Percival wondered if his father would be proud of his rise in status, or if he would be disappointed. He was to admit that there had been a time when he had been led astray.
Chapter Eleven
Yeatman Estate
Manchester, England
Mariana attempted to commit every piece of decadence that surrounded her to memory, as this might be her last time attending a ceremony of this magnitude. Ornate images drawn in chalk graced the reflective, polished wood floors of the ballroom. Several adjoining rooms were set aside for other means of entertainment. One large chandelier hung from the ceiling, accompanied by three smaller ones. Candelabras sat upon the surfaces of the cloth-covered tables.
Three seating areas were tucked away in the corners to provide the illusion of privacy. Two grand doors were opened to allow access to the veranda that overlooked a garden with a sizeable fountain.
The impressive orchestral assembly filled the space with suitable compositions that were meant to set the tone for the evening. A meal would be served later in the evening. But until then, the ball began with a minuet.
Marina was still reeling from the sight of the grand ballroom when the Viscount approached her and Lady Lockhart. He bowed slightly at the waist and asked if she would accompany him for the dance. It took her a few seconds to realized that his mouth had formed coherent words and that she was expected to respond. She was overtly aware at the open stares he received.
Marina swallowed past her fear. She pinned up the train of her gown and accepted his offered hand quickly as to not give the wrong impression. His smile was dazzling in the lights.
The Viscount did not have to lead her through the dance as he had before. He seemed pleased that she had learned the steps before attending the ball. His thumb brushed against her wrist as her gloved hand was gently placed in the center of his large palm. Marina could feel the warmth of his hand and the fluttering of nerves in her belly; both of which made her want to shriek in delightful bliss.
She brazenly considered including the first dance with the Viscount in her thank you letter to the host of the ball. But she thought it would be best not to insult the Duke of Manchester. The fear of Mr. Ludwig’s threats was all but forgotten as she looked up into the Viscount’s handsome face. “Thank you, Lady Gray. I would have been beside myself if you had chosen to reject me. While I am quite sure that my reputation would have recovered, I believe my heart would not have.”
Marina watched the shy flush of pink bloom across his high cheekbones, embarrassed by his confession. She snorted gracelessly and said, “I very much doubt that any rational lady in attendance would reject you, My Lord.”
“Please, Lady Gray.” His voice was like a desperate plea. “Just this one time: call me Percival. If only to risk a moment of informality between us.”
She glanced at the other dancers and tightened her hold on his hand before she leaned forward and whispered, “Only once, Percival.” At her words, Marina saw him close his eyes and swallow thickly. It was as though her voice was a prayer, a balm for his soul that healed wounds only she could reach.
“Thank you, Leliana.”
Although she admired his daring behavior, Marina stamped down the regret she felt at hearing a false name fall from his lips. She cast her gaze to the floor and simply moved.
The memory of each turn, mid-dance partner change, and the intimacy of contact was stored away in her mind. She wanted something to hold on to when she disappeared from the life of aristocracy and never returned. It meant, of course, leaving London and everything she loved behind.
She could tell that Percival had chosen not to engage in further conversation in fear that she would run away as she had the first night they met. After the dance came to an end and Marina returned to Lady Lockhart’s side, he wandered around meticulously through the ballroom bestowing exchanges of acknowledgment toward the guests. It was a show of decorum and a courtesy to the guests.
As the second dance arrived, Marina expected Percival to turn his glowing attentions toward Lady Belfour or the other noblewomen at the ball. However, her heart began to beat fanatically as he once again asked her to join him. She was swept away by the sheer novelty of the gesture. It was a very public announcement of intention between a gentleman and a lady. It caused anxious nausea to bubble within her.
“I hope now you are aware of my interests in you, Lady Gray. This dance often lasts for an hour or more…a time I wish to spend in your company.” Percival’s words were hoarse, reverberations that were more air than sound. “While it would be impolite to interact with you for the remainder of the evening, I wish to have you at my side...”
“I do not know what to say, My Lord.”
“You do not have to say anything at all. But I wish to call upon you after the ball.”
Marina’s gasp turned into a sudden squeaked as she realized the gravity of Percival’s statement. While Mr. Ludwig’s source had been correct that Percival intended to court her, the proposition now was one of a commitment of marriage.
If the Viscount of Greenwood was brave enough to break tradition and truly desired an engagement, Marina would have to leave London that night in order to prevent a proposal. Just as the thought crossed her mind, Lady Belfour took a stand at the head of the ballroom and requested for the music and dancing to stop. Despite the instantaneous end of merriment and the icy glare from the Duke himself, the room was filled with excitement. After all, nothing fueled an evening of sociability like a scandal.
“My Lord Duke, please forgive the unseemliness of my behavior. But there has been a criminal among us. She has masqueraded herself as a lady of nobility and taken advantage of our hospitalities. The paltry seamstress Marina Clarke is an imposter and an insult to the structure of our society.”
