‘Stand, damn you, stand still.’ Lucifer recognizing the voice of authority ceased his plunging and stood politely as John sprung into the saddle. The ostler ran forward and took the horse from Marianne and finally all was calm and organized again.
John called out. ‘I’ll lead; don’t come too close to this beast. I don’t trust him not to lash out.’ Allowing John to ride a safe distance ahead, Marianne and Emily followed. Emily sniffed loudly.
‘Marianne, I’m so worried about Arabella. Peggy didn’t rear she just shied a little and Arabella tumbled gently to the cobbles. But I fear she must have been kicked in the head or struck it as she landed for her eyes have not opened since the accident.’
‘It was a soft fall?’
‘Yes, indeed it was. I expected her to scramble up and laugh it off. I was greatly shocked she lay so still.’
Marianne felt a flood of fury replace her fear. The scheming minx had used the opportunity to her advantage. Arabella was unhurt and was shamming in order to gain Sir Theodore’s attention. She ground her teeth in frustration. Arabella had decided to set her cap at her guardian - there could be no other explanation. But why? Surely she held a tendre already for Charles? Perhaps Emily could explain.
‘Emily, I am sure Lady Arabella isn’t seriously hurt. It’s more than possible she’s merely in a swoon from which she will be fully covered by the time we arrive.’
‘I do hope so, Marianne. I cannot bear to think of dearest Arabella injured.’
‘Tell me, Emily, why has Lady Arabella not had a season? The Hawksmiths are wealthy are they not? Surely they would wish to puff her off at Almack’s and find her a suitable husband.’
‘Arabella is their only child and very dear to them. I don’t believe they wish her to be married at the moment but to remain at home with them.’
Marianne nodded her expression stern and unfortunately spoke her thoughts aloud. ‘So she’s taking matters into her own hands and is trying to ensnare Sir Theodore.’ Emily’s shocked gasp indicated how unwise these words had been.
‘Oh, Marianne, how could you say such a horrid thing? Arabella’s so grievously hurt.’ She urged her mount into a trot and left Marianne to complete the journey down the long drive, feeling ashamed of herself.
The barouche was empty. The house, having been built recently, was in perfect proportion. The hundreds of rectangular windows were equally balanced on either side of the marble steps. She had not had time to notice these details on her arrival.
The double doors, flanked by matching marble pillars, stood open; there was nobody there to welcome her. Perhaps the lack of ceremony was intentional.
Two grooms appeared from the rear of the building to receive their horses. So they were expected after all. John rode on following the carriage-wide sweep of drive to the stables behind the house. Emily dismounted unassisted and ran up the steps leaving Marianne to ascend on her own.
A familiar footman appeared at the door. ‘Miss Devenish, Sir Theodore has requested that you wait in the library. He will join you there presently.’
She swallowed and her throat constricted. ‘Thank you. How is Lady Arabella? Has she recovered her senses yet?’
The footman smiled. ‘Yes, indeed. It’s nothing short of a miracle. No sooner was she placed on the bed than she regained her wits. Miss Grierson is with her now.’
‘That is good news indeed.’ She needed no instructions to find the library. If Lady Arabella was well, why was her guardian still upstairs? Well the longer he stayed away from her the better. She was dreading the forthcoming encounter. Yesterday she would have waited with no qualms believing him to be weak minded and easily bamboozled but his glare had given her fair warning. She knew him to be a formidable opponent— not a man to be trifled with.
She paced the spacious book lined room with growing agitation. Why was he taking so long? Was he deliberately leaving her here to fret as part of her punishment? Then she remembered Sam had been sent for the doctor. With a sigh of relief she sunk into a leather covered armchair. Of course - that was the explanation. Sir Theodore was waiting, as was only proper, to greet the doctor. He couldn’t come to speak to her until then. Therefore it might be a while before he joined her, time enough to select a book and read. This would take her mind of things.
