Mary And The Marquis. Janice Preston

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СКАЧАТЬ but it is not I who has been ill. You must know it is good for you—it is all your stomach can cope with, after eating nothing for days. And if you do not eat, your strength will take longer to return and you will have to remain confined to your bed. Please, try and eat a wee bit.’

      As he ate another spoonful, Mary pondered her physical reaction to him. Why did she still desire him, despite the tales of his past? There was no room for such a man in her life, not even for a short time. She was a mother with responsibilities and she would not expose her children to another man who resented their very existence.

      To be fair, although Rothley had been a touch tetchy—and could he be blamed after what had happened?—there had been no angry outbursts such as she had been led to expect. At least, not yet, but then her father had never been as bad when sober. It was only when drunk... Mary suppressed a shudder at the memory. She recalled the stench of alcohol when she had found Rothley. Had he been drunk that day?

      She had, out of necessity, become adept at avoiding confrontation, whether with her father or, more recently, with Michael, whose temper had spiralled in tandem with his drinking. He had become ever more violent and the more Mary had been forced to adopt the role of appeaser, the more she had resented the necessity to repress her own feelings in order to pacify him.

      Was the pattern set to continue whilst she remained at the Hall? And what about when she and the children arrived at her old home? Her father was unlikely to welcome her with open arms after she had shamed him by running away on the eve of her seventeenth birthday. Yet again she questioned her wisdom in going back, but what other choice did she have? Homelessness and starvation? The workhouse? No choice at all. At least she would be there to protect her children. There had been no one to stand between Mary and her father when he turned to drink after her mother had died.

      Were there no men, she wondered, with something akin to despair, who did not believe it their right to intimidate and abuse those who had no choice but to pander to their every whim?

      ‘Mary, Mary...’

      The quiet words pierced her reverie and she came back to the present with a gasp.

      ‘Will 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 СКАЧАТЬ