Page 17 of Marie’s Merry Gentleman (The Bookshop Belles #2)

CHAPTER 16

The Sword of Damocles

M rs Ellwood fled the room, the crockery shaking noisily on the tray as she did so. Marie buried her face in her hands, her world collapsing around her as she began to panic. She was such a fool to want to know more, and now her curiosity had hurt those darling, innocent boys. Lord Renwick had told her enough to let her know the true reason for his untrusting nature and his poor parenting of the boys. But she’d gone and destroyed her good rapport with Mrs Ellwood, and possibly cost the dear woman her livelihood.

And she’d damaged George and Richard beyond repair!

Badly done, Marie. Badly done! she castigated herself. Why could she not have left well enough alone? Mrs Ellwood had filled in a few extra details, confirming Renwick’s version of events, but she had not doubted Renwick was telling the truth. She had not doubted him in any case. What man would admit to devastation like that if it weren’t true? She should have been satisfied with that!

The utter betrayal on those young boys’ faces burned like acid in her throat.

She had to leave. She could not stay for one moment longer, throwing this family’s hospitality and kindness back in their faces.

She was wrecking everything.

“What’s the matter?” It was Renwick at the doorway.

Marie dragged in a breath but the words would not come.

Hiding her face so she would not have to look at him, she heard his footsteps growing closer.

“I’m such a fool,” she said into her hands, her words coming out in a sobbing rush.

“Don’t blame yourself,” he said. “How did it happen?”

He was sounding remarkably calm and, dare she hope, sanguine about the entire event. This was completely the opposite of what she expected. She had expected him to lift her bodily and throw her down the front steps.

She brushed her hand over her face and looked over to him. He was waiting for her answer, and she had none.

He pointed to the floor, to her broken glasses, “Did someone break your glasses?”

Fresh tears burst forth at his assumption. He thought she’d become distraught over her glasses, rather than the real reason.

“I’m so silly,” she said, making up an excuse. Anything to spare the boys from any more anguish. “I didn’t see them and … I rolled over them.”

She had to lie, and it sat badly with her. She had to, because admitting the truth would only cause more heartbreak for all concerned. It could also drag Mrs Ellwood into the story, and that would not do. What a horrible mess she’d made of things!

“Right, hmm.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, then bent down to pick up the broken pieces and tuck them away. He appeared to be lost in thought, as if there was something he wanted to talk about. Then he made the most charming smile and wished her a good morning before he walked out.

Marie was terribly confused, which only added to her despondency. She needed to find the boys and explain things, but knowing the mess she’d just made, she could very well make it worse.

She had to keep busy, otherwise she’d go mad. But of course, she couldn’t read anything because she’d broken her glasses.

She’d done too much walking in the past few days and her ankle was hurting again. Damn and blast it, she needed to find the boys and talk to them. She needed to find out exactly how much they’d heard.

She got to her feet and tried to reach the doorway. The moment she put her weight on her bad ankle, pain lanced her leg. She swore in French to help with the invisible knives stabbing her.

Hobbling, she reached back for the wheeled chair and rested there.

Knitting. The knitting would help. Even without her glasses, she could hold the scarf out at arm’s length and get a good idea of progress, and the rest she could do with her eyes closed.

With her good leg, she pushed her wheeled chair over to the window for better light. That’s when she saw Lord Renwick cantering off on Caesar. At this distance, she could see him clearly and he seemed to be smiling to himself, which only added to her swirling confusion.

She spent the next several hours furiously knitting, as penance for being a harbinger of such terrible news to the boys.

Nuncheon came but the boys did not. Marie desperately wanted to talk to them and apologise but that was impossible if they didn’t show up. Mr Charles arrived and made the excuse that they both appeared to have developed colds. He then started apologising because he assumed they must have caught their colds from him.

If by colds he meant emotional pain, then perhaps he was correct, but they’d caught that from her, not their tutor.

“Their faces are red and their noses are very stuffy,” he said as Mrs Ellwood came in.

“I’ll check on them at once,” the housekeeper said, catching Marie’s gaze. “They need good food to keep their strength up.”

“The poor things,” Marie said, truly meaning it, but for completely different reasons than a head cold. She’d done this to them, and her appetite vanished faster than one could say ‘guilty conscience’. Perhaps Mrs Ellwood would be able to bring them some comfort? She truly hoped so.

She pushed herself back to her room after nuncheon and picked up her knitting, furiously adding rows. The light from the window darkened as a heavy storm blew in, turning the skies foul to match her mood.

If only she’d been content with Renwick’s version of events, she would not be feeling like this.

