The Youngest Dowager

by Louise Allen

  He smiled back, sharing the memories for a moment. He stretched across the table and took her hands in his. ‘Then I can only attribute it to my excellent teacher. Thank you, Diane, for all your love and warmth.’

  ‘Foolish man.’ She caressed his cheek affectionately. ‘Now go. Do not waste time here. Go to your Marissa and tell her you love her.’

  ‘Bless you.’ He dropped a kiss on her cheek and was gone.

  The moon was high as Marcus sent the bay gelding flying back along the road towards the Lodge. The air was warm and balmy, clouds of gnats danced above the thick hedgerows and amongst the tangled banks of dog roses nightingales pierced the silence with their bubbling song.

  All he could think about as the hooves thudded beneath him was that Marissa loved him and that they could be happy together.

  His mind was so full of her that he was not surprised when he opened the door, stepped into the hall and she ran headlong down the stairs and cast herself into his arms. For a moment he was so overwhelmed to find himself holding her warm body, clad only in her nightgown and peignoir, that he held her close, his mouth in her hair, drinking in the scent of her.

  Then he looked up into the reddened eyes of Miss Venables, at Jackson standing behind her, looking grave and concerned. Marcus cast round and realised the hall was full of people – both footmen, a weeping lady’s maid and even Cook, tangling her hands in her apron.

  Chapter Twenty One

  Marcus eased open Marissa’s grip but kept one arm protectively around her shoulders. ‘What the Devil is wrong, Jackson?’

  ‘If you would take the ladies into the drawing room, my lord,’ the butler said, ‘I will join you directly. Thomson, take the rest of the staff back below stairs. Cook, please send up tea.’

  Marcus, baffled, steered Marissa into the drawing room while Jackson helped a weeping Miss Venables to an armchair. ‘Will someone please tell me what is going on?’

  ‘Oh, Marcus,’ Marissa said. ‘I am so thankful you are back.’

  ‘Let me tell him, it is all my fault.’ Miss Venables could get no further, tears overcoming her again.

  It was the sight of the redoubtable Jane Venables sobbing into her handkerchief that convinced Marcus that this was more than the usual domestic upset.

  ‘Perhaps, my lord, I could be permitted to explain,’ Jackson said stolidly as Marissa slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her.

  ‘I wish you would. Sit down.’

  The big man dropped into an armchair and it was as if the crisis had transported them back to their old, informal relationship in the West Indies. ‘It’s Miss Nicci, Marcus. She’s gone off with that Captain Cross, if I read her letter aright. I was about to take the curricle out after her when you returned.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’ Marcus jumped to his feet, raking his fingers through his wind-disordered hair. ‘Stupid little fool!’ He paced the carpet, then turned to his old friend. ‘You’re sure she’s with Cross? There can be no doubt?’

  Wordlessly Jackson handed Marcus a sheet of writing paper, crumpled and tear-stained.

  I have gone to Andrew because you are all so beastly to me. And he says I would make a wonderful army wife and would enjoy all the balls and parties that the Regiment holds. I shall marry him and then you will be sorry you were so unkind. Do not follow me, for I shall never return willingly.

  ‘Nicci, you little idiot. Even that milksop curate would have been better than this. Jackson, do we know where this Captain Cross lodges?’

  Jackson shook his head. ‘From what Lady Longminster remembers of his uniform the regiment is one of those based down in Brighton. He obviously came up for the races this week.’

  Miss Venables blew her nose and peered over the handkerchief, red-eyed, but finally in control of herself. ‘My lord, I think I may be able to throw some light on this. While I was with Sir Frederick Collier this afternoon we encountered an old friend of his, a Colonel Seymour. He is the officer in command of Captain Cross’s regiment and he mentioned that he and several of his officers had taken lodgings in Epsom for the races.’

  ‘Do you know where?’

  ‘No, but Sir Frederick will, they dined together last night.’

  Ten minutes later the curricle was at the front door, Jackson already in the seat. As Marcus gathered up the reins Marissa appeared on the doorstep, fully dressed, a cloak around her shoulders. ‘Marcus, what are you going to do?’

