Beth’s face brightened, filled suddenly with the gentle mockery Marc loved so much. “Not at all! Let me finish. I did have doubts, but now I believe there’s every hope. For a start, neither of us has any intention of un-loving the other, despite all that might divide us. And more recently, Aaron almost dying and Thomas’s horrible accident have taught me a lesson. Any of us could be carried away at any time. We should not deny ourselves love or happiness-not for politics or religion or want of the perfect moment. The madness that’s going on now can’t last much longer, and you have your duty and I have mine, but in the meantime …”
“In the meantime, what?” Marc scarcely dared ask.
“If you ask me to marry you,” Beth said with a slight tremor, “I’ll say yes.”
Marc took a moment to find his voice, then a wide grin spread over his face. “Can I believe what I’ve just heard?”
“Is that a proposal?” Beth countered, her blue eyes dancing.
“It certainly is.”
“Then yes, you can believe it, and yes, I accept.”
Marc held her tightly while his mind raced.
“Say when,” he demanded eagerly.
“You must go back to your garrison-there is no question about that. And I must stay here for some time.”
“With Aaron, of course.”
“And with Winnifred. I promised that I would be with her through her confinement and see the babe safely into this world.”
Marc stepped back, calculating. “That means September or October at the earliest.”
“I know. But I think she needs watching over.”
Marc did not need to ask why. “Then we’ll get married tomorrow and just live apart for a few months.”
Beth thought about that for a bit. “I’d like it done proper,” she said, though he saw the indecision in her face and wished he were ruthless enough to take advantage of it. “I need to prepare Aaron. And I promised Aunt Catherine that, should I marry again, she would be my matron of honour.” So, marriage had not been a taboo topic at the King Street shop, Marc thought.
She looked at him with a sudden, solemn intensity that brought him up short. “What’s important is that we declare our love openly and publicly. We are engaged, and you can shout it to the world if you like. You can even have the banns read by the archdeacon in that stodgy old church of yours. Our wedding will happen, if God chooses to let us live till October. Nothing else can prevent it.”
Marc leaned over and gave her a kiss on the lips. “You shame me,” he said. “And I love you the better for it.”
PART TWO
FIVE
“I’m in love, Marc.”
Marc put down his copy of the Constitution long enough to glance across at Ensign Roderick Hilliard, who was sitting on the edge of his cot in the spartan officers’ quarters they had shared now for seven months. Hilliard had served under Marc at Government House during the hectic days of the election a year ago last June. “Not again!” Marc exclaimed in mock surprise.
“This is the real thing,” Hilliard said, leaning forward intently, as if to forestall Marc’s return to William Mackenzie’s seditious weekly “rag” in favour of matters of greater importance. “I know you have every reason to be skeptical, given my past history, but I have found the sweetest, most beautiful, most ethereal creature God ever created.”
Last year Hilliard had made a play for Receiver-General Maxwell’s daughter, but when the minister discovered their affair, he threatened to emasculate the young ensign, then shipped his daughter off to Kingston to be properly married.
“It’s hearing you use such language that keeps me skeptical,” Marc replied. “Do I not recall similar epithets employed to describe the goddesslike charms of one Chastity Maxwell?”
Hilliard looked as if he had been skewered by an épée in a friendly duel. “That was uncalled for. You know I loved Chastity and made her an honourable offer of marriage.”
But not before you had hopped into her bed, Marc thought uncharitably before relenting. “You’re right, Rick. I do apologize. And I have to admit she was well married and away before you decided to work your way through the debutante rosters of Toronto and the County of York.” Marc smiled broadly to let Rick know he was teasing.
“Well, my stock went down considerably among respectable society when Sir Francis cashiered me.” He grinned the boyish grin he so often used to set a young woman’s bosom aflutter. “But I did try, nevertheless.”
Marc had once thought Rick Hilliard to be too brash and overly ambitious to be a friend, until he realized that under the handsome exterior and sometimes impertinent manner lay a keen intelligence and a good heart. And since he, too, had been told that he was forward and ambitious, he could hardly hold these character flaws, if flaws they were, against Rick. When Hilliard followed Marc out of the governor’s retinue to the purgatory of the Fort York barracks, Marc had taken pity on him. Rick had actually hoped that he, and not a lackey like Barclay Spooner, would take over Marc’s position as aide-de-camp to Sir Francis. The two agreed to share quarters and so far Marc had not regretted it. Although not interested in politics or economic affairs (his father being a very rich mine owner in Yorkshire), Hilliard was a lively and witty conversationalist and a born raconteur. Most significantly, Marc sensed that Hilliard would be a valuable officer on the field of battle, for there was mettle under that mantle of charm and bonhomie.
“And who’s the lucky woman this time?”
“Tessa Guildersleeve,” Hilliard announced. When Marc did not immediately respond, he added with a sudden burst, “Isn’t that just the most mellifluous-sounding name you’ve ever heard?”
“Sounds Dutch to me.”
Hilliard frowned briefly, uncertain as to how he ought to take this riposte. “Her father was a Knickerbocker from New York, but her mother was English,” he said, as if that explained all.
“How did she get here?” Marc said helpfully, knowing that, since there was no way he could prevent the whole story from being told, he might as well hurry it along.
“She’s with that acting troupe that came to town last Friday.”
“Three days ago?”
“I know what you’re thinking, but I’ve spent every spare moment for the past two days in her presence.”
“Well, then, two entire days is certainly time enough, and here I thought you were ice-fishing off the island or supervising the road detail.”
“There’s no need to be sarcastic.”
“There’s every need. You’re telling me that you’re deeply, irrevocably in love with an actress from the United States who, if I’ve correctly read the handbills littering this garrison, is in town for precisely five more days?”
“I thought you would understand,” Hilliard groused, crestfallen. “After all, you are a man very much in love yourself, and one who has suffered greatly for it.”
“Perhaps it is because I do have some notion of what love is about that I ask such impertinent questions, Rick. But at the same time I would be a hypocrite to imply that one cannot fall in love at first sight.”
Hilliard brightened at this admission. “I know what respectable people think of actresses, but they would be horribly mistaken in Tessa’s case.”
“Well, then, you must tell me all about such an exceptional soul.”
Hilliard’s expression went suddenly dreamy. “The Bowery Theatre Touring Company arrived here last Friday from Buffalo. Their engagement down there was cut short for some reason and the lady who runs the operation decided to come up here a few days early. They don’t open until tomorrow night at Frank’s Hotel, but Ogden Frank adores the theatre, and he’s put them up in the best rooms above his playhouse for the whole week. In return, they’ve agreed to assist some of the amateur players in town by letting them watch the professionals rehearse and get up fresh scenes and do proper elocution, and so on. Mrs. Annemarie Thedford is the company’s proprietor, a very famous actress from New York City and every inch a lady, and so generous with her time and advice.”