Well, she’d feel awful, but only for the earl, not for the pain she’d inflicted on George and Richard.

What a nasty thing the countess had done by naming her first born after her lover and herself, a permanent reminder of infidelity on her part and no doubt a constant thorn in Renwick’s side.

A headache formed as Marie tried to focus on the needles. Holding them out at a distance wasn’t helping any more. If she didn’t put the scarf down, she’d make a total mess of it.

She heard rather than saw a horse arriving. She manoeuvred onto her knees to look out the window to see it was Lord Renwick, charging back home on Caesar.

He was grinning, looking incredibly pleased with himself. As if riding in a snowstorm was a pleasurable thing.

A short while later, Mrs Ellwood appeared and said, “His lordship has asked me to bring you to the library.”

The housekeeper still looked nervous and worried.

Marie herself felt the same. “I’ve said nothing, and I’ll say nothing,” she whispered. “How are the boys?”

“Won’t talk at all.” Mrs Ellwood made a face. “I’ll keep them fed, but that might be the best I can do right now.” Grasping the back of Marie’s chair, she steered her out of the room.

In the library, Mrs Ellwood made a quick bob and dashed out of the room as if her feet were on fire.

“I went to Carlisle,” Renwick said, a smile fixed in place.

“Oh?” Marie said, wondering what errand could have taken him so far. “That’s a long way, in the storm no less.”

“The storm only came on late, and Caesar knows the way home. He’s a strong horse and knows the hills. I bought you some new glasses,” he said.

Speechless with gratitude and confusion, she stared at him. “You did?” How incredibly generous of him!

“Well, yes, but…” he started and stopped a little, “I didn’t know what sort, so I bought several pairs and I hope one of them might help a little.”

A great sob of appreciation burst out of her, and she buried her face in her hands again. Would she never stop crying? Guilt was dragging her into an abyss of shame and Renwick was being so incredibly gallant.

“Have I done the wrong thing?” he asked. “Only, I saw how desolate you were because you can’t read without them. I wanted to see you happy again.”

Could he be any more wonderful? Did he have any idea how badly she’d betrayed him within a day of him baring his soul to her?

“Try them on,” he urged, holding out a pair.

She did, but her tears fogged them immediately. He held out a handkerchief and she dabbed at her face and tried again. Oh dear, these glasses made the room swim about. She put them down.

The next pair were good, and she could see more detail in his face. She picked up a nearby book and could make out the text if she held it out. These might work if the others were no good.

The third pair were perfect, perhaps even a little better than the broken pair had been, and she wanted to cry again at the incredible gesture. His face shone happily in front of her, in handsome detail. Seeing his kind face only made her feel more guilty. Should she confess now and get it over with? But it would break his spirit and ruin this most perfect moment.

“These are perfect,” she managed to choke out, somehow, and his beam of happiness made fresh tears flow down her cheeks.

“Really, Miss Baxter,” he chided gently, “I should not have ridden all that way if I had known my gift would turn you into a watering-pot!”

He had completely the wrong idea, but if he was happy, he should be allowed to enjoy it. A confession now would make him miserable too. She could only shake her head and dab at her eyes with his handkerchief.

He shook his head kindly and said that perhaps she was sickening with a cold too, she had much better rest this evening rather than sit with him.

Oh yes, those famous ‘colds’ doing the rounds of Alston Castle. Terribly contagious they were, she bleakly told herself.

“After all, you must be healthy by Twelfth Night, and it is nearly upon us,” he said.

Now he was confusing her into the bargain. “Twelfth Night, why?”

“Ah, I forget you are not from these parts,” he said with a beaming smile. “We have a great tradition of Twelfth Night where there must be exactly twelve guests at dinner, no more and no less, and I have planned for you to be one of the twelve.”

She managed a weak smile, wondering how in the world she could settle her emotional turmoil by then. “You honour me,” she murmured.

“It is my pleasure to have you here. Come, Miss Baxter, let me push you back to your room and call Mrs Ellwood, you do not seem quite yourself. Did you overdo it walking up and down stairs? Is that why you’re back in the chair?”

“Yes, alas, we had too much fun playing games upstairs. George and Richard were so caring, helping me down the stairs. I must have overexerted myself.”

He made a slight frown and said, “Do you need ice? There is plenty just outside the door.”

“I might at that,” she said.

“I’ll get you back to your room and call Mrs Ellwood,” which he promptly did.

Mrs Ellwood arrived with Morag, who was promptly sent out to fetch a pail of snow. Mrs Ellwood fussed and clucked like a mother hen, and made great theatre of sending his lordship on his way as they had things well in hand.