She wandered along the shelves looking high and low for a title to interest her. She saw on the uppermost shelf an illustrated history on the flora and fauna of Essex. From this she could discover a little more about the landscape she was living in.
However, the book was too high to reach even on tiptoe. She looked around for library steps or even a stool to stand on. Seeing nothing she decided to climb up using the shelves as a ladder. If she held up her skirt in one hand it would make the task impossible; she would have to pray she didn’t become entangled as she ascended.
She judged the distance - not so very high - no more than two shelves above her outstretched hand. What she had to do was slide one boot into the corner of the second shelf and then the other onto the third. If she was careful she could, by balancing on the upper shelf, reach out and take the book she sought.
In her desire to reach her objective she’d quite forgotten the reason she was in the library.
She didn’t hear the heavy footsteps approaching down the corridor or the door open behind
her.
‘Good God! What the devil are you doing up there?’
She lost her grip and fell backwards. He leaped forward too late was only able to cushion her descent with himself. They ended in a tangle of arms and legs on the Persian carpet. Not waiting to be told she rolled sideways and scrambled to her feet, leaving her would-be rescuer spread-eagled in front of her.
She didn’t like the look on his face. In fact she thought it would be wise to remain out of his arm’s reach. His expression murderous he surged up and before she could make good her escape his bulk blocked her path.
‘Going so soon, Miss Devenish? I believe I have a few things to say to you before you depart.’ The words were innocuous but the steely glint in his eyes warned her not to argue. She backed away until she felt the welcome touch of the armchair at her calves. Quickly she dodged behind it and waited for the storm to break.
The only sound in the room was his heavy breathing as he fought to control his rage. The
minutes dragged past and Marianne felt a wave of nausea surge up. Desperately she searched for somewhere to cast up her accounts; if she vomited all over his boots she would never recover from the humiliation. She spotted a bronze urn and snatched it up.
‘Good God! Not in there - it has a hole in the base. Hold on. I will open the window.’
She felt a welcome draft of cool air as her head was unceremoniously shoved over the window ledge. Mercifully in time as she lost the contents of her stomach harmlessly over the flowerbed that ran down the side of the house.
‘Good girl. Are you finished?’ She nodded, unable to speak and he lifted her in and carried her to the armchair. ‘Sit there a moment and recover. Here, wipe your face on this.’
A spotless handkerchief was thrust into her hand and she did as instructed. She was too weak to protest. She closed eyes and in the distance she could hear him speaking to someone.
Then she sensed he was back by her side. She flinched as she felt his hand touch her cheek.
‘Open your eyes, you pea-goose. Look at me.’
Obediently her eyes flickered open to find him staring back at her. He was crouching on the floor beside her his expression friendly, his eyes amused. ‘I shall not strike you. Though I own it was a pretty close-run thing. Had you had not been ill…’ he paused and his mouth curved, revealing a set of even white teeth. ‘Well - that is past now. I have not struck a woman yet and I hope it may remain that way. How are you feeling? You’re still a trifle pale.’
‘I am quite well, thank you, sir.’ Her voice was little more than a whisper because for some reason his proximity was making it difficult for her to concen
trate.
There was a tap at the door and he sprung to his feet. ‘Good, that will be the refreshments I ordered.’
Marianne shuddered. Surely he wasn’t going to insist she eat anything? That would be punishment indeed. She watched as a parlour maid placed a tray on the mahogany desk in the centre of the room.
‘Don’t look so worried, sweetheart, it’s lemonade.’ He poured a glass and carried it over. ‘Here you are, it will take away the foul taste and restore you.’
Reluctantly she took the glass and sipped. Her digestion threatened to rebel but she
swallowed vigorously and all was well. And he was right, after the first few mouthfuls she did begin to feel better. He watched then nodded, satisfied and pulled over a nearby chair and straddled it.
‘If you are feeling well, my dear, we have to talk. Shall we start with your stupidity in front
of The Lion?’
