by Merry Farmer
Victoria snapped her mouth shut and blushed, embarrassed to have been overheard after all. Better still, a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Mariah’s lips.
“Of course not,” Mariah said. “And please forgive my manners. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She held out her hand.
Peter stepped forward and took it. The moment meant everything, and he struggled to know how to handle it. Should he pretend familiarity with her, since they were engaged? Should he show respect and keep his distance, or would that come off as too cold? Was she as repulsed as her sister, and if she was, could he, in good conscience, make her go through with the wedding? If they didn’t wed, then what would he do?
All of those thoughts struck him within the instant it took to raise her hand to his lips and to meet her eyes. It was perhaps too formal and old-fashioned a way to greet a modern woman, but he had to use every tool at his disposal to prevent Mariah Travers from despising him for not being younger. Because the more seconds that ticked by, the more his chest ached with that devil hope, and the more he wanted this union to work out. The only hint he had that he wasn’t making a complete hash of it was Mariah’s smile and the kindness in her eyes. Even if that kindness had a touch of pity in it.
“Well.” Edmund clapped his hands, dispelling the tension of the moment. “Now that that’s out of the way, why don’t we all go inside and have a cup of tea?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what we should do,” Mrs. Travers agreed, taking her husband’s arm. They started into the house, and Mrs. Travers nodded to Mariah, indicated the way her arm was joined with her husband’s, then tilted her head to Peter.
Peter caught the startled flash in Mariah’s eyes at the subtle command. “We don’t have to,” he whispered as he stepped to Mariah’s side, meeting her eyes with a conspiratorial look.
She let out a relieved breath, and the two of them continued into the house side-by-side, not touching. Victoria brought up the rear, grunting in disgust.
Two questions battled for supremacy in Mariah’s head throughout tea: what were her parents thinking and what happened to make Lord Peter deVere so sad?
“Of course, it will be several years until the bill is perfected enough to come before Parliament for a vote,” Lord Peter explained the legislation that he was working on in the House of Lords. It was a variation of the same bill that her father was busy with in the House of Commons, a bill that would increase the rights of women. He sat in a stiff, upholstered chair diagonal from where Mariah sat wedged between her mother and father on the sofa. “We hope to do a great deal of good for a great many people once it comes up for a vote.”
“How noble,” Mariah’s mother said. “Isn’t that noble, Mariah?”
“Very.” Mariah nodded. She sincerely believed it was, but it was next to impossible to concentrate on the particulars of lawmaking—even if the law would benefit her and every other woman—while coping with the surprise in front of her.
No wonder she hadn’t been able to place a face to the name Lord Peter deVere when her father had unfolded her future the day before. She had been looking in the wrong generation. Lord Peter was close to her father’s age, almost twice as old as she was. Although not quite. He was undeniably handsome for a man of ripe years. Though his face seemed worn, as though he had come through a harsh trial, his features were well-formed. His jaw and brow were strong, and his eyes were a brilliant blue that spoke of wisdom and cleverness. Victoria continued to grimace at him from the chair at the far end of the sofa as though he were one of the slathering, lecherous villains in the penny dreadfuls she read too many of. But the more Mariah studied him—furtively, out of the corner of her eye while his attention was on the conversation with her father—the more she felt that there was something more to him. He was intriguing and, in his own way, attractive.
“More tea, my lord?” her mother asked, tapping Mariah’s side and prompting her to do the honors.
Mariah forced herself to hide her irritation at her mother’s prodding and reached for the teapot. She glanced to Lord Peter, her brow raised in a silent question.
He hesitated, then answered, “Yes, please.”
Mariah smiled and picked up the pot as he held out his cup and saucer. She had the feeling he didn’t actually want more tea and was just being polite. She wasn’t really in the mood to serve tea herself, come to think of it. As she poured lukewarm liquid into Lord Peter’s cup, highly aware that she was right under her father’s nose as she did, their eyes met. The sense that they were in this strange predicament together washed through Mariah, especially when he answered her smile with one of his own.
Perhaps he wasn’t so old after all. The lines around his eyes seemed to be the remnants of a thousand smiles. Those eyes were a bright, crisp blue, and full of warmth and good humor. And intelligence. In spite of the fact that her parents hadn’t offered any particularly interesting topics of conversation, Mariah could see that Lord Peter was a highly intelligent man. But it was the mysterious sadness that hung around him that intrigued her the most. Her father had said Lord Peter was a widower. Had he loved his first wife? Did he miss her?
“I know that Shayles is the big obstacle on your end,” her father said, still talking about Parliament and legislation, oblivious to the silent exchange between Mariah and Lord Peter. “Just like Turpin is the opponent in Commons. It’ll be quite the challenge overcoming their objections to giving the fairer sex any rights at all.”
“Thank you,” Lord Peter said softly, then sat back with his fresh tea and turned to her father. “All I know about Turpin is that Malcolm can’t stand him.”
Her father snorted. “Malcolm Campbell can’t stand any Tory. But neither can I, come to think of it.” Her father laughed loudly.
Victoria rolled her eyes and stopped Mariah from putting the teapot down with a quick, “I’d like some too.” As Mariah poured for her, Victoria made a disgusted face, her glance darting toward Lord Peter.