The moment the earl left, Mrs Ellwood said, “Is all a’right?”

“I said nothing,” Marie whispered in return.

The housekeeper replied with a quiet, “Thank you.”

When Morag came back, they set to icing her ankle and the cold helped a great deal.

Mrs Ellwood produced the bottle of laudanum again and raised her eyebrow in question.

“It’s so much better already. I shall abstain.”

Morag was singing softly to herself, oblivious to the anxiety of her companions. Marie was almost jealous.

When they cleared off the ice, her ankle did feel much better. Mrs Ellwood and Morag helped her dress for bed and she was grateful to be left alone again.

Now she could properly wallow in her self-inflicted misery.

Over the next few days, her ankle improved some more so she approached the twins’ rooms to speak with them, but neither of them would talk to her. They barely even talked to Mr Charles, who murmured in some concern that they were talking only to each other in a strange made-up tongue he called ‘twin language’.

“They haven’t used that since their mother passed,” Mrs Ellwood muttered darkly, with a sidelong glance at Marie.

“Will they talk to you yet?” Marie asked the housekeeper when Mr Charles had left.

“No.” Mrs Ellwood sank into a chair, deep concern on her face. “I don’t know what to do, Miss Baxter! At least they’ve started eating again, which is a good sign, they had me right frightened when they wouldn’t eat for the first day or so! But they’ve not said a word to Mr Charles, nor to Lord Renwick.”

“I think,” Marie said slowly, hoping desperately that she was correct, “that they are working through it by themselves. They have each other, and it’s said twins do have a strange bond. Perhaps each other is all they need.”

“Lord have mercy, Miss Baxter, I do hope so.” The housekeeper dabbed at the corner of her eye with her apron. “Those boys are everything to me. And I don’t want to lose my place, wherever would I go, at my age?”

“You would come to me,” Marie said firmly. “I shall give you my address, and if ever you have need, you shall write to me and I will pay your fare to Hertfordshire, and my sisters and I will give you a reference, and find you an excellent position with a lovely family.”

Mrs Ellwood managed a smile. “Well, that’s right kind of you, miss.”

“It is the least I can do!” Marie insisted, knowing very well that the housekeeper would not be in such a perilous position if Marie had not pressed her for more details in the first place. “But I already told you, I will take the blame. His lordship cannot fire me, after all, since I am not in his employ. And it really is all my fault.”

“I still shouldn’t have said anything. But it was almost a relief to talk about it, mind, after all these years.” Mrs Ellwood shook her head. “Too big a secret to keep forever, Mr Martin and me have always thought. The boys would have to know one day. Perhaps it’s better now, while they’re young and resilient.”

Resilient or not, Marie rather thought they might never have had to know, but she did not disagree, recognising that Mrs Ellwood was carrying just as much guilt as Marie herself over the matter.

“Well.” Mrs Ellwood clapped her hands together, dismissing the subject. “Morag and I picked out another gown for you to wear tonight for the Twelfth Night dinner. Shall I help you into it?”

“Is it pink?”

“No, and I’ll be talking to his lordship about getting every trace of that blasted colour out of this house, believe me!” Mrs Ellwood nodded emphatically. “Take all those gowns down to Carlisle and sell them, I will. Not a skerrick of pink left about the place!”

Her determined expression made Marie laugh a little, and then Mrs Elwood brought out a dress so lovely it made Marie gasp. It was a soft silvery grey, with darker grey stitching all over the skirts, and beautiful white Brussels lace at the cuffs.

“Oh, my goodness.” Marie touched the lace reverently. “How beautiful!” She would wear this dress and enjoy every moment. It might be the last time she ever had the chance to wear such finery.

“Let’s try it on you, miss.”

The dress fit very well, much as the others had, requiring only a little tuck here and there from Mrs Ellwood’s clever needle to make it perfect on Marie. She swished the skirts about her legs, hearing the rustle of the expensive silk and satin. “Thank you so much, Mrs Ellwood.” Impulsively, she gave the housekeeper a hug. “You have been so very kind to me from the moment I arrived. It has been lovely to find such a good friend here.”

“Ah!” Mrs Ellwood hugged her right back, her cheeks flushing. “It’s been a pleasure to have you here, Miss Baxter. You’ve put more smiles on his lordship’s face these last weeks than I’ve seen since he was a boy, I’ll tell you true.”

Marie couldn’t quite believe that to be the case, but she hugged the words to herself anyway. Carefully, she made her way with only a slight limp to the great room. The Yule log was down to the last few inches now but it was still burning, a good omen for the coming year.

