Chapter Ten
Marianne was acutely aware of Alexander watching her. Her hand shook as she tried to eat, and her voice sounded high and thin to her ears—her laugh forced and artificial. Thomas looked quizzically at her once or twice, obviously picking up on her distress, but she refused to acknowledge his silent query, instead picking up her wine and drinking.
By the end of the meal, she realised what a mistake that was, however, since an attentive footman had kept her glass filled and she was more than a little tipsy. When Ellen invited the ladies to the parlour, it was more than enough reason to make her excuses and retire to bed.
“I have become unaccustomed to wine,” she said quite truthfully, “and it has brought on my headache again. Please forgive me for retiring early; I promise I shall be more sociable tomorrow.”
“You are forgiven already, though we shall miss your company. Sleep well and feel better, dearest, and please do not hesitate to have Jean or another maid bring you anything you might wish for your relief.”
Marianne felt guilty about deceiving Ellen, but she lost no time in hurrying up the stairs, nervous all the while that Alexander might choose to leave the other men to their brandy and port and come looking for her. What he might have to say to her after all this time she could not imagine, but she knew she did not want to hear whatever it was. Merely looking on his face, only grown more handsome with the passage of years, was painful, especially since she’d had to listen to Lady Alleyne eagerly quizzing Lord Havers about Alexander’s marriage prospects. He would need to marry, and soon; marquisates required heirs, and undoubtedly he would be choosing from among London’s latest crop of debutantes.
Perhaps he even had someone in mind already. Miss Alleyne was a sweet creature with a hefty dowry; perhaps she might suit him. Or Lady Serena Thorpe; she would look very well on Alexander’s arm, and she had a strong character and a sense of humour too.
Marianne did not realise she was crying until she tripped, blinded by the tears in her eyes, and almost fell. Catching herself with a hand against the wall, she stumbled on until she found her room at last, pushing the door open with a sob of frustration when the knob stuck briefly.
“My lady!” Jean rose from where she had been seated by the fire mending a stocking, an expression of shock on her face as the sewing fell to the floor. “Are you unwell?”
“I feel sick,” Marianne choked out, and Jean managed to get a pot under her nose just in time.
“That will teach me to drink too much wine,” Marianne groaned a few minutes later, as Jean helped her to lie down and placed a cool, damp cloth over her brow. “Maybe my husband was right to insist I should only ever be permitted one glass.”
“Well, it can be powerful stuff if you’re not used to it,” Jean agreed. “Especially if you don’t eat nothin’.”
Marianne’s guilty silence made the maid sigh. But she hadn’t been able to choke down more than a couple of spoonfuls of soup, not with the anger in Alexander’s gaze scorching her from the other end of the table.
“I daresay you won’t make the same mistake again, m’lady,” Jean said, removing Marianne’s slippers. “Let’s get you comfortable for bed now, and I’ll make a herbal tisane up for your head. A good night’s sleep, and you’ll be right as rain in the morning.”
Privately, Marianne doubted she would sleep at all, but the tea Jean persuaded her to sip after helping her change into her night rail must have had some soothing herbs in it. Her eyelids soon began to feel heavy and she lay back against her pillows without complaint, allowing her eyes to close.
“That’s it, m’lady,” Jean encouraged softly, and Marianne heard her moving quietly about the room, setting things to rights and putting the noxious pot out for someone to take away and wash. “Sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
REJOINING THE LADIES to discover Marianne had already retired infuriated Alexander to the point where he pleaded weariness from travelling and retired himself, ignoring Thomas’ expression of disbelief. He was in no mood to be polite to anyone, and with no possible opportunity to corner Marianne tonight, he might as well retire rather than manage to offend one of the Havers’ guests with his ill temper.
At the top of the stairs, he paused, considering briefly whether it might be worth trying to locate Marianne’s room. His valet Simons would probably know exactly where everyone had been accommodated by now, and have opinions on whether Lady Havers had correctly placed them according to precedence, too. But asking Simons where he might find Lady Creighton’s rooms and then going to look for the lady would create a scandal.
