by Nina Clare
He spoke sincerely and softly, and it was very hard for her to remain aloof with him. But she was not going to show herself weak.
‘You have no need to apologise. It was not my feelings that were toyed with.’
He looked long and steadily at her, until she dropped her eyes to her hands in her lap. This was ridiculous. This was dangerous.
‘Is that true?’ he asked quietly. ‘Did you feel nothing?’
She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. She had never been any good at lying.
But something in her face must have betrayed her, for he quickly crossed the space between them and would have sat down beside her, but she stood up in her anxiety.
That was a mistake. Now he was standing right before her. Close enough that she could feel his presence in that horrible stomach-churning way that she did when he was too near.
‘Oh, why did you come?’ she cried, turning away, all the pain and disappointment in her voice.
‘Celia.’ He put a hand on her shoulder, turning her back to face him. ‘Look at me. Please.’
There was a longing in his own eyes that startled her.
‘Let me explain. My aunt put me under a bizarre clause in her will, that I was to court and propose marriage to a Miss Asher of Roseleat. I balked at the thought of marriage to a stranger. I was all for giving everything up from the start. Neville offered to do the courting himself, that I might see this Miss Asher without her viewing me as some rich catch. I wanted to gauge her real character to know if I could love her.’
‘A despicable plan,’ said Celia, ‘no gentleman would have done such a thing.’
‘I do not justify it,’ said Lord Marbury wearily. ‘It seemed a fairly harmless idea to begin with, and it was only for a matter of days. How could I imagine that I would fall in love with someone else entirely in barely two weeks?’
‘What do you mean?’ Celia searched his face.
‘I fell in love with a beautiful, selfless young woman. A woman who gave the appearance of being of another class. How could I pursue her? What scandal would that bring upon everyone involved? Yet, how could I propose marriage to the Miss Asher I thought I was to marry, all the while never realising that the real Miss Asher was the woman I had fallen in love with. The woman who is still out of my reach.’
She stared at him, aware that his hand was still on her shoulder. His head bent nearer to her. He hesitated when his lips were directly above hers, waiting to see if she would draw back or resist. She ought to. She should not be kissing this man. Yet…she wanted to very much… A tap sounded at the open door, and they sprung apart.
‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘I did not intend for this to… I only wanted you to know the truth.’ He bowed hastily, and turned away, brushing past the maid who had rapped at the door. He was gone. She moved clumsily to the window to see him hurrying down the scrubbed stone steps, clamping his hat on his head with unnecessary force and striding away into the light fog.
26
‘I’m happy for you, Neville. Truly I am.’
Lord Marbury did his best to smile. He had considered telling Pole not to let anyone in, not even Neville; he didn’t feel up to anyone’s company that afternoon. Seeing Celia Asher that morning had thrown him into a new bout of turmoil.
But he took hold of Neville’s right hand in both of his, and shook it soundly. Fortunately, Neville seemed rather dazed, and did not notice Lord Marbury’s drawn face.
‘I still can’t believe I did it,’ said Neville. ‘Me, engaged?’ A look of panic crossed his face. ‘What have I done?’
‘Be easy,’ said Lord Marbury. ‘Come and have a drink. It’s perfectly natural to feel overwhelmed. You’ve just made the biggest decision of your life.’
Perhaps that was not the right thing to say; Neville’s panic-stricken look increased.
‘Sit,’ ordered Lord Marbury, pushing Neville towards one of the stuffed armchairs in his sitting room. ‘I’ll call for something to celebrate.’ He rang for Pole and ordered a bottle of his best port.
‘You never liked her much, did you?’ said Neville said, beginning to bite his thumbnail.
‘I never said I didn’t like her, I only said that I was not in love with her. I think her a sweet girl.’ That was the highest compliment Lord Marbury could come up with on the spot. ‘She is…remarkably pretty. And she laughs at all your jokes. No one else does that.’
‘She is pretty, isn’t she?’ Neville brightened. ‘Did you see how well she looked today? She always looked a bit on the shabby side in the country, but now!’
