“How do you know?” I asked. “That he laughed?”
She pursed her lips, and a quick glance told me that I had struck upon something unexpected—information that Mrs. Harold was reluctant to share. “I spent the night at Markham Hall that night,” she said. “I had taken ill shortly after dinner, and Mr. Markham extended his hospitality until I was recovered enough to journey home. That morning, I heard the servants talking about it.”
“So the servants saw him in the field with Violet’s body?”
“Yes,” was the hesitant, cagey answer.
She was lying about something, or at least omitting part of the truth. But why?
We rolled up on Markham Hall, shaded and stony even in the bright sunlight, and I was surprised to see Mr. Markham striding towards us before Mrs. Harold had stopped the carriage. In the speckled light that drifted into the courtyard, I could see the faint highlights of gold hidden in his dark hair. He came up beside the carriage and, without a word, slid his hands around my waist and lifted me from the phaeton. He deposited me on the ground, keeping one arm firmly around me.
“Thank you for returning our Miss Leavold,” he said, his voice clipped. “I’m much in your debt.”
“Of course, Mr. Markham. Although she seemed to have wandered from the fold quite willingly.” I couldn’t quite decipher her tone—half-teasing, half-challenging, laced through with something else. Bitterness?
I looked at her as she squirmed under Mr. Markham’s piercing gaze. It was the town gossip confronted with one of her subjects, the gossip feeling both shame and judgment, I decided. Of course, he wouldn’t be unaware of the things she said about him.
Mr. Markham’s arm tightened around me. “I’ll have to keep a better eye on her in the future. Thank you again.”
I knew the polite thing would be to invite Mrs. Harold inside for refreshments, but that didn’t seem to be on Mr. Markham’s agenda. He gave Mrs. Harold a short bow and then turned away, taking me with him and leaving her to drive herself home alone.
“What exactly did you think you were doing, wandering off alone? I had no idea where you were—”
“What I do with my day is none of your business.” I shook off the arm that was still wrapped around my waist. We were in the foyer now, which was several degrees cooler than the outside, and much darker. A portrait of some indeterminate ancestor stared at us moodily, and a low murmur of conversation and laughter told me that the guests were in the drawing room nearby. Which meant that Molly would be nearby. I took a breath and lowered my voice. “I prefer not to spend the entire day indoors. Not in the summer. And you didn’t seem to mind my exploring earlier in the week.”
He softened. “You’re right. I don’t expect you to conform your day to my presence. But I woke up expecting you to be around and you weren’t.” He stepped closer. “I am just so used to getting what I want that when it doesn’t happen, I don’t know what to do with myself.”
“I think it’s a little unfair to want me to linger around you all day when…” I trailed off. He didn’t know that I had overheard him and Molly last night and maybe it was better to keep it that way.
His eyes narrowed. “When what?”
“Nothing.”
“Ivy…”
The sound of my Christian name on his lips was intimate, proprietorial. Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to hear him say it, over and over again.
“Ah, hello you two,” Silas said, exiting the drawing room. “Miss Leavold, I’m glad to see you’ve returned to us.”
He took my hand and made to kiss it, but Mr. Markham stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder. “That’s enough.”
“Enough what? I’m only being polite!” But his protestations were belied by his wide grin.
Mr. Markham merely shook his head and steered me into the drawing room. I didn’t want to go, didn’t want to see Molly O’Flaherty’s pretty befreckled face after having heard her with Mr. Markham, but his hand was so warm on my back and the desire to be near him so urgent and overwhelming that I was doing as he bid even before I knew I was doing it.
The day passed in the warm torpor of the wealthily bored. There were half-hearted games of cards and suggested picnics or outings, a lazy lunch that dragged on for hours, lots of needlework that was picked up only to be immediately thrown to the side. And all the while, I made a point to avoid Molly and Mr. Markham, to avoid even looking at them, because I could not look at Mr. Markham’s face without imagining what it looked like last night. Were his eyes closed when Molly kissed him? His cheeks flushed?
I felt my own face warm whenever these thoughts intruded, and finally, an hour or so before dinner, I claimed a headache and went to my room. I tried to read, I tried to pace, nothing helped rid me of the twin burdens of desire and jealousy. One fed the other until I was entirely consumed by both.
A few hours passed and there was a knock at the door. Adrenaline shot through me—eagerness and fear—and I walked to the door as calmly as I could force myself, only to open it and find one of the lady’s maids there. She handed me a note, curtsied and left.
It was from Mr. Markham. I sat down and unfolded it with slightly shaking hands.
I expect you to come down after dinner.
—J M
A thrill shot through me at this confirmation that he wanted my company, but at the same time, I felt a stab of irritation. I wasn’t going to be at his beck and call, answering his every whim, not when he had Molly O’Flaherty to do it for him. And besides, I still felt somewhat outside of the group, left out of their jokes and their shared stories, a novice when it came to their libertine games.
