His attention was caught by a gentleman and a lady riding side by side. They had slowed their horses to a walk. They were some distance away, and he was unable to see their features, but they were clearly relaxed in each other’s company and conversing happily. The two looked close, and the lady was laughing delightedly at something the gentleman had said.
Riding a spirited mare, the lady—for that was what she looked like...a lady—was fashionably and expensively attired, looking extremely fetching in a dark green riding dress, a short jacket trimmed with gold braid, and a matching hat cocked at an impudent angle atop bunches of delectable red and gold curls that bounced delightfully when she moved her head.
The lady sat her horse like a goddess...
* * *
Lowena couldn’t say what it was that made her turn her head—perhaps the prickling sensation she suddenly felt on the back of her neck—but turn she did, and with a shock that tightened itself about her heart looked across the distance that separated her from Marcus Carberry.
She felt her heart slam into her ribs. She froze for an instant, her thoughts scattered. She was like a senseless inanimate object, mindless, and she thought she might remain that way for ever, with people milling all around them. Although there was noise and laughter, and the conversation of people who had come to the park to absorb the atmosphere and socialise, there was stillness and silence about them.
She could feel Marcus’s presence with every fibre of her being and—despite the shock of seeing him again after so long—an increasingly comforting warmth suffused her. Her eyes were riveted on his beloved face, loving every line of his form. An ache touched her heart, because everything about him was so achingly, wonderfully familiar. Her whole soul reached out to him through her eyes.
A strange sensation of security at knowing he was close at hand pleased her. But the memory of their parting, of the pain and the hurt he had caused her when he had told her she had to leave Tregarrick, was still present. She had not forgotten their night together, nor anything else about him. Memories of him were etched in her brain like engravings on a stone...memories of how he had held her and kissed her and made love to her.
Sweet Lord in heaven, she knew she had committed a sin when she had let him take her virginity, but she loved him—hopelessly, enduringly and compulsively.
Across the distance that separated them she saw him standing with a woman she recognised as his sister Juliet. He looked even more powerfully masculine and attractive than she remembered. His commanding presence was awesome, drawing the eye of everyone in the park. A group of people had moved to speak to him, but his eyes continued to follow her as she urged her horse on.
Unaware of what his daughter was thinking, and of the man who had held her attention for a moment, her father fell in beside her. Turning her head once more, she saw that Marcus was still looking at her—but he might not have recognised her, dressed in her finery and riding a splendid horse and in the company of a gentleman.
* * *
Marcus watched the man reach across to her and gently touch her cheek in an intimate gesture. That was the moment he realised that he was looking at a familiar figure, and his heart took a savage and painful leap at the sight of her.
In a moment of unconscious spontaneity he stepped forward, wanting reassurance that she was not an apparition, but the two riders disappeared as the crowd closed round them.
Juliet moved to stand beside her brother. ‘Marcus—who was that? Do you know them?’
‘I thought the lady looked familiar, that is all,’ he answered, his gaze fastened to the place where she had disappeared, hoping she would come back into view. But she was gone.
He must have been mistaken. It could not have been Lowena. It was not possible. But, as much as he told himself that, part of him still wanted to believe it. Relief at seeing her again—safe and looking well—washed over him like a tidal wave. But if it had been Lowena, then who was the man—and what did she mean to him?
Could she...? Had she...? No, screamed a voice inside his head. The thought of Lowena—that beautiful girl—and that man being lovers was not to be borne. These images and visions of the two of them together were without sequence or logic. What he was thinking made no sense.
The brief softening emotion he had felt a moment before had vanished. In its place was something steel-hard. A hot crimson rage and a sickening jealousy such as he had never known boiled inside him like fiery acid at the thought of another man touching her.
He’d spent the last few weeks searching for her—even seeking out Nessa in Saltash to throw some light on her whereabouts—only to find Nessa had also disappeared. He had been a damned fool.
Seething inwardly, he damned her conniving little heart.
* * *
Between her sighting of Marcus in the park and Lady Wychwood’s social event later that day—the largest society event she had attended so far—Lowena was existing in a state of great anxiety. The excitement of the social whirl into which she had been thrust, and which she had initially enjoyed, was waning, and she was beginning to find it all rather tedious. She longed for the fresh country air of the West Country and the smell and the sound of the sea.
Casting a critical eye at her reflection in the long mirror, she accepted the fan and reticule her maid gave her and, picking up her skirts, went in search of her father.
The stunned admiration on his face when he saw her coming down the stairs bolstered Lowena’s faltering confidence.
‘You look absolutely breathtaking—and very elegant. This is a proud moment for me: escorting my beautiful daughter to a social event at the prestigious Lady Wychwood’s house. And my wife, of course,’ he was quick to add, when his smiling wife, resplendent in a gown of saffron silk, appeared at the top of the stairs.
The streets around Lady Wychwood’s elegant house overlooking Green Park were filled with the rattle of carriages and the jingle of harness, accompanied by the voices of coachmen and lackeys.