  ‘Call on Sir Frederick, find the Colonel, get Captain Cross’s direction – and break his neck.’

  'Take me with you. Nicci is going to be in such distress and, if we are seen, my presence may help reduce any scandal.’

  ‘It makes sense, Marcus,’ Jackson murmured, swinging out of his seat to sit on the Tiger’s perch behind.

  ‘You’re right.’ Marcus stretched down a hand and almost pulled Marissa up beside him. ‘Hold on,’ he warned, laying the whip across the bays with a snap.

  If Sir Frederick Collier was surprised to be interrupted as he sat reading in his study, he was too well mannered to show it. He urged Marissa and Marcus into the room and listened gravely to their frank explanation of why they were there. With a nod he crossed to his desk and wrote an address on a slip of paper. ‘Here, this is Colonel Seymour’s direction. You may rely on my total discretion. Now, hurry.’

  The Colonel, fetched from a game of cards by his batman, was less phlegmatic. His florid complexion darkened dangerously, but he was clearly controlling his language in deference to Marissa. None the less Marcus had the distinct impression that the Colonel would be exacting his own price for the Captain’s behaviour. If there’s anything left of him by the time I’ve finished.

  ‘I will come with you, my lord. Ma’am, perhaps you would be more comfortable here. I will ask my wife to come down to wait with you.’

  ‘Thank you, no. The fewer people involved the better, I feel, and Lady Longminster may be able to lend some countenance to my sister if she is seen leaving this man’s rooms.’

  The Captain’s lodgings, ten minutes away on the edge of town, were in darkness save for lights on the first floor. Marcus, thankful that the house seemed a respectable one, tugged at the bell-pull impatiently and when a manservant answered shouldered past him. Jackson followed, his hand on Marissa’s elbow.

  ‘Stand aside, my man, and do not raise a noise if you know what's good for you,’ Jackson snapped at the servant. ‘Better wait down here, my lady,’ he added, as the sound of Marcus hammering at an upstairs door echoed through the house.

  ‘No, I am going up. Who is to say what will happen if we are not there? Go on, Jackson.’ She hurried in his wake up the stairs, her heart in her mouth. From the moment the note had been found her thoughts had all been for Nicci and how she would ruin her life for this single moment of childish defiance. She doubted that Nicci understood the enormity of what she was doing, or the danger she had placed herself in.

  But when Marcus had returned her joy and relief at seeing him had turned to cold fear that either he would kill the Captain, and have to flee the country, or that he himself would be injured in the duel that he would surely force.

  The scene that confronted them as they entered the room close on Marcus’s heels would have been comic if it had not been so serious. Nicci, whose riding habit at least explained how she had arrived there, sat by the fire, her face a picture of indignation. The gallant Captain, who seemed determined to put as much distance between them as he could, was backed into a corner, a hunted look on his face.

  ‘Thank God you have come, my lord.’

  The heartfelt greeting must have taken Marcus by surprise. He stopped, his eyes narrowed as he looked from the Captain to his sister.

  ‘I did not ask her to come here, believe me, my lord,’ the Captain said with feeling. ‘I have never been so glad to see anyone in my life as I am to see you.’

  ‘Andrew! How could you?’ Nicci cried. ‘After all the things you said to me.’

  ‘What things, C
aptain?’ Marcus enquired dangerously.

  Marissa pushed past the men and gathered Nicci in her arms. ‘Oh, do be quiet, both of you! There, there, Nicci. We have come to take you home. You are quite safe now.’

  ‘She was quite safe before, let me assure you,’ the Captain interjected indignantly. ‘Kiss a girl at the races and the next thing you know she turns up on the doorstep without a handkerchief to her name. I never asked her to come here.’

  Marissa thought she detected a slight softening, almost sympathy, in Marcus’s hard expression, but his voice betrayed no such thing.

  ‘Well, Captain Cross, this is a pretty pass. When are you intending to marry my sister? I am sure we can obtain a special licence. In fact I believe I saw the Bishop of Chichester at the races yesterday. He will doubtless be happy to expedite matters.’