‘You make a handsome couple,’ said Lord Marbury. ‘Where will you live?’ He handed Neville a bumper of port and took the chair opposite.
‘Oh, I don’t know. We’ll take a house somewhere or other.’
‘Can you afford a house?’ Lord Marbury asked tentatively.
‘We’ll manage. She has a dowry.’ Neville took a large swig. ‘Excellent port!’
‘Here’s to a comfortable home, instead of the shoddy digs you live in now,’ said Lord Marbury, raising his glass. ‘Here’s to a charming wife, instead of your bawdy, flighty cronies, myself excepted. And here’s to lots of little Georges and Lavinias tottering about.’
A pang of loneliness struck Lord Marbury as soon as he finished speaking, and he hastily took a gulp of his own port to dull the feeling.
‘Heavens!’ said Neville. ‘I hadn’t thought about children.’ The look of panic returned. Lord Marbury topped their glasses up.
‘You will be my best man, won’t you?’ Neville said, biting another nail. Lord Marbury hesitated. Neville glanced at him. ‘You will, won’t you?’
‘If I am in the country, I certainly will.’
‘If? What are you plotting?’ Neville looked alarmed.
‘I…thought I might travel a bit. Change of scene.’
‘You’re going on an adventure? Without me.’
‘I’ll send you and Miss Asher on a tour for your honeymoon,’ said Lord Marbury. ‘My wedding gift. How about it?’
Neville looked cheered at that idea. ‘Italy,’ he said eagerly. ‘Austria, Swisserland!’
‘Italy is not safe to travel through,’ Lord Marbury reminded him. ‘But we’ll meet up somewhere on the continent,’ he promised.
‘But you can stay till after the wedding,’ Neville argued. ‘What’s the rush?’
Lord Marbury thought of how it would feel to see Celia at the wedding, and see Celia at the wedding breakfast, and see Celia at all the inevitable social events that surrounded society engagements and weddings. He could imagine too clearly all the men flocking around the new beautiful heiress that was Miss Celia Asher. She would be the most desirable catch of the season. It was too much. He had to get away.’
‘I have to go, Neville,’ was all he could say, rumpling his hair. ‘I just do.’
‘I think Livi has the right of it,’ said Neville slowly.
‘Who is Livi? Oh, Miss Lavinia. The right of what?’
‘Of things between you and her sister.’
Lord Marbury scowled.
‘Livi says every time she mentions your name, her sister goes all peculiar and prickly.’
‘That’s because she detests me,’ said Lord Marbury. ‘I deceived her, remember?’
‘And every time I mention Celia Asher, you go all peculiar and prickly, and get that look on your face.’
‘What look?’
‘As though I just stuck my finger in your eye.’
‘Well, quit sticking your fingers in my eye. I don’t want to talk about it. I had feelings for Miss Asher, it is true. But she did not return them.’
‘Have you asked her?’
‘Well…I told her of how I felt. Which was a mistake. It only made things worse. Now we can never meet as mere acquaintance.’
‘And what did she say?’
‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just stared at me as if I were talking nonsense.’
‘But did you ask her how she f
elt? Did you give her chance to speak before you went running away?’
‘Of course not. How can I? She’s a wealthy woman. I only have a modest income for a gentleman, nothing that can compare with hers. I’m not her equal now. I cannot ask her anything. And I did not run away.’
‘You always run away when things get too hot.’
‘I leave when I know I am not wanted.’
‘You really are an idiot, Marbury,’ said Neville cheerfully. ‘For one, you have a title. What woman wouldn’t jump at the chance to become a countess?’
‘A woman who thinks nothing of working the ground with her bare hands to feed her dependants, is not your average woman,’ argued Lord Marbury. ‘I do not think titles impress her.’
’According to Livi, Miss Asher only has a reaction to one man, and that’s you.’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Lord Marbury said irritably, staring into the deep purple-red of his port. ‘She has a reaction only because she dislikes me so much.’ He threw back his head as he drained his glass.
