“No apologies are needed; I heard your wardrobe had arrived! And indeed, I see it. What a beautiful dress!”
Preening a little, feeling happy to be wearing colours again, Marianne swished her skirts a little. “Isn’t it pretty? Madame Fallou made it for me; do you know her shop?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“I shall have to take you there when we get to London. She would love to dress you.”
“Oh, but I have enough gowns already,” Ellen disclaimed.
Laughing, Marianne linked her arm through her friend’s. “Ellen, my dearest girl. You can never have too many gowns!”
THREE MORE GROUPS OF guests arrived during the day, completing the roster of those who were to stay at Havers Hall for the house party. They crowded into the house, despite its large size, disturbing the equilibrium and Alexander’s peace of mind. Unable to avoid company as he might have in his own home, he forced himself to be sociable with the other gentlemen Thomas had invited, and was agreeably surprised. To a man, they were sensible and intelligent, with conversation which did not bore him to tears. For the first time since leaving the army, Alex found himself among company which did not irritate him.
At least, when he was among the gentlemen. While the ladies were obviously intelligent too, almost all of them seemed to be inspecting him rather as though he were a horse they planned to put to stud; more than once he overheard comments about his fine legs and excellent teeth. Lady Alleyne was all but throwing Miss Alleyne at his head, and though Lady Serena Thorpe was too well-bred to make a spectacle of herself, she still made sure to put herself in situations where he was unable to avoid her entirely.
The one woman he would actually have liked to spend time with was no longer avoiding him, but she did not seem to have a particular desire for his company, either. Wearing the brightly coloured, beautifully tailored gowns from her newly delivered wardrobe, Marianne drew the eye everywhere she went.
Including his.
Especially his.
Alexander almost swallowed his tongue when she sailed into the drawing room that evening wearing the most beautiful green gown, her hair a mass of auburn curls atop her head. From the corner of his eye, he saw Viscount Thorpington drop his glass of sherry, gaping open-mouthed at the vision before him.
Mr. Alleyne was a little less gauche and quick to hurry to Marianne’s side, but her glance at the younger man was nothing more than tolerant and amused, Alex saw now. His jealousy had blinded him before, but an evening spent watching Marianne gently fend off both Alleyne and Thorpington made it clear his accusation of her leading them on had been both unfounded and insulting. She gave neither of them the slightest encouragement; indeed, Alexander had cause to be grateful to her when she steered Thorpington in Miss Alleyne’s direction, encouraging him to escort her into dinner.
Hoping to be seated beside Marianne at dinner, Alex was disappointed to find himself between Mrs. Pembroke and one of the new arrivals, a Miss Florence Wilson, who had arrived today with her twin sister Miss Fiona and their parents. A pleasant-looking girl if no great beauty, she was apparently too overwhelmed to speak at all, to him or even to kindly Sir Tobias Alleyne, seated on her other side.
Mrs. Pembroke was friendly enough, though she watched him with wary eyes, and his knowledge that she and Marianne were close kept him from paying too much attention to Marianne during the meal. He was still very aware of her at every moment. Seated on the other side of the table and two places down, it was easy enough for him to watch her surreptitiously, admire the way the candlelight gleamed on her fiery curls, drink in her low, musical laugh as she conversed comfortably with Mr. Wilson and Mr. Pembroke.
Even telling himself he was wasting his time, that Marianne had no interest in marrying again and he respected her too much to settle for anything less than marriage, he could not make himself look away. He should be trying to draw Miss Wilson out of her shell, discover what Ellen had seen in the girl, or maybe responding to Lady Serena’s frequent smiles, or taking the many opportunities Lady Alleyne offered to get to know her daughter.
None of them appealed to him in the slightest. Marianne drew him to her like gravity: a force as inexorable as it was invisible.
“I BELIEVE YOU HAVE an admirer in Lord Glenkellie,” Mr. Pembroke murmured to Marianne as the dessert course was served. “But then, if I were not quite so in love with Amelia, I am sure I should join the ranks of your admirers as well,” he added when she said nothing. “I do not doubt she has already pressed you to share the secret of your modiste.”