Marina pulled away from the Viscount and calmly stepped past the other guests. Once she exited the ballroom, she took off in a mad dash to the front door of the Duke’s manor and ran down the dirt road where the carriages awaited. Thunder clapped in the sky and rain poured from the heavens as though the angels cried for her.
“Lady Gray!”
She refused to look back.
“Marina!” the harsh bite of Percival’s words caused her to stumble into the mud beneath her feet. She looked up pathetically as he came within her sights, the Marquess at his side, trying desperately to pull him back into the ball. His hair was wet, clinging to his forehead. His beautiful eyes held not but betrayal and torment. “Is it true?”
A wretched sob hovered just below the surface as her lip quivered. Marina stood up and summoned as much dignity as she could muster. She met his stare and did not waver under the scrutiny of his gaze. The pins from her hair loosened with the added weight of the rain and her long, blonde locks tumbled about her shoulders.
***
Percival was aware of the lingering bystanders. He stood perfectly still, drenched in the onslaught of rain as lightning sizzled across the sky. It matched the hurt and the anger that ripped open his heart and left him feeling raw. “Is it true?” he repeated, although her silence was more than sufficient.
“Yes…”
“Why? Was this all a game to you?” He did not trust his voice to continue, feeling as though he would lose control.
“Not a game, but a dream. The games were always yours to play. All I wished for was one night. A night filled with wonder and excitement, but…”
Percival looked away as her lovely features contorted into an expression of pure anguish. Still, he remained quiet.
“Before that night, I felt as though I was not worthy to stand in your presence. It made me despise myself. It made me despise all of you for making me feel less than. But then I laid eyes on you and everything changed. Suddenly, I wanted to be part of your world and one night was not enough.”
He could no longer stand the sounds of her cries or the ever-tightening grip that the Marquess had on his arm. Percival allowed himself to be pulled away as she continued to stumble towar
d her carriage. He faintly remembered being sat down in a chair and a glass shoved into his hand. Percival gripped the glass until his knuckles cracked under the tension.
The Nicholas Yeatman, Duke of Manchester, and Elias Turner, the Marquess of Northampton, paced across the floors. Percival knew there would be repercussions for once again chasing after…her. It felt strange to associate her with her true name, but he could no longer refer to her as Lady Gray either. Torn between what he knew and what he wanted to accept, Percival allowed his mind, body, and spirit to numb.
The words spoken to him on the eve of their first ball to welcome the summer rang in his memory. Remember this night well, Percival. For if something of this nature should ever occur again, do not consider me an ally. Percival looked up at the Marquess and winced at the aftermath of his disloyalty that he saw in the nobleman’s eyes. He had lost a dear friend and the only woman to steal his heart so completely.
“My Lord Duke, I-”
“No,” the Duke snapped. “You do not have the privilege of speaking to me in this instant, Lord Knight. Your actions have tarnished your title and the reputation of your namesake.”
Percival felt pain throbbing in his temples before realizing that he had clenched his jaw so tight that his teeth ached. The Marquess did not come to his aid, not that he would have expected him to. But it further confirmed his fears that he was completely and utterly alone.
“While Lady Belfour will most likely be reprimanded and possibly shunned for her lack of restraint, your character will forever be concomitant with this night of disgrace. The only thing saving you from utter degradation is the labors you have already put forth in the pursuit of a courtship with that woman.” The Duke’s face was a bright shade of crimson.
“My heart was promised to Lady Leliana Gray, not Marina Clarke, Your Grace.”
The once kind amber eyes of Percival’s superior now exuded disapproval, causing him to grow quiet. He was not in control here, and he would do well to remember that fact. “The Marquess and I have decided that it would be best for you to marry Miss Clarke. If you do not, your reputation will not recuperate. You would look like a fool. If you still require my support for your cause, I would advise you do as I say.”
The Marquess spoke then. “For the record, Lady Gray was and has always been Marina Clarke. If she truly held your heart, then you should find no err in our logic. Marry her, Percy. If not for love as you so claimed to desire, then for the sake of our work that you vowed to shield from indignity.”
He wanted to throw the glass of brandy at the wall and scream his fury to the heavens. The storm outside matched the hopelessness in his soul. In such a short time, Marina Clarke had brought him to ruin. The memories he valued beyond all else were contaminated by her lies. “Tradition states-”
“Now you wish to consider tradition? You should had done so long before you fell into her trap!” the Duke shouted before regaining his composure in a manner that was both impressive and frightening. “I will inform your mother that the arrangement is in my blessing. You have one month, Lord Knight. One month to clean this mess up or your era of change will never come to pass.”
The door to the library slammed shut after one of the most powerful men of the peerage raged out of the room.
Chapter Twelve
East End of Thames River in London
The trip back to London required several carriage rides, overnight stays at inns throughout the countryside, and a long, unpleasant ride on horseback.
By the time Marina arrived at her home near the river, her entire body ached and she had no money in her pockets. She had been forced to barter her expensive dress, jewelry, and other adornments for transport back to the city. The letter of eviction pinned to her door was all it took to unleash the tears she had held back since leaving Manchester.