Mariah fixed her sister with a scolding glare and shook her head before pulling the teapot away and setting it down. As polite as Lord Peter was being, Victoria was acting like a heathen.
“Men like Shayles and Turpin won’t stop our efforts,” Lord Peter went on. “At least not for long. Women have every bit as much of a right to maintain ownership and control of the property they bring into a marriage as men do.”
Mariah’s brow shot up, and she sat straighter. “Do you think so?”
He turned, addressing her as though she were as much a part of the conversation as her father. “Absolutely. There is no rational argument as to why a woman should not keep what is hers when she marries.”
Mariah smiled, surprised that a man in Lord Peter’s position would hold such a view. It wasn’t lost on her that a man with views like that would make a fine husband indeed, but before she had a chance to let that encouraging fact settle into her stew of thoughts, her father blurted out, “You hear that, my dear? Marry Lord Peter and you’ll be able to keep everything that’s yours.” He followed his statement with a laugh that had Mariah’s face burning hot with shame.
To his credit, Lord Peter looked equally embarrassed. That raised her estimation of him even more.
“I don’t have much that I would be in danger of losing by marrying,” she said, glancing from her father to Lord Peter.
“Nonsense,” her mother said. “There’s the annuity from my family to think about.
“Two hundred pounds per annum is hardly enough to cause concern,” her father cut in. “Why, Peter here will give her two hundred a week in pocket money, I’m sure.” He laughed again.
Mariah’s stomach churned with humiliation, but the hint of humor in Lord Peter’s eyes stopped her from dying of shame. He wasn’t laughing at her father, but it was evident he knew just how boorish he was being. Considering that the two were friends, he probably knew just as well as Mariah did that her father was only making a fool of himself because he was nervous.
“My father tell
s me that the name of your estate in Cornwall is Starcross Castle,” Mariah said, shifting the conversation away from herself.
“It is,” Lord Peter answered, seeming grateful for the change. “It’s been in my family for generations now. The original castle was constructed in the sixteenth century, during Queen Elizabeth’s reign, although many successive generations have made changes and additions to it.”
“Oh?” Mariah asked before either of her parents could derail what promised to be the first relaxed topic of conversation since they’d all been seated in the afternoon parlor.
“The central part of the house is the original Elizabethan castle,” Lord Peter explained. “With renovations. But the west wing was constructed during the reign of George II, and the east wing was my father’s special project. I myself had the kitchens and servant’s halls remade with modern conveniences about ten years ago.”
“Your staff must appreciate that.” Mariah relaxed her stance, leaning subtly toward him.
“Mrs. Harmon, the cook, thanks me at every opportunity she can get,” he said, his smile betraying a fondness for his staff. “Usually with pies.”
“Pies?” Mariah laughed.
“Cornish pasties are a specialty in our part of the country,” he explained. “Mrs. Harmon is particularly skilled at their construction. It’s a wonder I don’t weigh three stone more than I do.” He didn’t wink, but his blue eyes contained the same spark as if he had.
“You seem perfectly fit to me,” Mariah said.
Victoria snorted.
“Young lady—” Her father sat forward enough to temporarily block Mariah’s view of Lord Peter. “—your manners have been sadly wanting today.”
“Because I coughed?” Victoria balked. “It was just a cough.”
“It was not just a cough,” their mother hissed, attempting to be private and failing.
“It was. I swear it was.” Victoria’s glance shot to Lord Peter. Mariah needed every ounce of will power not to wince at the private exchange turned public.
Their mother sighed. “Your father should have sought out a husband for you as well,” she murmured, but not quietly enough. “You need managing.”
“I’m sure Papa can scare up another desiccated mummy in the back benches of Parliament.”
“Victoria,” their mother gasped, looking as though she might either weep or launch into scolding at the top of her lungs. “Behave yourself.”
“My behavior is perfectly amiable,” Victoria protested, sitting on the edge of her seat. “I am the only one here with my dear sister’s best interest at heart. Whoever heard of arranged marriages these days?”
“Plenty of people,” their mother said
“Hold your tongue,” her father said at the same time. He could have been speaking to either woman.
“We all care very deeply for Mariah,” her mother said, a hard edge to her voice. “This is the last chance for marriage your sister will ever have.”
“Lord Peter.” Mariah stood, raising her voice to be heard above the mortification that was her family. “Would you like to see our garden?”
Lord Peter stood, setting his teacup aside. “Yes, I would be delighted.”
“Right this way.”
Mariah stepped around her father before he could rise, and gestured for Lord Peter to follow her out to the French doors at the far end of the room. She was shaking so hard with anger and humiliation that she had a hard time turning the key to unlock the doors.
“Allow me,” Lord Peter said softly, opening the door for her. He met her eyes with a look that told her he had a few things he wanted to say, but as far as Mariah was concerned, he would have to wait his turn until she issued a thousand apologies for her dreadful family.
Chapter 3
As soon as the door was shut behind them, Mariah turned to Peter and said, “I’m so sorry.” Her frustration was obvious, as was the fact that she was near tears.