Marianne smiled and chose to respond only to his latter remarks. “I hope Amelia will not put too much strain on your pocketbook.”
“At least you’ve only your wife to spend on, Pembroke,” Mr. Wilson grunted. “With twin daughters out at the same time, I swear my banker flinches every time I come to call! Ribbons and bonnets and new dancing slippers every week and I don’t know what all.”
“You will miss them when they are no longer in your house, I think,” Marianne said wisely. Mr. Wilson was a crusty type with a heart of gold, she could already tell. His gaze softened whenever he looked on his wife or either of his daughters.
“Hm,” Mr. Wilson muttered, but he nodded. “Have to be a special young man to win either of my girls. Shouldn’t like them to be too far apart too. Very close, they are.”
“They are quite identical. Tell me, do you insist they wear different colours so you can tell them apart?” Marianne teased gently.
“Oh, Mrs. Wilson and I always know. We make them do it to save other folks from embarrassment.” Mr. Wilson give her a sly smile.
She laughed. Across the table, she caught Alexander’s eye for the twentieth time and looked away hastily, a slight flush rising to her cheeks. Why was he looking at her so much? She had thought all was settled between them after their conversation that morning!
Though some of the men chose to linger in the dining room after dinner, the younger ones of the party chose to accompany the ladies back to the drawing room, where Mrs. Wilson pressed her daughters to perform for the company.
Alexander had chosen to accompany the ladies to Marianne’s surprise; the previous evening he had lingered over port and cigars for quite some time. Tonight, he took a seat and accepted a cup of tea with every appearance of delight.
The Misses Wilson expressed reluctance, and Marianne sighed inwardly as their mother insisted. Why did some mothers press their daughters to exhibit in public constantly? She hoped the girls were not too uncomfortable. Finally they exchanged glances and moved to the pianoforte together, where they made a pretty picture in their pastel gowns, Florence in peach and Fiona in pale green.
Expecting an average performance, Marianne shot straight upright in her seat as Florence began to play. She was an exceptionally accomplished musician, true feeling showing through in her playing. Then Fiona began to sing, and all conversation in the room stopped as her voice soared.
Alexander appeared quite spellbound by the music, and Marianne found sudden envy welling in her breast. She had never shown any particular aptitude for music, plunking her way through required lessons in the pianoforte until her father decided to save the expense. It was the rare one of his economies she had not resented.
Now, watching Alexander’s rapt face, she wished she had persevered. Perhaps if she had only practised harder - but no, her music teacher had only ever damned her with faint praise. Alexander would never have looked at her like that.
The enjoyment she had taken in the evening gone, Marianne sat back in her chair and sipped her tea. It should not matter in the slightest if Alexander took pleasure in the playing and singing of two nice young ladies, she tried to tell herself.
“You must get up next, Leonora!” a voice hissed behind her. Lady Alleyne, Marianne surmised. “’Tis obvious Lord Glenkellie has a fondness for music!”
“After this performance, I should sound like a cat caterwauling,” Miss Alleyne replied softly.
; Marianne hid her smile in her teacup. Miss Alleyne was no fool.
“I tell you, he is looking for a wife. If you do not put yourself in front of him, some other girl will be his marchioness!” Lady Alleyne snapped. Though she kept her voice low, Marianne’s hearing was excellent and she heard every word quite clearly.
Miss Alleyne made no reply, and Marianne found herself examining Alexander’s expression again as the Wilson sisters’ spectacular performance drew to a close. He rose to applaud with the rest of the gentlemen, the reception a little more raucous than would be considered proper in London salons. But with an earl and a marquis leading the applause, who would reproach them?
Florence Wilson retreated back into her shell after the performance, taking a seat close to her mother, but Fiona preened as praise was heaped on her for her singing. Marianne added her compliments to the general praise, but a tiny ember of jealousy burned in her chest as Alexander kissed the girl’s hand and declared she had the voice of an angel.