Chapter Seven
Marianne closed her eyes. If she feigned faintness would he go easy on her? To her surprise the censorious voice ceased and she risked a peak. He was watching her, leaning back, relaxed, his long legs crossed, his hands folded behind his head happy to wait until she was ready.
‘Try and stay awake whilst I ring a peal over you - there’s a good girl!’
For a moment she didn’t react then she was grinning and the tension between them vanished as if it had never existed.
‘That’s much better. I have always preferred my victims to be conscious when I chastise them.’ The smile he directed at her left her breathless.
‘I do apologize for causing Lady Arabella to fall. I had forgotten my mount has the strongest dislike to being kicked.’
‘It was probably the magnificence of Lady Arabella’s riding habit that impaired your memory,’ he commented dryly. She spluttered trying hard to contain her giggles by putting her hands to her mouth. He nodded his expression innocent. ‘I know, my dear, but a habit like that is no laughing matter. Indeed, it was enough to frighten the horses in itself without your precipitate departure.’
Through her laughter Marianne managed to gasp. ‘She was not hurt you know, it was all a sham.’
He yawned as if bored with the conversation then leant forward speaking in confidence. ‘A play act? Do not say so! And the poor girl forced to drink several noxious drafts in order to avoid brain damage!’
‘You did not? No, sir, that was unkind of you. I did wonder why you were so long.’
He grinned. ‘Serves the little baggage right. She must think I am a veritable greenhorn to be taken in by such antics.’
His words dropped like an icy shower on both of them. He swore under his breath and sat up all signs of fatigue miraculously gone. She no longer had the desire to laugh. They stared at each other – assessing - reassessing. Finally he spoke, his tone serious.
‘That was stupid of me, was it not? I feared I had revealed rather more of my true nature to you than I intended but still hoped to persuade you that you were mistaken.’
‘But I am not. You are no more a town tulip than I am. Why are you dissembling, sir? From whom or what are you hiding?’
He shook his head. ‘I am sorry, Marianne, I cannot tell you. You will have to trust me. Can you do that?’
‘I can.’ She smiled. ‘And I feel far safer knowing your ennui is a facade. If I should need protection from…’ she stopped, appalled, she had been about to remind him why she had been sent packing from Bath.
He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Protection from the man who seeks to abduct you and force you into marriage?’ She nodded. ‘I can promise you, my dear, that he would take you over my dead body.’ His tone was light but she knew he meant every word.
‘Thank you, sir. I hope it will not come to that. It’s unlikely he will discover my whereabouts in this rural spot.’
‘And you will not betray me?’
‘No, of course not. In fact I’ll enjoy baiting you knowing you cannot retaliate because you are supposed to be too stupid to understand.’
He chuckled. ‘In public no, but in private that will be a horse of quite a different colour.’
She giggled unabashed by his scowl.
‘And that’s another thing. I will not be called Sir Theodore, and sir, at every turn. It makes me feel like Methuselah. I am eight and twenty not in my dotage.’
‘Then I am to call you Theodore? Is that not over familiar? I have no wish to be involved in any more breaches of etiquette.’ She tried to sound shocked by his suggestion.
‘Then you can call me Cousin Theo if you prefer, after all we are related in some way or other.’
‘Very well, Cousin Theo it is. And you may call me Cousin Marianne.’
His eyebrows raised. ‘Indeed I shall not. From henceforth you are Marianne. I am your guardian; it’s for me to decide how I should address you.’
‘Am I to have no say in it?’
‘None at all.’ He smiled. ‘As I am so much bigger than you it will be impossible for you to stop me calling you anything I care to. If you don’t like Marianne, perhaps there is another soubriquet I can use?’
Colour drained from her face. Was she to be made to answer to Martha Frasier again? Instantly he was on his feet, his face concerned.
‘What is it? Are you unwell again? You have gone so white.’
‘I felt a little faint, that is all. It has been a morning of too many shocks and too much excitement.’
