A flash a familiarity dawned upon Miss Bond, but Charity did not see it as she hurried toward the west end of the garden where her abigail named Patience waited. Patience dipped her head low as Charity approached. “My Lady.”
“Did Mr. Ludwig find anything of interest?” she asked.
“He would not disclose any information to me, but he is here at the party. I told him you would not be pleased, but he insisted. Mr. Ludwig is dressed as a servant so that he may observe Lady Gray in person.”
Charity took a deep breath, cursing the tightness of her stay as a bead of sweat trickled down her spine. “I shall return to Miss Hamilton and my mother. Watch him and make sure he reveals nothing. Your place at my side depends on it, Patience.”
***
The elegant, flowing script danced across the page as she wrote her latest letter to Beatrice. Marina was pleasantly cool beneath the shade of the tree, enjoying the fine weather and the now familiar sounds of aristocratic festivities. She nibbled on her bottom lip and tilted her head to the side in a way that was more out of habit than necessity.
Less than a month’s time had passed and already she missed her friend Beatrice greatly, needing the happy ambiance of her new life to keep her company. Marina knew she should not sneak out of the shop to do so, but there was no other way to keep her job and still see him. She could hardly believe that she had been invited along with Lady Lockhart to the party at the Viscounts home. “Lady Gray?”
Marina looked up into a face she thought she would never see again. Miss Bond, the lady that had insulted her intelligence to the point of tears, stood above her. Fear crippled Marina, snatching away her ability to speak until she realized that the woman had not called her by her true name. “Yes?”
Miss Bond smiled at Marina and sat down beside her on the blanket she had placed on the ground to preserve the pristine state of her dress. “Lady Belfour mentioned your interest in poetry. Do you mind if I join you?”
Marina did not point out the fact that she had already taken her place on the blanket. She instead closed the journal in her hand and tucked the quill pen beneath the cover. Her hands quivered nervously with each movement. “Certainly. My love for poetry is no secret here.”
If Miss Bond continued to speak, Marina did not hear a single word of the conversation. She sat frozen, held captive by the unexplainable, unparalleled beauty of the Viscount’s smile.
Words simply did not do him justice. The slivers of gray at his temples and the magnificent angles of his features were nearly harsh...purely masculine, but he was beautiful nonetheless. “Lady Gray?”
Marina jumped at the suddenly insistent tone of Miss Bond’s voice. It momentarily sent her thoughts back in time to when she had thoroughly scolded Marina for not paying attention. “Apologies, Miss Bond.”
There was a strange look of suspicion in the other woman’s eyes. “I do not recall mentioning my name in conversation, My Lady. But perhaps you recognized me from the announcement of my engagement? I am soon to be the wife of Horus Rake, Baron of Towton. ”
“Yes, of course.”
Marina was grateful when Lady Lockhart pulled her away shorty after to watch the harp performance. The music was marvelous and it calmed the panic and worry that swelled within her. She let herself get lost in the music and focused on blending in once again. At some point, the Viscount had subconsciously relocated closer to where she stood.
He stood close enough that Marina could smell the citrusy undertones on his skin. They did not interact with one another, but the proximity caused the tiny hairs on her arms to stand at attention. She could have been mistaken, but the brush of his arm against her shoulder had seemed deliberate.
White-hot embers crackled and burned beneath her skin at the fleeting touch. She held her breath until he was ushered toward a game of chess by the Marquess.
***
It had been a mistake to invite her. Percival winced as though he were in pain, shocked by his own actions in such a public setting. He should never have gotten so close to Lady Gray, but he could not resist feeling the warmth of her skin through the sleeve of his jacket. Brief though it might have been, Percival could not remember a more meaningful touch he had experienced in his entire life.
“I have defeated you twice, Percy. Clearly your mind is elsewhere. I am man enough to admit that I never win fairly at our games, not even once.” The Marquess raised a questioning brow in his direction, but did not press further.
“Tell me I am being foolish, Elias. It was only polite to invite her along with her chaperone, decorum dictated that I must, but now I regret the decision more than I should.”
“It may come as a surprise, but I believe that you did right by Lady Gray by inviting her. It would have been a slight against her reputation had you invited the ladies within her circle and forgotten her.”
Percival often hated the rationality that was offered by the Marquess. Occasionally the nobleman acted with a level of maturity that was expected of a man well beyond his years. There were few people Percival sought counsel from and the Marquess was one of them. “I have intentions to…court Lady Gray. But I will not do so if you do not approve.”
“While I am complimented that you think so highly of me, as long as the courtship does not interfere with our work, I will not impede. However, I would advise you to seek your mother’s approval before my own.”
The banter settled to a moment of comfortable silence. It lasted for barely a second before curiosity had gotten the better of Percival. His grin twisted into a childish smirk as mischief flared in his gaze. “And what of you, Elias?”
“Pardon?” gasped the Marquess.
“Certainly someone has caught your eye by now. Although the standards for age are not as strict for us gentlemen, it cannot be far from your mind as you approach thirty. Do you not wish to be married before then?” he failed to withhold the playful edge to his voice.