As she entered the room she was pleased to see the Charles family again; the elder Mr and Mrs Charles with their tall older son were there talking with Renwick. Two older ladies were seated on a chaise, and Renwick came forward to greet Marie and took her over to introduce the ladies as the Misses Tully, two sisters who lived in Alston.

“They were rather dear friends of my mother,” Renwick said, smiling down at the two ladies.

“Indeed we were!” Miss Agnes Tully, the elder of the two, beamed at Marie. “And Renwick has been telling us about your bookshop, my dear! Do sit down and tell us all about it.”

Charmed, and pleasantly reminded of dear Miss Yates from Hatfield, Marie accepted the offered seat between the sisters and engaged happily in conversation about books. It had the delightful effect of making her feel only marginally less guilty about the damage she’d done to George and Richard.

The younger Mr Charles appeared and was greeted with delight again by his parents and brother; Morag slipped into the room to serve drinks and stared blatantly at the elder Charles brother, Andrew, who stared with a grin right back. Watching the pair of them promised to be quite entertaining, Marie thought, and the Misses Tully were not slow to notice the young couple either.

The last four guests to make up the twelve for dinner were shortly announced, the Stamford family, who Miss Elsie Tully confided were the nearest resident gentry family. A handsome couple in their middle years, Sir Malcolm and Lady Stamford, a young man of perhaps eighteen, and a very pretty young lady of around twenty years. One glance at Miss Stamford’s blonde ringlets, blue eyes and pink gown and Marie winced; she was uncomfortably reminiscent of the last countess, Marie thought.

Renwick, however, did not seem to notice the resemblance, as he bowed politely over Miss Stamford’s hand.

At dinner, Marie found herself seated between the young Master Stamford, who appeared entirely speechless and applied himself only to his food, and Mr Andrew Charles, who spent the evening staring at Morag whenever the maid was in the room. The only thing that saved Marie from boredom was Miss Agnes Tully seated directly across the table, who did not adhere to convention by talking only to the people on either side of her, but addressed her conversation to the table at large.

At the head of the table, Miss Stamford and Lady Stamford sat on either side of Lord Renwick, and Marie could not keep from stealing glances in that direction, especially as Miss Stamford’s loud titters of laughter rang out regularly. Renwick appeared to be enjoying the young lady’s company. She was certainly enjoying his attentions, from the smiles wreathed across her pretty face.

What are you doing, Renwick? You’re making the same mistake again!

At once, Marie chided herself. It was unlikely in the extreme that Miss Stamford shared any traits beyond blonde prettiness and a fondness for pink with the previous countess, and it was uncharitable of Marie to assume that she might.

But it did seem that Renwick tended to admire feminine beauty of a very specific type, one which Marie herself was far from embodying. She felt like a dull brown sparrow beside Miss Stamford, not to mention that the younger girl seemed to enjoy being the centre of attention.

And then, of course, Miss Stamford was the one to find the bean in her cake and be declared queen for the evening. Marie began to feel quite invisible. Not least because the pretty blonde had barely even deigned to acknowledge Marie at their introduction, and had not so much as glanced in her direction since. She hadn’t looked in any direction except at Renwick, and he seemed perfectly happy to give her his full attention in return.

The elder Stamfords were obviously delighted at the situation, exchanging pleased glances and conspiratorial grins. It could not be more obvious that they hoped their daughter might become the next countess.

At the conclusion of the meal, instead of the sexes separating, Renwick invited everyone into the music room, where the twins were to come down to give a small reprise of their carol concert for the company. Marie took her seat at the pianoforte with a little trepidation - they had not practised in days, not since the twins overheard her conversation with Mrs Ellwood - but she need not have worried. The twins performed their parts perfectly, and both even gave her a small smile at the end.

Miss Stamford attempted to make a great fuss of the boys, but they were clearly uncomfortable with this attention from a stranger they had never met, and retreated hastily behind the pianoforte.

“Who is that lady?” George whispered anxiously to Marie.

Thank goodness George was talking to her again, even if it was like this.

“A neighbour, Miss Stamford.”

“She looks like…” Richard looked to his feet and then back up, peeping sideways at Marie. “You know.”

Richard was talking as well, it was a Twelfth Night miracle. “Is that a bad thing?” Marie asked gently, determined not to prejudice the boys against Miss Stamford. If she could be kind to them, and reminded them of their mother, perhaps Renwick marrying Miss Stamford would be a good thing?

“Yes,” George said.

Oh dear. In a whisper Marie asked, “I beg your pardon?” She blinked and glanced about. Nobody stood close enough to overhear. “Why would that be a bad thing?”