Alex did not care in the slightest if a scandal affected him, and Marianne deserved no consideration, but he would not see the Havers’ first ever house party marred in such a way if he could help it. No, far better to bide his time and confront Marianne privately. One way or another, he would manage it.
And while he might not feel like company tonight, he had a good book to read, and undoubtedly Simons would be able to procure some of Havers’ excellent brandy for him to drink while he he did so.
Perhaps Simons might have some interesting gossip from belowstairs he could be convinced to share, as well. Marianne appeared to be well-settled here at Havers Hall; knowing how long she had been in residence and who was attending her could be useful information.
Making his way to the comfortable room he had been allotted on the second floor, Alex nodded to Simons as he entered. “I’m going to retire early, Simons; I’m in no mood for company.”
“When are you ever, sir?” Simons rejoined smartly. “I took the liberty of obtaining some brandy for you.” He indicated a decanter and glass sitting ready on the mantelpiece.
“In that case, you are forgiven for the snide remark on my social ineptitude.” Alex threw himself into a seat by the fire.
“It’s not your fault, sir,” Simons said kindly. “The army didn’t exactly provide you with many opportunities for civilised social interactions.”
“Remind me again why I keep you around?” Alex asked dryly. For answer, Simons placed a glass of brandy into his hand, waved at his book placed ready for him on a table at his elbow, and indicated for him to lift his foot so Simons could start removing his boots. “Ah, yes. Of course. Because I couldn’t do without you.”
Simons gave a small smile and nodded before tugging his first boot off. “Did you enjoy your dinner, sir? I must say, the servants eat well here. I have rarely dined so heartily.”
Embarrassed to admit he couldn’t recall a single dish served that evening, Alex seized his opportunity gratefully. “Speaking of servants, Simons, who is attending Lady Creighton? I’m assuming she brought her own lady’s maid, at least...”
“No, sir.” Removing the other boot, Simons straightened up. “A maid named Jean has been assigned to her. A nice young woman and one not inclined to gossip about her mistress, even if it is only a temporary post for her. She was quite repressive when two of the other maids began to gossip about the unconventional manner in which the lady arrived.”
“What unconventional manner?” Alex looked up.
“That I have not yet been able to discern, sir. So far, all I know is that she arrived a full week earlier than expected.” Simons hesitated. “May I enquire as to your interest in Lady Creighton, sir?”
“No.”
“Very good, sir. I shall see what further information I may glean tomorrow.” Simons knew better than to press when Alex spoke in that flat tone; the valet removed himself, taking Alex’s boots through to his adjoining chamber where he would polish them to a high shine.
Left alone, Alex brooded over his brandy, staring into the glowing coals of the fire. Why had Marianne come a week early, and under what ‘unconventional’ circumstances? Perhaps she had been escorted by a man, he thought suddenly; that would certainly be unconventional. She was a very beautiful widow, after all. Perhaps a lover had brought her here - cast her off? That would explain her arrival a week early, too.
&n
bsp; By the time he’d finished the second glass of brandy, Alex had convinced himself his theory was correct. Which meant Marianne would be looking for a new lover.
A wolfish smile curved his lips as he drained the glass and set it down.
That was a role he’d gladly fulfil for her.
WAKING EARLY THE FOLLOWING morning, Alex could not remember the last time he’d slept so well. He could not recall the last time he retired so early, either; perhaps that had something to do with getting a good night’s sleep, he acknowledged with a grin at his own foolishness.
Simons bustled about importantly, bringing him riding clothes and suggesting he might wish to go for an early ride, as rain was expected later in the day.
“Julius will want a run,” Alex agreed, accepting his gloves from the valet. “And I daresay breakfast will be served throughout the morning, at the convenience of guests?”
“Indeed, sir. There is a morning room in the east wing where a buffet will be kept ready until noon, I understand. Any of the house servants can escort you there.”
