English Rose Ch. 08

"I owe you an apology, more than one, I'm sure," he started. "I should never have left the way that I did."

"I don't understand," Joan said, sadness at the memory tinging her words. "I thought you would be happy."

"I know," he said. Sitting on the end of the couch, the space between them felt almost too large to bridge. It had taken days but he had finally convinced himself that he had nothing to lose. Sitting in a rented room in the dark he was already alone. But if he took the risk, opened up and shared then maybe he could salvage whatever was left of his marriage. "I would like a chance to explain, if you're willing to listen."

Joan forced herself to consider before answering. More than anything she wanted to hear what he had to say, to believe that he could make it all better with a few words. "I don't know," she said. "Things are different now, Marcus. Whether you want to accept it or not, there is a child to consider and I just don't know if I can do this any more."

Marcus nodded, the lump in his throat catching him by surprise. "I understand and no matter what you decide I will care for both you and the babe."

"I realize you never wanted to marry," Joan said remembering their first meeting. Standing, she added, "I'm just sorry that it came to this."

"Wait," Marcus said, grabbing her hand when she went to step past him. "While it is true that I never thought to marry, the reasons are not what you might think."

"The reasons are not what matters," Joan said as tears began to burn behind her eyes. "Now, if you'll excuse me..." Joan pulled her wrist free and started to leave.

"My father killed himself." Marcus said.

Joan stumbled to a stop.

"I was thirteen when he shot himself," Marcus continued. "I was the one to find him."

Joan collapsed into the nearest chair. "Oh, Marcus," she whispered. "I am so sorry."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I did not mean to tell you in such a way."

Joan waited, she sensed that there was more to the story, more that Marcus wanted to tell her.

"I have made a mess of things," he said with a deep sigh. "The irony is that I knew that I would."

"Marcus?" Joan prodded when he fell silent.

Marcus rose and crossed the room. Pouring himself a drink, he tossed it back before moving to stand at the window. "I owe you an explanation," he said, his back to the room. "After you hear what I have to say you can decide whether you wish to remain here or return home with me.

"My father loved life," he started. "I was raised on stories of my parent's whirlwind love affair. Of how he swept my mother off her feet and married her all within a fortnight. My mother once said that the first year of their marriage was the happiest time of her life. It was also the year I was born.

"Like any child, I had nannies, a governess and instructors but it wasn't unusual for my father to sweep in, gather me and my mother up and whisk us away on some adventure. My father lived for me and my mother," he said simply.

Joan felt her heart clench painfully as she listened.

"Sometimes it was a simple trip to the sweet shop or a afternoon spent viewing whatever latest curiosity had come to London. There were boat rides on the Thames, quick trips to the country for a picnic and even the occasional new pony." Marcus felt the corners of his mouth lift slightly at the bittersweet memories.

"I can't remember exactly how old I was, perhaps seven or eight, the first time my father slipped away. I remember spending the day in town and a new toy sail boat. We returned home and I was desperate to get it out on the water. I remember seeking my father out in his study only to find the door locked and one of the footman shooing me away. My mother told me that my father was tired after our adventure and needed some quiet time. I remember going outside and sailing my boat but something had changed. My mother wasn't as happy. She tried - for me, she tried - but it just wasn't the same without my father."

Marcus finally turned and forced himself to look his wife in the eye. "It was three days before he emerged from his study. He came to see me during my lessons and apologized. Later, he gifted my mother with a new necklace."

Joan touched the teardrop pendant at her throat. "Marcus," she whispered.

"After that life returned to normal, my mother and father were once again happy, their love big enough to include me. But as time went by the adventures came further and further apart while the quiet time lasted longer and longer. Until, in the end, there was nothing but silence."

"I was thirteen the last time I saw my father. The three of us spent the day together, my father finding endless entertainments for me and my mother. Our every whim was indulged until the carriage was overflowing with packages. He even took us to Tattersall's and bought new mounts for both me and my mother. That night it was my father who tucked me in and said goodnight before taking my mother out for the evening. She's never spoken to me about that night but I can imagine the love and attention he lavished on her."