It is wrong for me to be envious, Marianne tried to tell herself firmly. She should be pleased Alexander planned to marry; he deserved happiness, after all. And he could do far worse than choosing one of the young ladies at Havers Hall; Ellen was an excellent judge of character.
So why did she feel absolutely miserable watching Miss Fiona Wilson smiling up at Alexander?
Chapter Fifteen
“A very pleasant way to spend an evening, wasn’t it, Glenkellie?”
“Excuse me?” Jolted from his thoughts, Alexander turned to find Viscount Thorpington addressing him.
“Yesterday evening. I very much enjoyed it.”
“So did I,” Alex agreed. He’d been happily surprised, in truth; he couldn’t recall the last time he’d enjoyed himself so much. The only small cloud had been Marianne’s quiet mood; she had contributed little to the conversation after dinner and he had missed the bright wit and pertinent observations she always brought to any gathering. He could only assume it was his presence which had inhibited her; several times he had glanced up to find her eyes on him and her delicate brows creased in a frown.
“Miss Alleyne is rather lovely,” Thorpington said, his tone almost questioning.
“A nice young lady,” Alex agreed, his thoughts full of Marianne, but then he spotted the way the younger man’s face fell. Ah, so that was the way the wind blew. “Very sweet,” he added. “I understand her dowry is quite substantial, if you are considering her, Thorpington. Unexceptionable family, all things considered. Sir Tobias is very well thought of at the War Office, even if his wife is a little... well, I hesitate to say encroaching, but she is certainly ambitious.”
Thorpington’s smile was wry. “Lady Alleyne has nothing on my mother.”
“Mine either.” Alex smiled back, and companionable silence fell between them as they walked on. Thomas had organised a pheasant shoot for this morning, but Alex and Thorpington had so far not found a single bird, although they kept hearing shots in the distance. Perhaps the others were having better luck.
“So, uh,” Thorpington said hesitantly after a while. “Leonora... Miss Alleyne, I mean...”
“The field is yours, Thorpington. Better jump in quick before the lady has her head turned by all the swains who will undoubtedly fall at her feet in London, though.” Alexander gave him a nod, though the viscount certainly didn’t need his permission.
“Thank you for your advice,” Thorpington said with a grin. “But you’re really not interested...?”
“As I said, she’s a lovely girl. The operative word being girl. No offence, but girls of Miss Alleyne’s age seem very young to me.”
“You’re hardly in your dotage!”
Alex thumbed the scar on his cheek. “War ages a man,” he said finally. “I spent too many years fighting, and sometimes it feels as though I aged five years for every one I was away from England. Miss Alleyne is scarcely out of the schoolroom - as is your sister, no offence intended.”
“None taken. She has no ambitions in your direction, I assure you. Rather attached to an old school chum of mine, you see.”
“Ah.” Alex nodded sagely. “Thanks for the warning. Appreciate it. I’m sure I could fall violently in love with her if given the opportunity.”
Thorpington laughed at his obviously disingenuous remark, then pointed. “Look there!”
They were both far too late raising their guns to get the bird, and Alex sighed as he lowered his. “Pathetic. It’s a good thing I’m not dependent on my marksmanship for my dinner any more.”
“Any more?” Thorpington asked.
“Spain,” Alex said, without offering any further explanation, and thankfully the younger man didn’t press.
Giving up, they turned and walked back towards the Hall. The house was in sight when Thorpington spoke again. “Are the gossips wrong, then? You aren’t looking for a wife?”
“No, I am,” Alex admitted. “I wasn’t expected to come into the title, but now that I have... well, the next heir after me isn’t someone you’d want in charge of anything, much less a marquisate responsible for the livelihoods of thousands. He’d gamble the estate within a month.”
“So you need a wife to get an heir, but the debutantes are all too young for your tastes?” Thorpington summed up.
“Precisely.”
“It’s Lady Creighton, then?”
Alex tripped over his feet and almost measured his length on the grass, would have if not for Thorpington’s hand under his elbow. “What did you say?” he stuttered, regaining his balance.
