for her to find his face so intriguing.
“Is everything in its proper place?” he asked suddenly.
“I … certainly. Pardon me” She shivered and
glanced away.
“Are you cold, Miss Ashton?”
“No,” she said, again turning to him. Her own gaze
challenged his reversion to `Miss Ashton.’ To her irritation, he seemed all too aware of her reaction. Those
eloquent lips were amused.
“The air tends to be chill in this hollow, Miss Ashton.
On many a warm summer’s day we have fog in here at
noon.”
“You frequent the spot then, Mr. Marksley?”
“Excessively” But now he was smiling. Hallie had
thought him an attractive man before; now the smile
persuaded more than her thinking.
She grasped the rail on her left and settled her reticule on her lap. She reminded herself of her strategyto talk to Richard Marksley about his Tantalus. If she
were destined to betray herself, she would do so
because of what she knew and might unthinkingly
reveal. She was a reader; she knew his journal. How
natural, then, to speak with Richard Marksley about his library and his work. She would, she thought, confuse
him-to the extent that she reasonably might be
assumed to know most of what Henry Beecham knew.
“You are the editor of The Tantalus,” she ventured.
The opening gambit made her feel small. “I should like
to know more about your work.”
“In the sense of how I occupy my time?”
“Yes. I … have seen most recent numbers. You
write a letter introducing each”
“That letter is all that I do write, as I have little talent for the craft. I have prided myself, however, on
selecting work of interest to readers”
Jeremy, posting alongside, brought his horse closer.
“It is a talent in itself to recognize and foster it in others, do you not think so, Miss Harriet? Indeed, Richard
is supremely talented-when I think of all he has
brought to the rest of us” He winked at her, which
made her blush.
Marksley frowned. “Thank you, Jeremy,” he said, but
his swift look at his friend was guarded. At the look,
Jeremy dropped back again to Millicent’s side.
Hallie was grateful for Jeremy’s removal. He was an
annoying reminder of her duplicity.
“And do you approach your authors with requests for
stories and criticism?”
“They are not my authors, Miss Ashton, although
there are those few upon whom I can rely. Yet to answer
your question-it would be foolish for me to await
material in the post. The serendipity involved in doing
so would make a regular bimonthly printing quite impossible. Subscriptions are our largest source of
funds, after all”
“And the other sources?”
He glanced quickly at her. She had forgotten that
ladies did not discuss finances with gentlemen. As
Henry Beecham she had never had a qualm.
“I myself am one source, Miss Ashton. Along with
the occasional gift. I am afraid The Tantalus must qualify as a gentleman’s hobby, as it rarely returns any
monetary profit.”
And now I shall use your precious money, Hallie
thought, to flee you. But he must have construed her
silence as criticism.
“My hands may be stained by ink, Miss Ashton,”
Marksley added, “but, as I never trouble to pay myself,
I avoid the stigma of engaging in trade. Such distinctions affect the standing of an Earl’s nephew, no matter
how material his more gentlemanly duties.”
There was a tight line to his lips. Hallie would have
pursued the nature of his other duties, and learned just
how he felt about his aunt and uncle, but that bitter
expression intimidated. Ironically, The Tantalus presented the safer subject.
“My uncle is not a subscriber to your journal,” she
said, “but I read it at the circulating library in Tewsbury.
It is extraordinarily popular. I have always enjoyed the
mixture of articles and stories.”
“Thank you, Miss Harriet. And do you have a
favorite? Do you prefer a story or commentary?”
“I … have no favorites,” she said,
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