Marcus found himself pulled back in time as memories of that day came flooding back. They were familiar ghosts, the same memories that haunted him and drove him into the darkness. He had been teetering on the brink since learning of his wife's pregnancy, revisiting his past was just the thing to send him careening down into the abyss. Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself that he wasn't that little boy any more.

"We can stop," Joan offered.

Marcus gave her a grateful smile but shook his head and continued with his tale. "We both knew that something wasn't right, felt the edge of desperation that clung to my father but we were both too afraid to say anything. Neither one of us wanted to shatter the fragile happiness that had been missing from my father for so long. The next morning he packed us up and moved us to the country. I remember riding my new mount, my mother on one side of my father and I on the other. Everything was different, my father was happy and lightheartedness. It was only years later that I realized that he'd made his decision by then and the peace wasn't his happiness at being with me and my mother..."

Marcus swallowed the taste of bitterness speaking the truth had left in his mouth. He'd never spoken of the days leading up to his father's death - not even with his mother.

"Our first day in the country he insisted my mother and I take our new mounts out for a ride. I remember him standing in front of the house watching as we rode away and I remember not wanting to go." Marcus could still remember the fresh scent of the country air, his mother riding silently beside him. Neither one of them spoke, coming to some sort of silent agreement when it was time to turn and head towards home.

Marcus stopped to pour himself another drink. "As soon as we rode up I knew something was wrong. The house seemed unnaturally quiet, deserted. No one came to take our mounts or admit us into the house. I found my father in his study, he'd dismissed the servants for the day and then shot himself."

"Oh, Marcus," Joan whispered as tears gathered behind her eyes.

Silence descended over the room. Joan sat absorbing everything she had learned while Marcus stood lost in thoughts of the past.

"I thought your father died in a riding accident," Joan said, breaking the silence.

Marcus looked up. "My father knew what he was about. He chose one of our smaller estates where the local magistrate was a friend of the family. He left...instructions..." Marcus said, his words hard.

"Instructions?" Joan asked, confused.

"There was a letter left on his desk; he had addressed it to me."

Joan was horrified. "Your father left a suicide note addressed to you? But you were just a child!"

Marcus shrugged. "I was old enough to take care of what needed doing," he said but refused to go into the unpleasant details of cleaning up after his father. Those were the darkest memories that haunted him still.

"I understand why you wouldn't want to speak of such painful memories," Joan said. "You have to know that none of this changes how I feel about you. I love you."

Marcus closed his eyes, his forehead dropping to rest against the window. Sometime over the past few days he had come to realize that this was what he wanted. This woman, this child, and the life they could build together. But it was the same path his father had chosen and he would not do that -- to either of them. "I do not deserve you," he said, turning he found her watching him with eyes bright with unshed tears.

"Because of what your father did?" Joan asked. "Marcus, that is ridiculous."

Marcus shook his head. "Not just because of what he did but because of who he was, who I am. I am just like my father," he said, looking pointedly at the pendant nestled between her breasts. "Whatever demons drove my father, whatever darkness lived in him resides in me. I inherited it from my father right along with his blonde hair and blue eyes."

Realization dawned. "You believe you are fated for the same end as your father," Joan said.

"I'm slipping, Joan," Marcus said quietly. "The darkness is swallowing me whole and I can't seem to stop it."

Joan felt helpless. This was beyond anything she had ever experienced. "I...I don't know what to say," she finally admitted.

Marucs gave her one if his famous self deprecating smiles. "You don't have to say anything. I've always known I was a hopeless cause. I never meant to drag you down with me."

"Then why marry me?" Joan asked. "Why tie yourself to me?"

"I seem to recall you were in need of a husband," Marcus evaded.

Joan narrowed her eyes, her lips thinning in frustration. "You and I both know that you didn't marry me out of some noble sense of propriety. You have none."

"Touche," he said but didn't try to tell her she was wrong.

"Bloody hell, Marcus! For once could you please be honest with me? Just once, can you give me a straight answer without any of the posturing."

"I'd say I've been very honest with you today," Marcus said softly.

Joan swallowed back some of her anger. "You're right, I apologize. I can only imagine how hard it was for you to share the truth about your father. I am glad that you told me. But it doesn't change anything between us. We're still in this place where you obviously don't want to be married to me and you don't want this child."