“Lady Creighton?” Thorpington’s brow furrowed. “I mean... everyone’s talking about the way you look at her. And her marriage was notoriously unhappy, but she’s widowed now and perfectly respectable, unless you have doubts because she didn’t give Creighton any children...”
“Oh dear God, please stop talking. And to think, I thought you were quiet!” Alex pressed a hand to his brow.
Thorpington flushed. “Only in the presence of ladies,” he muttered. “They make me feel foolish.”
“Ladies make fools of us all,” Alex said dryly. “Especially if we are foolish enough to repeat gossip associated with them.” He gave Thorpington a stern look. “Please don’t mention Lady Creighton’s name in any such gossip again.”
“Yes, my lord.” Thorpington had turned bright red with embarrassment. “I do beg your pardon, my lord.”
Too much in turmoil to do more than nod acknowledgement, Alex strode back up the steps into the house, handing off his gun to Simons, who was waiting in the hall for him. “No luck today,” he said shortly in response to the valet’s querying expression.
“A shame, m’lord. If you would come into the boot room?”
He’d been about to storm off up the stairs but stopped in his tracks at the question. This wasn’t his house, and it would be unpardonably rude to leave mud all over Havers Hall’s pristine floors. Even if Thomas did employ an army of servants to keep them that way.
The other gentlemen had returned to the house - carrying quite a few birds between them, confound it - by the time Alex had his boots off. Unfortunately, he could not think of agraceful way to evade Thomas’ invitation to join the others in the billiard room once he had cleaned up. Simons had wash water and a change of clothes ready in his room, and he was soon ready to proceed downstairs.
“Excuse me, Lord Glenkellie,” Allsopp intercepted him in the front hall. “A letter just arrived for you.” A silver tray was presented.
Alex frowned as he picked up the sealed letter. “Oh God, it’s from my mother,” he said in dismay, inspecting the impression in the wax seal.
“That bad?” Thomas asked, descending the stairs behind him.
Breaking the seal, Alex grimaced. “Probably.”
“Step into my study to read it, if you like.” Thomas gestured.
Alex accepted the invitation, sinking into a chair by the window to peer at his mother’s script, so flamboyantly looped and embellished it was barely readabl
e.
My Dear Alexander,
I am quite downcast not to find you in London.
“Christ, she’s in London!”
Thomas, flicking through some papers on his desk, suppressed a snort at Alex’s dismayed tone. Alex ignored him and kept reading.
I planned to spend some time with you before I depart for Italy in April. When you return to Town, we can begin your hunt for a bride. There seems quite a promising crop of debutantes this year; even though some of them are spending Christmas in the country, I have already seen a couple who would suit you. Do write to let me know when to expect you,
Your loving
Mother
“Damn!” Alex said and then decided that was not nearly strong enough an exclamation. He let loose a stream of curses which made Thomas’ eyes widen.
“Glenkellie! What in heaven’s name has happened?”
“I’m going to have to go to London.” Tossing the letter onto the fire in disgust, Alex shook his head. “My mother will have an announcement of my engagement in the newspapers by week’s end otherwise.”
“Engagement to whom?” Thomas asked in complete confusion.
“Whoever she decides will suit me best.” Alex grimaced. “My mother is a force of nature, I’m afraid. Leaving her unsupervised in London is asking for trouble. She didn’t have nearly such a wide circle of acquaintance at Glenkellie to aid and abet her mischief, you see, and she’s quite capable of selecting a bride for me and telling me about it after she’s already arranged things with the girl’s family. I’m afraid I will have to go, if only to avoid being sued for breach of a promise she might make on my behalf.”
“Of course, but we shall miss your company. Stay another night, at least; it’s already noon, and by the time you’re packed up it will be nearly dark. Leave at first light.”
Thomas was right, of course. With a beleaguered sigh, Alex nodded his thanks. “I’m sorry to disrupt your plans - and I truly do regret having to leave your house party. I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in a long time.”
Unwrapping a Rogue: A Christmas Regency Boxset Page 28