Marina used a pin from her hair and picked the lock before she shuffled into the decaying hovel she avoided for the past few weeks. Most of her belongings had been pilfered, but the exquisite dresses and what remained of her savings were still beneath the floorboards.
In nothing but a camisole and worn boots, Marina gathered her things and headed toward Mrs. Winslow’s dressmaker’s shop. The bell chimed above her head as she entered. Her pride in shambles the instant she stared into Mrs. Winslow’s suspicious and pitying eyes. The woman had her spectacles perched on the end of her nose as she looked down at Marina from behind the counter. Marina said nothing and ignored Mrs. Winslow’s protests as she set the handcrafted gowns and all of her money to pay the shopkeeper back for all of the things she had borrowed. With her debt paid, Marina left the shop.
There was no use in putting on airs and graces any longer. Marina sloshed through the streets of London as rain continued to batter the rooftops. She contemplated writing a letter to her parents, but then felt the guilt of no longer having an income to support them.
Everything had come crashing down upon her, but she was still alive. Despite the utter sense of defeat, Marina laughed as she walked. She wondered if the members of aristocracy knew that there was still hope after dishonor.
She was at the lowest point of her life; there was no further she could fall. She found it to be an oddly liberating experience. Marina had nothing to hold on to and nothing to fight against. She had no one to impress and nothing to prove; yet she wanted to stay in London. It smelled horrendous, it rained too often, and sometimes it was cruel and violent – but London was her city. It was where she learned what love was and where she came in the aftermath of humiliation. She was free of her untruths now, happy to simply be Marina Clarke, the ordinary girl who fractured society.
But Percival, her darling Viscount, had been broken by her lies. It hurt her to leave him, but there was nothing left for her there. There was no place for her at his side, no matter how much her heart yearned for it. Marina closed her eyes against the pounding rain and felt her body fall into the steps of the dances she had learned.
She cared not if anyone should see her or judge her. The embarrassment of others was no longer her concern. Marina suspected they saw her as a madwoman and it made her smile.
***
Luther sutured Percival’s battered knuckles as he drained the contents of the glass in his hand. Since the night of the ball, he had taken up the sport of boxing under a false name to relieve his frustration. He felt very little emotion and he suspected every one of treacherous and manipulative acts against him. Fighting was his only way to truly feel anything.
The impending deadline of his fate hovered above his head at all times. He accepted no visitors, but he always arrived to his appointments on schedule no matter the time or place. Percival made appearances at the required gatherings, but offered no information regarding his welfare.
Even after two weeks of absence, the great Marina Clarke and Lady Leliana Gray scandal was ever the topic of interest at many socials. Instead of the situation surrounding the incident being snubbed incessantly, Percival found that numerous individuals of respectability thought fondly of Marina Clarke despite her inadequate position in society. He suspected many of the ladies in Charity Belfour’s former circle regretted Marina’s disappearance.
The parents of Charity Belfour had disowned her after the embarrassing presentation in front of the Duke at the ball. With the loss of her title and the name of her family, Percival could not hold fast to his anger toward her. She had been in love with him, or so she thought. He had his doubts where her affections were concerned, but he still wished no ill will upon her.
The future of Charity Belfour was unknown, as was his. Percival believed that Marina Clarke’s reasons for her rebellious actions were just in her own mind. But even with his mother’s and the Duke’s approval of the match, he was defiant.
“Luther, my dear friend, what is your opinion on the matter?” Percival asked distractedly.
“Pardon, My Lord?”
“I wish to hear your thoughts.” Percival could tell that his genuine inquiry had stunn
ed his humble valet. Luther never imparted his judgments, nor did he join conversations unless Percival compelled him to, but the older gentleman had always been kind and patient with him. Percival respected the man and his composed temperament.
“If it is of no offense, My Lord. I would like to remind you of the emotions you felt when you first looked upon Miss Clarke,” Luther inserted evenly, albeit a bit timidly. “However you felt before you learned her name, false or otherwise, should be the way you always feel.”
“What does a name have anything to do with it?”
“Precisely, My Lord. I know from my long history with you that you hold no resentment in your heart for those below your status. So, if it is not her previous occupation as a seamstress and it is not her name, what troubles you so?”
Percival contemplated his response. He was surprised to learn that the answer did not come as readily as he would have expected. “The lies. There were so many lies.”
“You have played the game much longer and more successfully than others, My Lord. Was she not doing as others have done before her? She was dishonest and she nurtured her own rumors to protect the truth. In both matters of the game and of the heart, I do believe Miss Clarke is the victress. If, of course, it is not excessively impudent of me to say.”
There was a long moment of silence as Percival silently considered the wisdom of Luther. “Thank you, my dear friend.”
***
Marina scrubbed the staircase at the inn, stooped over painfully to apply enough downward pressure on the wire brush she used to scrape up the muck tracked in from outside. The floors were once blackened with congealed ale and droppings from the food served from the kitchens, but now they sparkled throughout most of the establishment.
The Viscount's Victress (Scandalous Nobility Book 1) Page 7