"That's not true," Marcus said. Taking a deep breath, he said, "I married you because it was the right thing to do, because you were strong and beautiful and ready to give up the life you had always planned for yourself rather than marry someone like Weaverly. I married you because you were everything I knew I would never deserve but for one moment of insanity thought perhaps I could have nevertheless."

"Then why did you shut me out? Why did you leave?" Joan asked.

"Because it's what my father did!" Marcus snapped feeling a twinge of guilt when she jumped. Restlessly, he ran his hand through his hair tugging furiously on the ends. "I am no better then he was! My father couldn't survive on his own so he got himself a wife and child, gave them the world and then ripped it all away. I won't do that to you!"

Marcus starred hard at Joan, his eyes bright with too many emotions to name. "I breath easier when you're around. I live to see you smile, twice as much when I know I'm the cause. I step into the house and my heart sinks to find you gone...and I can't live like that! I can't depend on you to be there and I can't survive the darkness that threatens to over take me when you're not."

Stunned, Joan stood speechless. All this time she'd thought he didn't care, that having never wanted to marry his actions were that of a man trying to deal with an unwanted wife. "I didn't know," Joan said. "I thought you didn't want me."

"Oh, I want you," Marcus said, "too bloody much."

"Marcus, I'm your wife. There is no 'too much' where we are concerned. I want to be there for you, I want to share a life with you -- all of it. Marriage isn't just the good times, it's the good, bad and everything in between."

"You didn't sign on for this," Marcus said.

"Let's be honest," Joan said. "Neither one of us knew exactly what we were getting into when we married. You didn't want a wife..."

"Joan..."

"No," Joan said, hand raised to stop him. "You weren't looking to get married. In fact, if I remember correctly you were adamantly against it. As for me, well, you certainly were not what I had imagined for myself."

Marcus frowned. "What do you mean?"

Joan couldn't help but smile at her husband's disgruntled question. "Every little girl dreams of meeting a white knight, a man that will sweep her off her feet. At the very least I had thought to have a more traditional courtship."

"Yes, well, we can thank Weaverly for that," Marcus said. Thinking back on the night he had met his wife, Marcus felt the familiar urge to track down the bastard and do him bodily harm.

"I'm not complaining," Joan said. "I've come to care for you..."

"Earlier you said you love me," Marcus said.

Joan flushed. She hadn't meant to disclose her feelings to Marcus -- at least not yet -- but having done so she wouldn't take it back. "I do love you," she admitted. "So, how we came to be no longer really matters to me. It's what we do going forward that I care about. I want to be with you, Marcus. I want to share my life with you, raise this child and hopefully others and grow old together. But I can't do that when you constantly shut me out."

"I don't want you to see me like that," Marcus said, horrified at the very idea, "and what about our child? Should he be forced to bear witness to his father's slow slide into insanity, gaining a front row seat to his own future? Have you thought about that? About the fact that if my father suffered as I do then there is every chance that I have already condemned our child to the same fate."

Joan shook her head. "It doesn't matter, no matter what happens I will always be there for our child. He or she will never have to go through anything like this alone." Joan rose and went to stand before her husband. "I would be there for you, too, if you'll just let me."

Marcus stared down at her, searching her face.

"What do you have to lose?" Joan asked.

"You."

"If you don't let me in then you've lost me already," Joan said softly.

Marcus was silent for so long that Joan started to wonder if she'd pushed too hard. She didn't want to lose him but she knew that neither one of them could continue as they had been.

"Will you return home with me?" Marcus asked. "I can't promise anything except that I will try."

Joan nodded. "That is all that I am asking for."

Marcus watched as she went to inform Sabrina of her plans to return with him. He felt sick to his stomach at the idea of sharing what had always been a private shame with his wife. He knew that there was no fixing him. Whatever was wrong with him had broken long ago, perhaps at birth, but maybe there was an easier way, a way in which he wasn't alone.

"I would like you to have a word with the servants when we return home," Joan said. They were returning home, riding quietly through rainy streets. Sabrina had made her promise to let them know if there was anything Joan needed. While Douglas had surprised her by having a quiet word with Marcus before slapping him heartily on the back. Since taking their leave, Joan had been sitting beside Marcus in the carriage quietly thinking about the recent past and their future.