‘When are you running away?’ Neville asked.
‘I’m not running away!’
‘When are you leaving on your travels?’
‘There’s a boat to Calais next week.’
‘Next week!’
Lord Marbury shrugged. ‘There’s nothing to keep me in London. I want to be gone before the season gets busy. Don’t try and talk me out of it. I begin packing and settling my affairs in the morning.’
‘Oh, Celia, please don’t make me leave just as the season is really starting! George is going to take me everywhere. Even though he’s not terribly rich, he is such a favourite with everyone on account of his good humour that he gets invited all over.’
‘Lavinia, I must get home. There is spring planting to be done, fields to be cleared, the roof at Roseleat to be repaired, cottage plans to be drawn up—’
‘But that is what servants and hired hands are for! Surely you are not going to carry on with your farming nonsense now that you are so very rich. Not even you could be so very eccentric as that.’
‘Have you written to your mother to tell her of your engagement?’ Celia deftly turned the conversation away. She was trying to work through her mountainous pile of correspondence with lawyers, estate managers, stonemasons and architects, whilst settling the accounts sent on to her from Highmott, and trying to read up on crop rotation and modern fertilisers at the same time. Lavinia was an unwelcome distraction.
‘Not yet,’ admitted Lavinia. ‘I do so hate writing letters.’ Lavinia played with the ends of her ribbons on her new bonnet. She was waiting for Mr Neville to call to take her driving. ‘George thinks he can easily get us an invite to the Duchess of Ilmington’s ball,’ she said petulantly. ‘Only imagine, Celia. Her balls are positively famous. The Prince of Wales himself will be there.’
‘I don’t care for the prince,’ said Celia, feeling irritated at such a barrage of persuasion. ‘Look, Lavinia,’ she said firmly, putting down her tract on the merits and comparisons of clover and rye, ‘if you want to spend the whole of the season in town, you are welcome to do so. I will even pay a second month of rent—’
‘Oh, Celia!’
‘I did not say that I would remain here—’
‘But, Celia!’
‘You will either have to hire a respectable companion, or invite your mother to come to town.’
‘Invite Mama.’
‘I am going home, Lavinia, and you cannot talk me out of it. I shall begin packing my things and finishing up my affairs tomorrow.’
Lavinia pouted and twisted her ribbons so hard that she pulled a stitch out, but she knew her stepsister’s temperament enough to know there was no chance of bending her to her own wishes.
‘I suppose I can forgive Mama now that George has proposed,’ she said sullenly. ‘And Mama would think it divine to spend the season in town.’ She brightened a little. ‘And she would love this darling house. And you will be gone, so she can have your rooms, for you have the nicest dressing room in the whole house. No, I can have your rooms, and Mama can have mine. And if I say that George can get us invites to the duchess’s ball, Mama will not dare say that he is not good enough or rich enough or try to make me marry someone else with a title.’
‘So, you will write to her?’ said Celia, thinking that to have Lady Asher gone from Highmott for some time would be very welcome.
‘Cannot you do it?’ Lavinia begged. ‘I always get so much ink on my fingers, I hate writing.’
‘I will write,’ said Celia, wanting to close the matter.
Lavinia beamed, her eyes dancing with pleasure. ‘Oh, Celia, a whole season! We are not cursed anymore, are we?’
Celia was silent. She had not thought about the curse since she had come into her unexpected inheritance. But she had been troubled by other thoughts since that disturbing interview with Lord Marbury yesterday. She had been turning over in her mind the thought that if Lord Marbury had been misled into thinking that Lavinia was the arranged marriage partner of his aunt’s, when really it was herself – was he not in part deceived himself? And had she rightfully and fairly gained this unexpected inheritance?
This new thought had troubled her all night, and two sleepless nights in a row were fast draining her strength and straining her nerves.
‘Oh, he is here!’ Lavinia cried, seeing a movement out of the window. ‘And he has borrowed a delightful little curricle. What a pretty shade of blue. Goodbye!’
