ask you something about stuffing for the pew cushions."

"Yes." It was a squawk more than an acknowledgement. "I'll take care of it." And she hurried from the room.

"If you don't mind an old body saying so, Sir Marcus, that was downright cruel." Peg shook her head at him.

"It had to be done, Peg. You know that."

"I know, sir. And me 'n Ned'll be ready."

He dropped a quick kiss on the wrinkled cheek. "Couldn't manage without you." He turned. "I must be off. I'll see you in a little while."

Grinning broadly, Marcus strode from the kitchen and back to his horse. "Now, my friend. Now we shall see what this evening brings. And with any luck, you'll get a bit of a rest over the next week or so, because I shall be far too busy riding a much more attractive mount."

The beast snorted indignantly as Marcus swung himself into the saddle. "Don't take it personally."

He casually glanced at the windows and noticed a slight movement behind one of them. "She's watching us. Let's make a dignified departure, shall we?"

With flair, Marcus dug his heels into his horse and wheeled him around, cantering out of the stable yard and onto the road to Calshot.

He could feel Mariah's gaze boring into his shoulder blades, but in spite of the overwhelming urge, he refused to look back.

Not this time.

From this moment on, Mariah was going to have to face the truth on her own.

 

*~*~*~*

 

He didn't look back. Not once.

Mariah moved away from the window as the horseman disappeared from her sight. Suddenly she shivered, feeling more alone than she'd ever done before. Tears stung the back of her eyes, but she refused to surrender to them. She'd not cry. Not now.

Not until he'd gone for good.

Even though he'd chosen to spend what would be his last night away from her, preferring the company of his military friends.

She gulped. It had come, then, the time she knew would arrive. The time when she had to close the door on what had been a perfect interlude. Just as the adventures into free trading of her "lads" had ceased with the onset of the autumn storms, so had the glow of her little romance.

All things must end.

But did they have to hurt quite so much when they did?

"Here you are." Peg walked calmly into the room. "Finished sorting those blankets yet?"

Mariah wanted to scream and rail at her, but she held her peace. "No. Not quite."

Peg nodded. "Never mind. Best you tidy up and go see what Mrs. Partridge wants."

"I could do without that this evening." Mariah stared moodily out the window at the darkening sky.

"Come on, dearie. Can't neglect our duties, now, can we? Where'd we all be if we only did what we wanted, not what we had to?"

Mariah shrugged. "I suppose."

She turned forlornly to see Peg digging in the back of a cupboard. "Look what I found the other day, Mariah. Remember this dress? I took it with me, beggin' your pardon for not asking, of course. Fiddled with the lace. My mam was always a good hand with lace, God rest her soul."

She emerged with a soft gray silk dress, its neckline filled with creamy whorls and tiny flowers artfully blended into the tissue-thin embroidery.

Mariah blinked. "Good heavens. I'd forgotten about that."

Peg smiled. "Why don't you go and tidy up and put it on before you go to Mrs. Partridge? You know what a stickler she is for appearances and her house is always a bit on the hot side. With your woolen pelisse, I think this'll be a treat. Lift your spirits a bit."

"Oh, I don't know..." Mariah ran the fabric through her fingers. "You've done a lovely job of repairing it, Peg. Seems silly to wear it for a trudge to the village."

"Nonsense. You need a bit of cheering up. We'll all miss Sir Marcus when he goes, but we'll manage somehow."

Mariah swallowed, nodded and then embarrassed herself enormously by bursting into tears.

"Aww—" Peg rushed to her and folded her into her arms, cuddling her and making comforting clucking noises. "There, there. Don't take on so."

"He's going away. He's leaving." Mariah wailed her pain into Peg's neck. "What am I going to do?"

Peg patted her shoulder. "We'll go on, Mariah. We always do. It's hard, but you didn't want to marry him, after all."

"I couldn't." Mariah sobbed. "It would have been all wrong for him. I would have been all wrong for him. It would have been a terrible mistake, Peg."

The older woman sighed. "Oh, you poor girl. I suppose you're right. Especially if you didn't love him. He was nice to look at, but there's got to be more than looks when it comes to marriage. If you didn't care for him enough, then you made the right decision."

Mariah was silent for a moment, feeling the tears spill down her cheeks. "I love him, Peg. That's not the problem."

"Then what is?"

Mariah lifted her head. "Can't you see? Can't you understand how far apart we are? He's got all these responsibilities to his title. His name. His inheritance. He's got to have an heir and it should be with somebody who can bring something to his estate, not just a farmhouse and a few chickens. Certainly not a lowly countrywoman. And one who's a widow, to boot."

"What's being a widow got to do with anything?" Peg lifted an eyebrow. "It's not like you gutted your first husband with a carving knife. Although the good Lord knows there was provocation enough."

"I'm not a virgin." Mariah's shoulders sagged. "That's another thing the aristocracy is fussy about."

Peg rolled her eyes. "Lot of nonsense, if you ask me. When a man and a woman find the right things in each other, all the stuff you're babbling about shouldn't matter a damn." She lifted her chin. "And I won't apologize for my language, neither."

Strong fingers poked Mariah in the shoulder. "I doubt too many of those fancy Ton brides are virgins. Even if they are, they pop out the heir and a spare, then go off and do awful things with a lot of men who aren't their husbands. That's what I hear, anyway."

"You've been listening to Nora Dunnigan, haven't you?"

"Mebbe." Peg wrinkled her nose. "Mebbe she's right too."

"Awful things?" Mariah glanced at Peg. "Did she tell you what those awful things were?"

"Even if she did, I wouldn't be repeating it." Peg pulled out a handkerchief. "Now go dry your eyes, wash your face and I'll make sure this dress is fresh for you. Run along. Best thing right now is to take your mind off your problems and if anyone can do that, it's Mrs. Partridge."

Mariah pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and blew her nose. "Maybe you're right."

"Of course I'm right. Put some rosewater on your eyes too. That woman sees anything unusual and she'll dig it out of you with all the skill of a terrier going after a rat."

Peg spun on her heel, leaving Mariah to struggle with a sound that wavered between a sob and a hiccup of laughter. God bless Peg. She was truly the salt of the earth.

There was no help for it—she was going to have to see Mrs. Partridge. And although dress was usually the least of Mariah's concerns, she knew her old gray silk would find favor in the woman's eyes. The vicar himself, of course, was above such worldly considerations.

What he lacked, his wife more than compensated for.

If nothing else, it would pass the time until Marcus returned. He had to come back, realized Mariah, since he'd left his belongings at the farmhouse.

So there would yet be chance to say a proper farewell.

If only she could do it without weeping, she'd be fine. At least that's what she told herself. And she knew, of course, that it was an utter and complete lie.