Peter started to reach for her, but changed his mind about the propriety of touching her when they were unchaperoned. Even though they were engaged. Technically.
“Rest assured, I don’t hold you responsible for the behavior of your parents,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder at the doors and, unsurprisingly, spotted movement from inside. “Perhaps the other side of the garden would be a better spot to talk.” He arched one eyebrow and darted a look to the door.
Mariah let out a heavy breath, her expressive mouth crooking into a grin. “Yes, we’d better.”
They took a few steps along the brick path that wound artistically through beds of spring blooms. Peter offered Mariah his arm, and was rewarded with a renewed feeling of confidence as she took it. More than confidence, a burst of warmth filled his chest and spread through him, loosening the tension from tea.
As they reached a trellis climbing with clematis that had yet to bloom, Peter glanced sideways to Mariah and said, “I’m not what you were expecting, am I?”
Mariah let out a short laugh and met his gaze with a wry twitch of her lips. “I wasn’t expecting anything at all until yesterday.”
“You weren’t?” His back itched with foreboding.
Her weary smile grew, and she paused to turn to him. “My father only just remembered to tell me he’d arranged a marriage for me yesterday afternoon.”
Peter’s brow shot up. “Yesterday afternoon?” She nodded. “But he first mentioned you to me—”
“More than a year ago, I know.” To her credit, Mariah laughed, though it was more ironic than amused. “He claims that he wasn’t aware you were serious about the match until recently, and that he was too preoccupied with parliamentary matters to remember to tell me.”
“That’s—” Peter blew out a breath through his nose and rubbed a hand over his face. It didn’t feel right to call Edmund ridiculous and flighty in front of his daughter, even though he had the feeling she would agree with him. At least complete surprise on Mariah’s part was better than shock at finding him to be, as her sister had said, a desiccated mummy. “I’m sorry you’ve been put through all of this,” he said at last, no idea what else he could possibly do to make up for the shock of the whole thing.
“It wouldn’t be the first time my father let something slip his mind,” Mariah said, pivoting back to his side and walking on. She led him toward a small gate set in a brick archway. On the other side was a path that meandered through a meadow toward what looked like a small river in the distance. “Papa is a visionary and a crusader. But the problem with giving all of yourself to causes you feel passionate about is that day-to-day details tend to fall by the wayside.”
“Marriage is more than a detail,” Peter said.
“Perhaps it would have been if I were as young as Victoria,” Mariah said, a hint of sharpness in her tone. “Or if this were my first attempt at it.”
“Yes, your father told me you were engaged once before, but that your fiancé died tragically.”
“Oh yes. It was certainly tragic.”
Peter frowned at the sarcasm of her statement. It was subtle, but definitely there, which told him there was much more to the story than he’d been told. He wasn’t one to pry, though, especially when his past was colorful enough to paint a sunset.
Mariah didn’t offer any further information about her previous engagement, so Peter moved on. “Seeing as you weren’t told about me until yesterday, I would understand completely if you want to call off our engagement. Or if you want to declare that there never was one to begin with.”
Mariah frowned, chewing her lip. “Thank you for your offer.” She was silent as they walked a few more yards along the narrow path through the meadow, then said, “The thing is, my mother was right when she said you were my last chance to be married.”
“Surely not,” Peter contradicted her. She wasn’t in the first blush of youth, but from what he could see, Mariah was pretty, intelligent, and far kinder than most women would have been in the situation she’d been thrust into. Any man worth his salt wou
ld be lucky to marry her.
She shook her head. “I’m seen as inferior used goods here in Aylesbury.”
He flinched slightly. “Would it help if I assured you I would not hold any, ah, prior activity with your late fiancé against you?”
“No,” she gasped, her eyes wide. “Oh, no, no, you mistake me.” Her face flushed an appealing pink. “That is not what I meant at all. Exactly the opposite, in fact. Robert was involved with another woman during our engagement, and word got around that my inadequacies were the reason why.”
Peter hardened his jaw in indignation for what he could imagine was the way Mariah had been treated. He knew how rumors could damage a woman’s reputation, even if there wasn’t a lick of truth to them. “It sounds to me as though this Robert did not deserve you.”
Mariah looked away. “Perhaps not, but I fancied myself in love with him.” She sighed, watching the flight of a crane as it took off from the side of the river at the far end of the meadow.
Peter remained silent, letting her have her thoughts. He couldn’t say that he knew how it felt to love someone and to lose them. True, he had cared deeply for Anne, but theirs was a bond of duty, not passion, even though there had been affection involved. At least at first.
“Did your father tell you I was married once as well?” he asked, deciding to match her honesty with some of his own.
“He did.” Mariah turned back to him, a look of sympathy in her eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Peter lowered his head. “Anne was my father’s choice,” he admitted. He smiled wryly. “Most things in my younger days were my father’s choice.”
“Oh?” She adjusted the way her hand settled in the crook of his elbow, leaning closer to him.
That closeness gave him the confidence to go on. “My older brother, Arthur, was supposed to inherit the title and estate,” he said. “I fully intended to pursue the life of a scholar. I had dreams of becoming a professor of history, or even literature, at Oxford.”