Mary And The Marquis. Janice Preston
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you tell me what you were thinking about?’ he asked, then smiled ruefully. ‘No, of course you won’t. But you looked so very solemn, Mary, sitting there, your thoughts turned inwards, your face so very sad. Can I not help? What is it that fills your eyes with such dread?’
A lump formed in her throat, but she was determined not to cry. She stretched her lips in a smile.
‘It is of no matter, my l...sir,’ she answered. She glanced down and saw he had hardly touched his food. ‘Please eat,’ she said. ‘It must be cold by now and that will not improve the taste, I can assure you. The doctor will be pleased if we can report you are eating well when he next visits.’
‘The doctor? You mean Robert Preece? How many times has he visited?’
‘Every day whilst you were fevered, sir.’
Rothley’s jaw tightened as his brow lowered.
Mary tried to quell her trickle of unease. Why should you imagine he’s angry with you? For heaven’s sake, stop being such a ninny! Her disquiet remained, however.
‘His last visit was yesterday morning, a short time before you awoke,’ she added.
Rothley said no more, but finished his gruel, his expression growing more and more disgusted. He settled back with a sigh. Mary busied herself with clearing away the tray, her awareness of his dark gaze following her making her slow and clumsy in her task.
‘Come, Mary, leave that and sit down—’ glancing over, Mary saw Rothley slant a knowing grin at her ‘—on the chair, if you prefer. I would know more of the mysterious lady who happened to be walking through my woods at the very time I had need of her.’
His expression said it all: he knew precisely the effect he was having upon her. Her resolve steadied as she remained where she stood. Did he believe she would fall at his feet in response to his manly allure and handsome countenance? Mayhap he had reason to so believe, after that kiss, but he would find she was made of sterner stuff, she vowed. She would not allow her treacherous body to dictate her relationship with this man.
‘There is naught to tell, sir. I was passing through. There is no mystery.’
‘Where is your destination? Is there no one to worry over your non-arrival?’
Mary laughed and, even to her ears, it had a bitter sound. ‘There is no one to worry over me. I am in no hurry to leave.’
Rothley indicated the chair by the bedside. ‘Please...sit down, Mary.’ He waited until she sat before saying, ‘You still have not revealed your destination, which leads me to wonder why?’
Mary twisted her hands in her lap. How much could she divulge without letting slip the existence of the children? Mrs Lindley and Ellen had both urged her to conceal their presence from Rothley, but had not said why he was so opposed to the idea of children at the Hall. Nor was she inclined to reveal her family name, given the past acquaintance between their fathers.
‘I do not go there by choice,’ she said. ‘I have no alternative.’
‘You claim there is no mystery, yet I find myself more mystified every time we speak. If it gives you no pleasure to go to this place, why go? Why did you not remain in...wherever it is you have travelled from...and find employment there?’
‘I could not remain there, sir.’ It was a weak reply, but Mary could think of no other. She could read the scepticism in his eyes.
‘If you will not tell me your destination, tell me where you have travelled from, Mary, and why.’
‘I am a widow, sir...’
‘That much I do know.’
‘You asked me a question. Be pleased to permit me to answer.’ She was determined not to be cowed by him.
He grinned at her, unabashed. ‘My apologies, Sensible Mary. Please, do continue.’
Mary took a deep breath. She had nothing to be ashamed of. Why should she be ashamed of escaping the dreadful fate her father had planned for her?
‘I come from a village close to Newcastle where...’
‘But that is not where you grew up.’
‘Well, no. How did you...?’
His lips quirked. ‘I detected a hint of an accent, Mary. I guessed you were Scottish.’ His face grew serious, his dark eyes narrowing as he stared at her. ‘Have you really walked all the way from Newcastle to here?’
‘No, not all the way, w— I encountered many generous souls along the way who offered to share their transport. I have been very fortunate.’
‘Your husband failed to leave provision for you? How did you live, before he died?’
‘He was steward to a gentleman and we lived in a cottage on his estate. Michael, my husband, died in a fall and his employer allowed u—me to remain at the cottage. I took in sewing for the household and I also helped with correspondence and other business in return for food and pin money. But then Mr Wen— the gentleman died unexpectedly...’
Mary faltered. They had been dark days, with two young children and losing the one hope she had of remaining independent. ‘His son did not wish to continue his father’s arrangement and I had no other way of earning money to pay rent. I had to leave.’
Rothley’s dark brows drew together in a frown. ‘His father’s arrangement?’
‘Yes. As I said, I did sewing and some letter writing. He entrusted me with both the household and the estate accounts. I have a good head for...’ Mary registered Rothley’s expression and his tone. She was momentarily lost for words. ‘Oh!’ She hauled in an indignant breath. ‘You think...you think...!’
Words failed her. Belatedly, she understood precisely what Rothley implied.
‘I do not condemn you, Mary. The father clearly had excellent taste, but I can understand the son’s reluctance to take on his father’s obligation. I see now the difficulty in obtaining further employment in the area.’
She leapt to her feet, her cheeks burning. Rothley’s hand shot out and grasped her wrist. She twisted and pulled, but could not break free.
‘Wait, Mary, please. There is no need to be ashamed. You said yourself you are only travelling from necessity and that your intended destination is not from choice. I can offer you an alternative. Stay here, with me. I will take care of you.’
He wants me as his whore. He is no better than Simon. As his grip loosened, Mary snatched her wrist free and backed out of his reach. She whirled to face him.
‘Just because I am a widow you gentlemen seem to believe I exist simply to slake your thirst. Well, I don’t! Do you hear me? I shall never...’
She paused, willing her voice not to wobble. ‘I am a respectable woman and I beg leave to inform you I resent your...your...insinuation...that I might have behaved immorally with Mr Wendo— with my employer. He was a lovely gentleman and extraordinarily kind to me and my...my...Michael. I...’
To her horror, tears blurred her vision. She had never imagined Mr Wendover’s kindness to her could be so badly misconstrued. Her breath juddered, loud in her ears. She must get out of here. She ran to the door.
‘Mary...wait...’
She ignored him, slamming the door behind her.
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