Relieved he leant down and ruffled her hair which was already in disarray. ‘I suppose I’d better have Lady Arabella transferred to her barouche and escort her home. What her poor parents will make of all this I shudder to think.’
‘I’m sure Lady Arabella would much prefer her accident to remain a secret. Emily told me her parents worry overmuch as she’s their only child. If you were to accompany her, might not it give the wrong impression? They could misinterpret your concern for something else entirely.’
‘I’m not about to be trapped in parson’s mousetrap so easily, but I take your point.’
She allowed him to pull her up from her chair, his light clasp sending unexpected tingles up her arms. ‘I was sorry I missed my breakfast this morning but now I’m glad that I did.’
‘And so, my dear, am I. Shall we try again tomorrow? I doubt either Miss Grierson or Lady Arabella will wish to accompany us again.’
‘I can’t tomorrow, cousin; I believe the seamstress is coming with some of my new gowns. I must be there to try them on.’
‘Of course you must. In that case I will call for you in my phaeton at three o’clock.’
‘Phaeton?’ She repeated faintly. ‘But is that not one of those horrid contraptions that tip and bounce and threaten to evict the passengers at every turn?’
‘Not in my hands. I am a noted whipster. I’ve never had an upset not even on my last race from Piccadilly to Brighton.’
‘It’s reassuring to know I am to be driven out by someone who races a phaeton through the streets of London on a regular basis.’
He laughed out loud. ‘If you promise to behave I might even allow you to take the ribbons.’
She smiled. ‘Then your carriage will become a dangerous vehicle indeed, for I am a complete novice. I’ve only driven a pony and trap and not even that very often.’
Talking companionably like old friends and not recent acquaintances, they left the library and walked slowly along the sunny passageways to the substantial entrance hall. Emily was waiting there alone.
‘Oh, there you are, I was becoming most anxious, Sir Theodore. Arabella has gone home. She was quite restored and wished to return.’
Relieved she wouldn’t have to see Arabella again that morning Marianne rushed forward and embraced Emily warmly. ‘I am sorry we parted on bad terms. I beg your pardon. I should not have spoken so about your dearest friend.’
Emily looked perplexed. ‘I have quite forgotten what we quarrelled about. I’m not one to get in a dudgeon about anything as you know.’
Theo
interrupted. ‘I have asked for the horses to be brought round. Are you ready to depart?’ The girls nodded and followed his tall figure down the steps.
After a late breakfast, her appetite having returned, Marianne retreated to the library to read in peace until the time came to change for dinner. Her borrowed gown was now repaired and ready to be worn. A hesitant tap on the door, much later, disturbed her concentration. Impatiently she asked the intruder to come in.
Emily peered nervously around the door. ‘Marianne, Mrs Dawkins is here. Is it not exciting? She says she took on several new girls in order to complete the work and they have come a day early. Mama has asked us to go upstairs for a fitting.’
‘Wonderful. Have you seen any of them yet, Emily?’
‘No, they are all packed away in boxes.’ Emily smiled, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. ‘But there was a mountain of them. She must have completed a great many of the gowns.’
They ran upstairs eager to see what Mrs Dawkins had brought. Marianne was especially curious as she had left the choice of her gowns to another. For some reason she now wished to be all the crack and the thought of the plain, dull gowns awaiting her inspection gave her a decidedly lowering feeling.
She left Emily at her parlour door and hurried on down the long passageways and round the corner to arrive breathless outside her own apartment. She burst in and found to her surprise Mrs Dawkins had come to fit her and not gone to attend on Lady Grierson. The seamstress was standing birdlike by the open boxes, her face alight.
‘Good afternoon, Miss Devenish. I have the majority of your order completed. There are two more evening dresses, your ball gown and a habit to come, but the remainder of the gowns and undergarments are here.’ She waved her hands theatrically over the foamy tissue but didn’t lift one up for inspection.
‘If you would like to go through to your chamber your dresser is waiting. I will bring the gowns to you one at a time. Where would you like to start?’
The Duke's Deception Page 6