  ‘Marry her?’ It was almost a squawk. Cross was appalled and it showed on his handsome face, sending Nicci into fresh sobs. ‘Damn it, my lord, I never intended to marry her. And I never intended her any harm, either, upon my word. I did not ask her to come here – I admit I was flirting, stole a kiss, but that is all, I swear it.’ He was now clearly becoming desperate, beads of sweat standing on his forehead.

  Marissa had the distinct impression that Marcus was beginning to enjoy himself. She believed that Captain Cross was as innocent of any attempt at seduction as he claimed and that any blame could be laid firmly at the door of Nicci and she suspected that Marcus believed it too.

  Even so, she watched with her heart in her mouth as Marcus strolled across the room to stand in front of the quaking Captain. ‘You have had a very narrow escape, my friend,’ he drawled, the Caribbean lilt suddenly strong in his voice.

  ‘You… you aren’t going to call me out?’

  ‘No, I’m not, although that was not what I meant. You have had a very narrow escape from finding yourself yoked to probably the silliest girl in England. She would have led you a merry dance, and you would have soon found that kisses come very expensive.’

  Marissa, her arm around Nicci, let out her breath in a shuddering sigh of relief. Marcus was not going to challenge him, the man she loved was not going to hazard his life in a pointless duel.

  Leaving the Captain wilting visibly, Marcus ushered them downstairs and sent Jackson to locate Nicci’s horse and ride it back to the Lodge. The journey was silent, broken only by Nicci’s hiccupping sobs of mingled relief, humiliation and fury at her brother and Marissa’s murmured words of comfort.

  A relieved and furious Jane swept Nicci up to bed, leaving Marissa and Marcus alone. ‘Marcus, I have never been so glad to see anyone as I was to see you when you came home this evening.’

  ‘Marissa, darling, there is something I must tell you,’ he began, walking towards her.

  ‘Where were you?’ she continued. ‘Jackson said you were not dining at home, but he was so vague…’

  ‘I was with Diane.’

  Marissa froze. Of course he was. Unable to find satisfaction in her arms, he had sought it in the bed of his mistress. Had he told Diane how cold she was, how unresponsive? Had the other woman smiled secretly to herself at the thought of Marissa’s failings? Perhaps they had laughed together at her gaucheness, her timidity

  ‘Marissa,’ Marcus persisted, his voice a buzzing in her head. ‘There is something I must tell you.’

  ‘I do not want to hear it. But here is something I must tell you. You may consider our betrothal at an end.’ She turned on her heel and swept up the stairs.

  It was a silent and subdued party that arrived back in Town, three days ahead of schedule. Marissa suspected that Jane, still inclined to blame herself for Nicci’s appalling behaviour, was missing the company of Sir Frederick Collier. He had sent round a warm note in response to her own message apologising for missing their planned picnic on the Downs and thanking him for his help and discretion.

  Marcus, brooding darkly over something – presumably the affront to his pride at her breaking the engagement – spent most of the journey back fixing his sister with a look of such glacial indifference that Nicci was constantly in tears, firmly convinced he was planning to send her back to Southwood Hall in disgrace.

  For her part Marissa was in a state of despair. She had believed that when Marcus made love to her she had disguised her fears, but she must have failed – again – if he could not wait to go straight from her arms to those of his charming and practised mistress. Why, she thought, plunging herself even further into gloom, should a man like Marcus want to marry her when he could have a wife who would return him passion for passion?

  And, indeed, there was no reason why any other woman would not respond to him, for her instincts had been correct. Marcus might bear an uncanny resemblance to his cousin Charles, but there the similarity ended. It seemed, after all, that not all men were as her late husband – cold, cruel, controlling.

  The morning after they arrived back Marissa was breakfasting in her own chamber when she heard the sound of the knocker and, looked out to see Sir Frederick Collier’s carriage at the kerb. Hastily she dabbed her lips with a napkin and hurried downstairs.

  Jackson was standing in the hall, in the act of placing Sir Frederick’s hat and cane on the mahogany chest. ‘Good morning, my lady.’

  ‘Good morning, Jackson. Which room have you shown Sir Frederick to?’

  ‘The Blue Salon, my lady. But,’ he added as she turned towards the door, ‘Miss Venables is already there.’