"To what end?" Marcus asked

"It wasn't just a locked door between us," Joan said. "You issued orders that effectively put our entire household between us. No matter that I am their mistress, you will always be master of the house and they will ultimately defer to you."

Marcus nodded. "Go on."

"My thought was that if we speak to them now, when we are both clear of head and outline certain...protocols regarding the future then we can avoid such a situation. I will need their help, Marcus, not their hindrance."

Marcus stared out the carriage window. It was a simple request and made all manner of sense. Still, he hesitated to agree.

"They are loyal to you, Marcus. There isn't a one among them that would speak of what happens in our home."

"I am aware of that," Marcus said. Most of the household servants had been with the Edington family for generations, positions passed down from father to son. "I will speak to Dillon when we return."

"Thank you," Joan said, slipping her fingers into Marcus' hand and giving a gentle squeeze. "We will get through this, I promise."

Marcus looked down at his wife and realized that he was starting to believe her. For the first time in years Marcus felt hope.

****

Four months later...

Marcus came home to find Dillon waiting for him.

"Good afternoon, my lord."

"Dillon. I trust all is well," Marcus said handing him his hat and gloves.

"Yes, well, as to that," Dillon started.

"What is my wife asking for now?" Joan was well into her pregnancy and had been experiencing some rather unique cravings.

"My lord," Dillon said his eyes flicking to a point over Marcus' shoulder.

Marcus turned and stared.

Dillon watched as his lordship's lips twitched before finally breaking into a full smile, complete with laughter. "Dillon?"

"Yes, my lord?"

"Where is the door to my study?" Hearing himself, Marcus broke out into fresh laughter.

"Her ladyship ordered it removed," Dillon said lightly.

"I can see that," Marcus said. "Did she happen to say why she wanted the door removed?"

"She thought that perhaps you were feeling a little restless as of late," Dillon said.

Marcus sobered. He had been feeling restless. He hadn't realized that Joan had noticed. "Where is my wife?"

"Upstairs, my lord," Dillon said.

Marcus nodded and with one last look at the empty doorway went to see his wife.

Reclining on her bed, Joan punched at the pillows behind her back in a useless attempt to get comfortable. She had thought to put her feet up and perhaps nap but as soon as she laid down the babe grew restless. "Just like your father," she muttered.

"Exasperated by our son already?" Marcus asked from the doorway.

She looked up to find her husband smiling at her from across the room. "Our daughter," she said with emphasis, "is refusing to let me nap."

Marcus shook his head as he crossed the room and climbed up onto the bed beside her. "Sorry, darling, as I keep telling you, we Edingtons breed boys."

Joan smiled, no longer surprised when Marcus laid his head in her lap and pressed his lips to the growing bulge of her belly. Reaching down, she brushed the hair back from his forehead noting the haunted look that had been growing in his eyes. "I take it you've seen the study."

"What's left of it," Marcus said.

Joan smiled at his attempted humor. "Did I go too far?"

Marcus shook his head. "But what's to stop me from locking myself in the library instead?"

"The study door came off easily enough, I doubt the library would give us much more trouble," Joan said matter-of-factly. "Easier I would think now that the servants have had practice."

Marcus grew serious. "Joan..."

"I know," she said, understanding. "All I ask is that you try. I'm not expecting everything to magically be different and if you need to retreat into your study then by all means, go. I removed the door not to keep you from locking yourself in but to keep you from locking me out. Please, Marcus, if nothing else let me be there for you, even if you ask nothing of me."

They had talked at length about Marcus' 'episodes' as they had come to calling them. Slowly, bit by bit, Marcus had revealed the details of his experiences. It was clear that it went beyond a simple case of ennui but neither one of them truly knew what to make of it all. Joan had suggested speaking with Marcus' mother in hopes that she might be able to shed some light having gone through something similar with his father. Marcus had adamantly refused, going so far as threatening to leave for good if she so much as mentioned it to his mother. He was willing to open up and share with Joan but his mother had suffered enough dealing with his father.