Perhaps I’ll catch Marianne there. Or perhaps she will be out riding herself, Alex thought as he headed downstairs and out to the stables, spying a lady by the mounting-block being assisted up onto a pretty dappled grey mare. As he drew closer, however, he recognised Ellen, Thomas waiting to one side, already mounted on a leggy chestnut gelding.
“Good morning!” Ellen called to him in delight as she saw him approaching. “It is a lovely morning for a ride; would you care to accompany us?”
Alex acknowledged it was indeed a fine morning, especially for December; the air was crisp and clear, frost riming the grass, a light breeze blowing. He could hardly decline the invitation, either, though he remarked that his horse would want a good gallop.
“We can certainly accommodate that,” Thomas said cheerfully. “I saw your stallion; he’s a fine fellow. John Pembroke will want to talk with you about maybe taking him down to Hampshire to visit with some of his mares, I daresay.”
“No doubt Julius would enjoy the holiday.” Alex winked cheekily at Ellen. “Especially with eager ladies waiting for him at the end of the trip!”
Ellen blushed a little. “Outrageous, Glenkellie,” she reproved. “Apparently you have forgotten, in your years in the army, that true ladies do not appreciate bawdy talk.” Her eyes twinkled, though, and Alex knew she’d already forgiven him.
“Forgive me, Lady Havers.” He executed a bow to her. “I shall endeavour to remember my manners.”
Julius was led out then by a groom; Alex greeted the stallion fondly. The former warhorse nickered and pushed his head against Alex’s chest, sending him back an involuntary step with the force of the shove.
“Behave, you great fool,” Alex said in amusement, fishing an apple from his pocket.
“He truly is beautiful,” Ellen commented as Alex mounted up and rode up alongside her. “What colour is that called? His body looks almost blue, though his head and legs are black.”
“That’s what it’s called, blue roan. It’s a trick of the light; the individual hairs are black and white, evenly mixed.” Alex patted Julius’ thickly muscled neck affectionately. “He carried me through many a battle in Belgium and France. Frankly, he’s earned a quiet retirement and as many lady friends as he wishes.”
“If only all England’s valiant soldiers could have the same,” Ellen said sincerely.
Touched, Alex bowed to her again. Julius frisked a few steps as his weight shifted, and Alex reined him in firmly. “Not yet, boy. Not yet.”
“Not so fast as a thoroughbred, I daresay, but unstoppable once you get him up to speed?” Thomas asked, reining in his chestnut on Ellen’s other side.
“Quite so,” Alex agreed. “Thoroughbreds are all very well for racing a mile or so, but for long campaigns and cavalry charges, a stronger and more durable mount is needed. Your mount might win a short race, but over the course of a day, Julius would run him into the ground.” He patted the charger’s proudly arched neck.
“Well, we haven’t a day,” Thomas said, “so we can only challenge you to a short race, I’m afraid.”
“We?” Alex queried.
“Watch out for Lady Havers. She races to win,” Thomas said with a grin, and was proved right a moment later as Ellen urged her mare to a gallop, shouting over her shoulder;
“Last one to the split oak is a rotten egg!”
Laughing, Alex gave Julius his head, and in the stallion’s joyous gallop of freedom forgot for a little while all the concerns which plagued his restless mind.
Chapter Eleven
From the windows of the morning room, Marianne watched the three riders as they crossed the landscape into the distance. Alexander was unmistakable, tall and straight-backed; he sat his horse with the ease of someone who had lived in his saddle for nearly months on end.
“Lady Creighton.”
A voice behind her made her turn, and she smiled as she saw Amelia Pembroke. “Please, call me Marianne,” she invited. “I would as soon forget my marriage ever happened, to tell the truth.”
They were alone save for a couple of servants bustling about the buffet laid out on a dresser at the other end of the room, and Amelia gave her a sympathetic look. “I can quite understand why you feel that way. I never told you before, but I was so very shocked when your engagement was announced and then you married Creighton so quickly. I thought you’d have eloped with Rotherhithe before marrying a man you didn’t love.”