  ‘Yes?’ Marissa queried, puzzled at his tone.

  ‘I believe, my lady, that Sir Frederick was desirous of seeing Miss Venables alone.’

  Marissa stared at the butler. ‘You mean… My goodness Jackson, why have I not noticed things had gone this far? She is my dearest friend.’

  ‘You have had one or two other things on your mind, my lady.’ Jackson lifted his gaze in the direction of Nicci’s chamber above.

  Marissa went to the morning room to wait for the suitor to emerge. She sat down, picked up a book, then tossed it onto the sofa and wandered over to a small table to fiddle with the flower arrangement on it. Having effectively wrecked Jackson’s floral scheme, she fidgeted over to the window and was rewarded by the sight of Marcus descending the steps and striding away across the Square in the direction of Ryder Street and his club.

  She stood watching his broad shoulders in the dark blue coat, the long line of his legs as he strode down the street in the warm sunshine. At the corner he paused, doffed his hat to a passing lady, and Marissa caught a glimpse of his face, paler than of late and, she thought, thinner.

  Her heart turned over with love for him. The worry over Nicci must be taking its toll on him and Madame de Rostan was not yet back in Town for him to seek solace with.

  Her fingers tightened, crushing the rose-pink drapes. Oh, what a mess they had got themselves into. She loved him, and he at least wished to marry her, but how could she when her failure to be a true wife to him would always send hint back to the arms of Diane and whoever succeeded her? Looking back now, Marissa realised that the one saving grace in her marriage to Charles had been that she had not loved him. If she had, his capacity to hurt her would have been so much greater.

  Sounds in the hallway distracted her. The front door opened and Sir Frederick stepped out, beaming. He turned as he was about to get into his carriage and waved and Marissa realised that Jane must be in the doorway.

  Thank goodness someone has found happiness. Marissa told herself she must have been blind not to have seen the growing affection between the retired banker and her friend. Before she could go out to her the door opened and Jane burst in. Her normally sallow complexion was rosy with colour, her eyes sparkled and she looked almost pretty. There could be no doubting Jane’s good news.

  ‘My dear, I am so happy for you.’ Marissa embraced her cousin warmly. She could feel the tears running down her cheeks in mingled happiness for Jane, unhappiness at her own heartbreak.

  Fortunately Jane was too happy to notice
any ambiguity in her response and for a long moment they hugged each other wordlessly.

  At last Jane broke free and sank onto the sofa as though her legs would no longer support her. ‘Marissa, I was never so surprised as when he declared himself! I had believed at my age I was past all such hopes of happiness.’

  ‘But you have so much in common, so many shared interests, and he is a truly kind man.’ And he loves you, she thought wistfully, remembering Sir Frederick’s face as he turned to wave. ‘When will you be married?’

  Jane’s face creased with a sudden worry. ‘I told Frederick that I could not think of it at the moment because of Nicole. She needs close supervision.’

  ‘I will take care of Nicci,’ Marissa said firmly. ‘You must put your own happiness first for once in your life, Jane.’ And after all, what else is there for me to do with my time?

  ‘Oh, dear, look at the clock!’ Jane jumped to her feet. ‘Cook asked me to look at the menus – she is in such a taking with us arriving back early that I really must spend some time with her or we will be eating cold cuts all week.’ Jane hurried out, leaving Marissa feeling breathless.

  The square outside was bustling with activity as the Quality took advantage of the lovely weather to drive and ride out. Marissa, suddenly decisive, got to her feet. She would not sit moping, it would change nothing. She would order the barouche with the top down and go and buy Jane a present. She had admired a beautiful ivory silk shawl they had seen when shopping in Bond Street, but she had dismissed it out of hand as too expensive and quite unsuited to her lifestyle.

  As the wife of a distinguished public figure Jane would find many opportunities to wear it and Marissa was pleased with her inspiration as she called for Matthews.

  The under-butler sent orders for the carriage, then apologised for the absence of footmen to accompany his mistress.

  ‘I am sorry, my lady, but they are all out on errands. Will it be acceptable if I accompany you instead?’