Celia slumped back in her chair, throwing down the tract, and groaning with relief that Lavinia had gone. And yet, now that she was gone, the void of silence left behind was of no comfort. It only made space for all her troubled thoughts to come whispering around her. Was she the rightful heir of Highmott and the countess’s great wealth? Would the outcome have been different if Lord Marbury had decided to court her? He said he had fallen in love with her. Did he mean it? Would she have accepted him had he asked her?
She groaned again, leaning forward to put her tired head on her arms on the desk. All the plans and maps of the estates were strewn down the length of the desk, and suddenly it all seemed a great burden.
What was the point of it all? Lavinia’s chatter about marriage and children and a new life had made Celia realise how very alone in the world she was. She had Agnes and Robin, but there were only so many things she could talk about with them. In that moment the only person she could think of who would understand how she felt was Lord Marbury, of all people. She could even wish was here.
He could talk to her of estate matters. He would understand the new responsibilities she felt herself under better than anyone. Perhaps they ought to be his interests, his responsibilities? Perhaps he was the rightful heir, and she was the imposter? It was all so confusing; her tired mind could not bear any more.
She wished for a pair of arms to hold her, for someone to tell her that all would be well, to feel that she was not alone in the world anymore. It was exhausting always trying to be strong.
There was a tap at the study door. ‘Excuse me, ma’am, said Whitby. ‘Lord Marbury requests to see you on a matter of business.’
27
Lord Marbury did not know what had made him come. He had been sifting through his papers that morning, sorting out his affairs in preparation for leaving. But when Neville called in to say he had borrowed Captain Cavendish’s curricle, and was taking Livi driving, some strange impulse seized Lord Marbury. He’d found a whole pile of his plans for Highmott among his papers, and had snatched them up, saying he would catch a ride with Neville. He had something to give to Miss Asher.
Neville had grinned, and hurried him out of his apartment before he could change his mind.
Now Lord Marbury stood in the hall, waiting for the butler to announce him. She might refuse to see him, he thought. If so, he would leave the plans and go. In fact, that was exactly what he ought to do. This was a foolish idea. It would only torment him further to see her s
o cold towards him. He turned around.
Running away again, he heard Neville’s voice say in his mind, and he stopped, and turned back.
The butler was inviting to him to enter the study where Miss Asher was to be found. He took a deep breath and stepped inside.
She looked tired and pale, but more beautiful than ever. The light green of her gown softened the colour of her eyes to a sea green. He liked that she dressed with simplicity and elegance; no showy jewels or unnecessary ribbons and feathers, though she could now afford any jewellery she desired.
‘Lord Marbury, I am glad you are come. I think I have not been honest with you. And I wish to say something on the matter.’
‘Not honest? Miss Asher, you are the most honest person I know.’
She blinked a few times, and turned away, hiding her face as she took the seat behind the desk. ‘Please,’ she said huskily, ‘take a seat. Oh, where are my manners? Can I get you some tea or a glass of wine or something else?’
‘No thank you. I don’t wish for tea. What was it you wished to tell me?’ He remained standing.
She was clearly agitated, her fingers twisting and untwisting in her lap. ‘Yesterday you spoke of how you had been misled in thinking it was my stepsister my aunt wished you to marry.’
‘That is true.’
‘It made me think, it made me wonder, if my inheritance is not lawfully mine if you gave up your right to it on false information. And though I never said that I was not Miss Asher, yet I did not say that I was Miss Asher. I knew you likely thought me one of the servants, and I never corrected that assumption.’
‘Why should you?’ he said. ‘You knew nothing of my aunt’s arrangements. You had no obligation to tell me anything of yourself that you did not wish to.’
‘But I did, Lord Marbury. I was obliged as a neighbour, as an honest person, as a…a friend. I will not justify myself. I will only say that I was constrained from telling you everything by the fear that I would lose my home if I put myself forward. My stepmother wished Lavinia to be the object of Mr Neville’s attentions.’