Climbing the steps to the house, sandwiched between her father and Deborah, Lowena knew she looked her best. Her dress suited her to perfection—although she had acknowledged some doubts about the deep décolletage which, in her opinion, was cut far too low. But Deborah had assured her that it was simply perfect, for it displayed to advantage the full, rich curves of her breasts and shoulders.
With a warm, searching smile, her father offered her his arm. ‘Are you ready?’
She nodded, and laid her gloved hand on his arm.
A liveried footman stepped aside as Sir Robert Wesley and his wife and daughter swept into the marble-floored hall. Lowena concentrated on keeping her mind perfectly blank. On entering the large salon, which was filled to capacity, a festive air prevailing, they paused, and Lowena’s eyes swept the large number of assembled guests dressed in their finery. Her nervousness was superseded by a blissful sense of unreality. She was met by a wave of light and heat and the smell of perfume and powdered wigs.
It wasn’t a ball, as such, it was an informal affair. But there was music and dancing in the ballroom if one wished for it. The buzz of conversation was punctuated by the fluttering of fans and the swishing of silk gowns. She had never seen so many fashionable people gathered together all glittering with jewels.
Exuding luxury and fashionable elegance, the walls were hung with ivory silk, delicately worked with a gold and green design, and the colours were reflected in the upholstery and in the heavy curtains hung at the French windows, which opened onto a terrace and the flower-filled gardens. The windows were open wide, to catch the coolness of the evening and to allow guests to wander outside, and for those guests who sought other entertainment two adjoining rooms had been set aside for gaming.
Lady Wychwood, a striking middle-aged widow, was flitting among her guests. Like a queen, she reigned supreme, bedecked in sparkling jewels and wi
th her richly coloured silk skirts spread about her.
Helping themselves to glasses of champagne from a silver tray, the three of them stood and surveyed the glittering company.
‘It’s rather splendid, isn’t it?’ Deborah commented, smiling across the room at a lady she was acquainted with.
‘As usual,’ her husband replied, ‘it’s what you expect at Lady Wychwood’s affairs.’ He glanced at his daughter, feeling immensely proud of her and her composure. He knew how difficult it must be for her, this first proper outing into society. ‘How are you bearing up, Lowena?’ he asked softly, his eyes twinkling down at her.
Lowena smiled, beginning to relax. ‘Relieved that you are with me—but I’d like to go out onto the terrace and take a look at the garden before it’s too dark to see anything. Would you mind if I slipped away for a moment?’
‘Not at all. There is someone I must speak to, and then I will join you.’
Lowena paused on the wide terrace before stepping down into the beautiful garden. The sun had almost set, leaving the sky a deep blue with several shades of pink on the horizon. As she strolled along the paths she was surrounded by clambering sweet-scented roses and honeysuckle, and the foliage of tall flowering shrubs. The air was warm and humid, and filled with the hum of insects.
Looking back at the house, she saw an elegant, slender young woman dressed in a fashionable rose-pink gown walking quickly towards her. It was Juliet, Marcus’s sister. She was a pretty brunette, with friendly blue eyes.
‘Lowena, how lovely to see you again after all this time,’ she said, greeting her warmly, obviously genuinely pleased to see her. ‘We’ve just arrived. When I looked onto the terrace I thought I recognised you. I couldn’t believe my eyes. So Marcus was right. It was you he saw in the park.’
‘Yes—yes, it was.’
‘Well, I have to say that I am quite astonished to find you here, of all places. I see your circumstances are much changed. It’s been a long time since I was down in Cornwall, but it’s good to have Mama and Marcus to stay for a while. They arrived yesterday. I’m so glad Marcus is home at last—the children adore him. No doubt he will be eager to get back to Cornwall and that mine of his, but I’m hoping Mama extends her visit.’
‘I’m sure she can be persuaded. She spoke of you often and I know how much she misses you. She’s been looking forward to this visit. Is she with you tonight?’
‘No. She wasn’t feeling too well—a headache. She wanted an early night. Ah, here is my brother,’ Juliet said, looking beyond Lowena to the house. ‘I must tell you that he is a little out of sorts just now,’ she confided softly, looking at Lowena with quiet concern. ‘I think it must have something to do with seeing you earlier and then you disappearing before he had chance to speak to you. He has told me that you left Cornwall under mysterious circumstances. He was quite put out about it and has been searching for you ever since. Have a care... Marcus is not a man to be reasoned with when he’s in one of his adverse moods.’
With her back to Marcus, Lowena smiled at Juliet. ‘Oh, I think I can manage Captain Carberry.’
‘Here you are, Juliet. We wondered where you had disappeared to.’
It was Marcus who had come into the garden, and he stood behind her. Lowena knew it. She could feel it. She didn’t need to turn for verification. She would sense his presence whenever she was near him—always. There was nothing she could do to change that. Nor would she want to.
She stood for a moment before turning to look at him, breathing in the scent of the roses, seeing their petals shining as if they’d been polished. She exhaled slowly, then turned.
Taken completely off guard, Marcus gaped at her. ‘Good Lord! Lowena...’ He was suddenly lost for words. He had only ever seen Lowena in simple day-to-day clothes, and then in the dark grey dress of a servant, and this transformation into a fashionable young lady was astounding.