“I happen to be privy to the rumor that ladies prefer an older gentleman. We are wiser after all.”
“Give me something, Elias! You cannot expect me to sit here quietly while you lecture me about my feelings for Lady Gray. It is obvious that you speak from experience,” Percival begged with his eyes, trying to gauge some reaction from the stoic Marquess of Northampton.
“Experience comes with many mistakes. Romanticism and love brought me not but anguish, Percy. Learn from my wrongdoings and priorities your responsibilities so that you do not lose sight of what is important in your life.”
Grief and regret were evident in the Marquess’ words. Percival matched his honesty with candor. “There will never be peace in my heart if I do not try to earn her affection. With or without my mother’s approval, I want Lady Gray as my wife. My title and reputation will not last forever no matter what I do. And when I have nothing left but my name and the memories of what once was, I want Leliana Gray by my side.”
“For the sake of your heart and your sanity, I hope her love is as fierce as your own. There is no greater pain than that of an unrequited love, Percy. But I pray you never learn that.”
Chapter Ten
Cavendish Square, London
Marina scrubbed the windows of Mrs. Winslow’s shop, still surprised by how much she had missed the daily routine of helping to run an ordinary business. She was quite exhausted by the constant need to remember which lies she had told and to whom. Her head turned toward the door as the bell chimed, signaling that a customer had entered.
She stepped down from the stool and placed the cleaning rag into the pail of water before drying her hands on a fresh rag. A gentleman who appeared to be in his later years of thirty stood near the fabrics, his back to Marina as she approached.
“Good day, sir. How may I assist?”
An unnerving leer slanted across his stubbly face, revealing a golden tooth in a mouth of rot. Other than his oral hygiene, the man was well dressed and carried himself with an air of superiority. Marina rarely spoke with the gentleman of London
unless it was a male servant. Shopping in the market was a ladies pastime and most gentlemen tended to avoid it at all costs. Even so, she did not recognize him.
“Are you Marina Clarke?” he asked, his accent similar to the one most common in Newcastle.
“Yes, sir.”
“Splendid! My name is Alexander Ludwig and have a proposal that will be most problematic for you to decline.”
Marina tried to hide her confusion behind a courteous nod, but she was unaccustomed to being alone with a man, much less one who had a proposition in mind. Something malicious swirled in her belly, causing her hands to clench at her sides. “What sort of proposal did you have in mind?”
She moved back toward the window. The man’s presence was intimidating below the visage of decency. If she stood near the window where someone might see, hopefully he would not try to frighten her or do something far worse.
“My sources insist that the Viscount of Greenwood aims to court you in hopes that it will lead to a marriage contract, Lady Gray. It would be in your best interest to distance yourself before that happens. If you fail to do so, I will be forced to expose you,” he said, the threat of his words hanging in the air like the stench of toxic waste. “How do you think you darling Viscount would feel if he knew the truth? A lowly seamstress is not worthy of nobility.”
Marina’s heart banged against her ribcage in an effort to escape her body. She felt the urge to scream in frustration, but there was no use. Her actions had brought this to her door. She had no choice but to agree to Mr. Ludwig’s requests. “I-I will do what you ask of me, sir.”
“You will do what, Miss Clarke?”
“I shall distance myself from the Viscount and remove myself from the presence of aristocracy. You are correct, I am not worthy of nobility,” Marina hiccupped. She lifted a hand to her lips to hold back whatever whimpers sought to slip past her emotional barriers.
“See that you do so,” Mr. Ludwig grunted menacingly. “Any failure on your part will end very unpleasantly. My boss is adamant that you return to your rightful place in society.”
The very instant Mr. Ludwig exited the shop Marina rushed to the door to slide the lock into place and ran to draw the curtains. Once darkness eclipsed the room, she collapsed to the ground with tears streaming rapidly down her face. A strangled cry burst from her chest. The weight of the world pressed her into the floor.
Marina wanted to run away, to return to the country and curl up into her mother’s warm embrace. But there was no running from the problems she had created. If Mr. Ludwig’s threats were any indication, there would be no place that he could not find her. He knew who she was and what she had done, the crimes she had committed to feel welcomed among those who were superior.
It had been hours since she had sat in a weeping puddle of her own humiliation. The coldness of the floor was the only thing that brought her back to the present as icy tendrils crawled up her arms and caused her to quiver. Marina pulled herself to her feet and looked over at the clock in the corner, stunned to see that she had cried away her senses until the late hours of the evening.
With a heart of regret and a heavy conscious, she wrote an apology to Mrs. Winslow. Marina summoned yet another lie about falling ill and needing to close the shop early, hoping that her excuse would be enough to warrant the shopkeeper’s sympathy. Then, Marina went through the reflexive motions of storing the expensive fabrics, putting the jewelry into the lockbox along with the day’s earnings, and locking all of the doors and windows.
Everything in the dressmaker’s shop was secure as she made the long, troubling journey home. Marina walked home paranoid, nearly jumping out of her skin at the slightest noise. Her mind searched for unseen enemies at every turn.