“Had he given me the opportunity, I would have done.” Marianne looked back to the window. The three horses were galloping now, dwindling to specks before fading from sight entirely, swallowed up by a fold of the landscape. “He had already taken ship for the Peninsula, though. The marriage had no doubt already taken place by the time he could even have heard of the engagement, but I still hoped he would do something - come back and challenge Creighton, shoot him dead, and take me away.”
Amelia said nothing, but her look spoke volumes of understanding.
“I was very young.”
“Do you hold any hopes in Rotherhithe - excuse me, he’s Glenkellie now, of course - any hopes in his direction?”
“Good Lord, no.” Marianne willed her hand not to shake as she cut her toast into small, delicate triangles. “It’s long in the past, Amelia. We’ve both moved on. He needs a wealthy, well-connected young bride to produce the next generation of Rotherhithes, not a barren, penniless widow who is all but cast-off from her family!”
“I beg your pardon.” Amelia blinked.
Marianne realised the other woman did not know of her full situation. “I’m afraid Creighton was as callous in death as in life,” she said ruefully, before quietly explaining the terms of her dower and her falling-out with Arthur and Lavinia.
“How appalling,” Amelia said with her usual forthrightness once Marianne had finished speaking. “I don’t know which I find worse; that Creighton treated you so shabbily, or that his heir seeks to compound the insult!”
Marianne smiled wryly but said nothing as a footman set a steaming teapot and a polished wooden tea caddy down on the table between them. Opening the caddy, she spooned some of the fragrant leaves into the hot water.
“Considering my husband’s character, I should have expected no less,” she said finally.
“Well, I think it’s disgraceful,” Amelia said hotly, “and I should like to extend an invitation to you to come to Hampshire and live with us, as my dear friend, once you are weary of London. You need only send a note and I will have Pembroke come himself with a carriage to collect you.” She smiled a little shyly and leaned close. “I shall want a friend close by in a few months,” she confided. “I am enceinte, at last.”
“That is wonderful news and a most generous offer,” Marianne said warmly. “I thank you for it most gratefully. I daresay I will spend the rest of my days imposing on all of my friends in turn until they are all heartily sick of me darkening their doors!”
“
Never,” Amelia disclaimed loyally.
They were joined then by the Alleyne family, who came in en masse, exclaiming excitedly over how well they had slept, how comfortable the beds were, and how attentive the servants of Havers Hall. Marianne was not displeased to end her conversation with Amelia; discussing her future prospects was a depressing topic indeed, though it warmed her heart to know she still had Amelia’s friendship.
THEY WERE STILL AT table when the riders returned; Amelia’s husband had met up with the others out in the countryside somewhere and the four entered the morning room with broad smiles and hearty appetites. Tempted to excuse herself immediately, Marianne realised it would be rather rude as Mr. Pembroke took a seat by his wife and leaned across her to bid Marianne a cheerful good morning.
“It is indeed, sir. Did you enjoy your ride?”
“Very much so; it is a fine morning for a hearty gallop!” He turned to his wife. “I am sorry you were not feeling well enough to join me, my heart,” he said in an undertone, picking up Amelia’s hand and kissing it. “Are you quite recovered?”
“I am.” Amelia smiled fondly at him. “I have invited Marianne to come stay with us, perhaps in early May or so.”
“Ah.” Mr. Pembroke glanced at Marianne before looking back at his wife, who nodded at him. “Lady Creighton would be most welcome at any time, but if you would like her with you then, I shall move heaven and earth to find some way to persuade her.”
“Such efforts will not be required, I promise.” Marianne gave him a warm smile. “I am delighted to accept the invitation and may only need to impose on you for some transport, probably from London.”
“It is not the slightest imposition, my lady.” Pembroke dismissed her concerns with a wave of his hand.
Boots on the polished wooden floorboards heralded another arrival, and Marianne glanced up, only to meet Alexander’s eyes as he entered the room.
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