George and Richard looked at each other and George said in a low voice, “Mama didn’t care about us! She only cared about being beautiful and admired. We hardly knew her! It was always our governesses who looked after us, and then she sent us away to school when we were six, to be rid of us!”

Marie honestly did not know what to say. She looked at the two young boys in front of her, both almost as tall as she despite their youth, and felt desperately sorry for them. A mother who did not care for them, a father who wasn’t sure if he was even their father - for all their privilege and high birth, they were tragic figures.

“Come with me?” she asked quietly.

They nodded and she felt the thaw between them as if it was a physical thing. Taking their hands, she led them into the adjacent room, her bedroom-parlour. “I have some Twelfth Night gifts for you.”

“But how?” Richard’s eyes went quite round as she retrieved the two parcels, wrapped in brown paper she had begged from Mrs Ellwood. “You haven’t been able to go to any shops!”

“I made them.” She offered the parcels, and the two boys looked at each other before eagerly beginning to unwrap them.

Inside each parcel was the scarf Marie had laboured long hours over.

“These are wonderful,” George said softly, looking at his scarf - blue to match his eyes - and then he dropped it on the chaise and ran to throw his arms around Marie and hug her tightly. “Thank you so much.”

“You are most welcome.” She hugged him back, glad that the tension between them seemed to have broken. They were friends again, and all was well with the world. Richard wrapped his rust-coloured scarf around his neck and came to join in the embrace too, grinning from ear to ear.

“We don’t have anything for you,” Richard said.

“You have given me wonderful gifts; your company, sharing your home with me, and your lovely songs for our concert. I couldn’t want anything more.” Marie ruffled his dark hair. She hesitated. “About what you heard the other day,” she began.

Instantly, both boys disengaged and backed away.

“We didn’t hear anything,” Richard said.

“Not a single thing,” George agreed.

“But…”

Their faces turned still and remote, and they looked just like Renwick when something had annoyed him. Something told Marie she would not get another word out of them on the topic.

“Very well,” she said. “I wish you both a happy Twelfth Night… and now off to bed with you.”

They were all smiles again, and hugged her again before dashing off, leaving Marie wondering if they fully intended to keep the secret forever. If so, Mrs Ellwood would be safe, thank goodness… and she might retain Renwick’s good opinion, at least enough that he would continue to order from the bookshop after she went home. Which was all she might expect, Marie told herself sternly as she re-entered the music room and saw Miss Stamford laughing up at Renwick, her hand on his arm.

The rest of the evening Marie spent quite miserably watching Miss Stamford monopolise Renwick’s attention, alleviated only by the entertainment of seeing Mr Andrew Charles go quite boldly up to Renwick and ask his permission to court the maid Morag Campbell - while Morag was in the room!

Renwick looked highly amused and said that of course he might, at which point Morag loudly announced there’d be no need for a courtship, they’d send to the vicar to call the banns right away.

Marie had definitely been around Morag for long enough to understand most of what she was saying and giggled into her hand. Miss Stamford looked dumbfounded and confused.

“Unless ye’d care tae visit me kin o’er the border and ha’ an anvil wedding, in which case there’d be no need tae wait for the banns at all?” Morag beamed at Andrew.

The Stamfords all looked scandalised and confused, but the Tully ladies seemed to pick up a fair amount more and appeared delighted to see such a whirlwind romance playing out in front of their very eyes. Mr John Charles in particular looked happy for his elder brother, silently raising his glass in congratulations.

Renwick met Marie’s eyes in a moment of shared amusement, and she smiled back at him, but soon his attention was drawn back to Miss Stamford, who was declaring that as queen for the evening nothing else would please her but that they play cards, and Renwick was to be her partner.

It wasn’t until everyone had made their farewells and departed, and Marie was undressing and climbing into bed, that she realised what the emotion was that had been troubling her ever since pretty, blonde Miss Stamford had walked in and made a bee-line for Renwick.

“I’m jealous,” Marie whispered to herself, horrified. “Oh no. Oh no, no no…” because she had read enough novels to understand that jealousy over a man meant that one’s emotions were very much involved.

I can’t be in love with him. I absolutely, definitely can not!

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” she mumbled miserably to herself.

He’ll never marry the likes of me. So he kissed me twice, what of it? He’s probably kissed a hundred ladies. He’ll marry someone pretty and wealthy and probably from a titled family, not a bookshop owner’s daughter!

Tears began to slip down Marie’s cheeks, and she pulled the covers over her head.

At least her ankle didn’t hurt any more, unlike her heart.