The familiar voice struck straight at Lowena’s heart as she watched him come towards her, and she felt it fill and almost burst with the joy of seeing him. She fought to calm her rioting nerves and maintain her equilibrium—to ignore the seductive pull of his eyes and voice.
Resplendent in black and white, his lustrous black hair brushed neatly back and secured at his nape, he looked unbearably handsome. He was just as she remembered, and when she looked into the lean, bronzed, formidable face, the instant she met his silver-grey eyes she felt a shaking begin in her limbs.
His presence swept away everything around her, and once again she was back in Cornwall. She could see the blue sky, feel the wind on her face and taste the salt of the sea on her lips. In an ecstasy of love she wanted to cast herself into his arms, and yet her heart had already made its choice between distancing herself from him and the happiness that could be hers for a moment in his arms.
His face was expressionless, remote, and his silver-grey eyes gleamed hard and cold. Her heart fell and her joy in seeing him again melted away. He looked away from her and concentrated his gaze on a group of people who had come out onto the terrace, as if he could not stand the sight of her.
He was fighting her, Lowena thought, trying to shut her out, and for the moment he was succeeding. At that moment she would have done or said anything to reach him. She could not believe that this cold, remote stranger was the same tender, passionate man who had made love to her.
She tried to put those thoughts out of her mind. She grieved for the life she had known before, but she had a new life now—the life that had been stolen from her by her grandmother in her wickedness—and it was a life with promise.
Marcus towered over her, and Lowena almost retreated from those fierce eyes. But she steeled herself, and stood her ground before his accusing glare.
‘I’m sorry. You take me by surprise,’ Lowena said with cool civility, prepared to be on the defensive, recognising that the stern set of his face and the thin line of his lips did not suggest much tolerance or forgiveness. She was determined to speak to him with a calm maturity and not to let anger and confused emotions get the better of her. ‘I thought never to see you again.’
Marcus cocked a handsome brow as he gave her a lengthy inspection. ‘Obviously.’
Lowena had spent many cold winters in Cornwall. She had seen the lake on the Carberry estate ice over. But nothing had chilled her as much as Marcus’s voice at that moment. It froze her heart, too. The tension was palpable. His look was threatening, and a sense of force was distilled and harnessed in his stance. She could feel his simmering anger.
In spite of her subterfuge, and the time they had been apart, Marcus knew the conversation must take a polite course.
‘Do you often ride in the park?’ he asked, his voice cool.
‘Yes. I love London—and riding out. There is so much to see and do, and the park is extremely pleasant.’
‘Your accomplishments astound me,’ Marcus said sardonically. ‘I had no idea you could ride.’
‘How could you? I didn’t learn until I went to live in Devon. I was taught by a master.’
‘I don’t doubt it. You will remember my sister Juliet and her husband Lord Simon Mallory?’ he said, standing aside and turning to his sister and then to her husband, who had come to join his wife.
‘Yes, of course I do,’ Lowena said, smiling at Juliet. She had not met her husband, though. She had not been working at Tregarrick in the days before Juliet had gone to London to marry Lord Mallory.
‘I’ve just been telling Lowena how lovely it is to see her again,’ Juliet said, her tone warm with obvious sincerity.
‘It is the first big society event I have attended since I came to London. I must confess to feeling like a fish out of water,’ Lowena admitted, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
Eager to be introduced to this vivacious young woman, Simon reached out his hand, his handsome face breaking
into a brilliant reassuring smile and his blue eyes twinkling with delight. ‘Your servant, Miss Trevanion,’ he said, bending over and pressing a gallant kiss on the back of her hand. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you.’
‘Thank you.’ For a moment Lowena was tempted to inform him that her name was Wesley now, but she held back, not yet ready to divulge her new identity to a stranger. But she liked Juliet’s husband at once. ‘Please—you must call me Lowena. Everyone does.’
‘And you must call me Simon.’
‘You look well, Lowena,’ Juliet said, turning to her stony-faced brother. ‘Don’t you agree, Marcus?’
‘Never better,’ he ground out.
Dressed in her gown of pale green, with the tightly fitted bodice that forced her breasts high and exposed a daring expanse of flesh, and her heavy, glorious hair twisted into burnished curls at the crown, Lowena stood in resentful silence while Marcus’s gaze slid boldly over her from the top of her shining hair to the toes of her satin slippers.
She actually flinched at the coldness in his eyes as they raked over her, but she raised her chin and held her ground, clutching her fan in front of her. ‘I am perfectly well,’ she replied. ‘As you can see, I have survived very well since leaving Tregarrick.’
‘I’m sure you have.’
‘And how do you like London?’ Juliet asked, aware of the tension between these two, which could be cut with a knife.
‘Very much—although I confess to being over-awed at first. There is so much to do and see and experience—I love the parks, and the Vauxhall Gardens are particularly beautiful.’
‘Indeed they are,’ Juliet agreed, then was suddenly distracted when she saw a lady trying to get her attention on the terrace. Excusing herself, Juliet left to speak to her, Simon following in her wake.
The Foundling Bride Page 18