***
Charity watched the Viscount from the window of the bedchamber that had been assigned to her within his home. She had not left the estate since the garden party and had been invited to stay by the Dowager Viscountess Elisabeth Knight, mother to the Viscount of Green Wood. The flare of confidence within her only seemed to grow with the passing days at the knowledge of earning Lady Knight’s approval.
She accompanied the Viscount’s mother on her schedule each day, getting rare opportunities to watch him as he carried out the arrangements of his routine. He often seemed lost in the depths of his thoughts, or too occupied with his responsibilities to say more than a few words in passing.
Charity was disappointed, to say the least. Even during shared meals, the Viscount did not speak unless his mother insisted. He paid no attention to Charity or anyone else at the table. The enjoyment of her stay had been suffocated by his deficiency of emotion. She would understand irritability, for he was a man of great respect under the scope of society, but to receive nothing from him? No emotion in his eyes or behind his expressionless face? It was as though his soul had been stored away, leaving not but a puppet in its wake.
But in the state he was in now, riding his mount across the rolling hillsides of the estate, he appeared to be content. There had not been a smile upon his face since the revelry, but he looked to be at his best whenever he was alone.
Charity knew he did not sleep through the night as sounds of a violin wafted through the air from his study. According to Lady Knight, it was something the Viscount did as a ritual to process his thoughts. On more than one occasion, Charity considered going to him during the night for a bit of privacy.
She wished that she could tell him that she would stay up all night to allow him the opportunity to express his every woe. But the rules of propriety dictated that they remain separated for now. Charity was certain that Lady Knight considered her a worthy candidate for the Viscount’s hand in marriage, which was a fact she took great pride in.
Three rapid-fire knocks on the bedchamber door signaled Patience’s return. She entered cautiously, like she was a rabbit in the presence of a voracious predator. Charity adored the moments of pure intimidation that rippled between her and those below her station. “What is it, Patience?”
“Mr. Ludwig was in London yesterday afternoon. He visited Lady Gray... er… Miss Marina Clarke at the dressmaker’s shop. She looked frightened as I watched through the window, he must have said something to threaten her, My Lady.”
“Did he mention the two of us?”
“I could not hear their exchange from across the street, My Lady. I had to stay where I was, lest I endangered your repute should she have recognized me.”
Charity stood from the settee beneath the window, her slippers tapping quietly on the floor as she came to stand before her abigail. “You did well, Patience.” She put her hand on the young lady’s shoulder and gave a tight-lipped smile. “Now, I need you to meet with the Barrister that I told you about. Take the documents that I gave to you to keep safe. Tell him that Alexander Ludwig attempted to extort me by means of false accusations.”
“Are you certain, My Lady?”
“Very certain. Just make sure to hand over the evidence. They will not believe a man like Mr. Ludwig over a lady of my significance,” informed Charity. “You are dismissed.”
Several hours later dinner was set for the household and everyone gathered to partake in the evening meal. When the servants went about their duties, Charity took the opening to look over at the Viscount. His expression was more contented and confident then it had been in days. Clearly, he had come to some sort of conclusion on whatever had been plaguing his mind.
The servants shuffled from the room and the space filled with happy chatter about the regularities of the day, news of the war, and other tiresome topics that Charity could not focus on, as she was too distracted by the Viscount. He stared into the flames of the candle that flickered on the table.
“How was your ride through the estate, Percival?” asked the Dowager Viscountess.
“Beneficial.”
Everyone at the table sat quietly as the discussion continued. “Have you given further consideration on what we discussed in the library?”
A loud bang against the tabletop sent wine sloshing over the side of their glasses. Charity looked over to see the Viscount’s hand tightly fisted upon the white table cover, his skin a stark contrast. “This is neither the time nor the place to have this talk, Mother.”
“We are in the company of friends and family. I see no use in putting on airs. Now, answer the question.”
Charity could see the battle raging inside the Viscount. Part of him struggled with the necessity to respect his mother, while the other sought to retain some semblance of control.
***
Percival could barely look down the length of the table at his mother. Cold-hearted fury settled in his bones. He did not wish to discuss private matters in the presence of Lady Belfour and the other guests. His mother insisted that several of the ladies, whom she apparently considered creditable candidates for the position of Viscountess, stay by her side at the estate in Oxfordshire. It bothered him greatly.
He knew it was a ploy to get him to submit obediently and choose one as his intended wife. And though it was extremely discourteous to leave a meal unfinished, Percival excused himself with a final glare at his mother and returned to his study. Luther, his friend and valet, was on his heels in a matter of seconds.
The door was closed softly behind Percival. He walked over to the cabinet and poured himself a glass of brandy before he slumped into the chair behind his desk. Everything around him had once belonged to his father. The purchase of the land and the manor had taken place on the day of Arthur Knight’s untimely death. It was the grief that had shaped Percival into the egotistical rogue he was known to be.
He drowned his sorrows in every glass, danced away his worries with every eligible lady in London, and plunged himself into risky circumstances that could have been avoided, all for some sort of relief. But no amounts of brandy, women, or near-death experiences were enough. His father was a diplomatic and cultured gentleman even as he spent his days as nothing more than an innkeeper.
The Viscount's Victress (Scandalous Nobility Book 1) Page 6