‘Because he thought I should tell you.’
‘No doubt you met his wife before she died rather tragically.’
‘Yes—she—she was very lovely. Tell me, Grandmother—I’ve been wondering how well Max knows Lady Murray. He seemed unnecessarily angry over the incident at the party—more like an irate husband, I would say.’
‘Claudia Murray and Max—yes, there was a connection between them...once.’
‘A connection? What do you mean?’
‘She was Max’s mistress before he went to America.’
The colour slowly faded from Marietta’s face. ‘I see. Then that explains why he was so concerned about her when she tumbled into the fountain.’
‘Pushed, I think you mean,’ Lady Wingrove was quick to remind her. ‘You do know what it means, Marietta, for a woman to be a man’s mistress?’
‘I know that liaisons between men and women married to someone else were commonplace in Paris and I suppose it is the same here. Have they resumed their affair now he’s back?’
‘The affair had cooled before he went to America.’
‘And Lady Murray’s husband?’
‘They have an open relationship—which is not uncommon.’
A wry, mirthless smile suddenly touched Marietta’s soft lips. ‘My marrying Max is quite ridiculous, you know—and I know he will agree with me absolutely. I’m afraid you are going to be terribly disappointed. Max will not countenance an alliance between us and I certainly have no wish to marry him—not for financial reasons or social aspirations. And as for pushing Lady Murray into the fountain—his aversion to me has nothing to do with that. You see, we did not get on in Hong Kong. In fact, there were times when he would happily have strangled me.’
The outburst surprised her grandmother, but it was said now and so much the better.
But Lady Wingrove was not about to give up. She mustered her forces to bring herself under control and brought as much parental inflection to her words as she could bring to bear.
‘I know you are a woman who likes to feel she has a will of her own, Marietta. Very well. I can understand that. But we live in a world forged and run by men and it is for women to see their duty and understand it quite clearly and abide by it no matter what may fall. You are a member of a considerably wealthy family, a woman who is wealthy in her own right, a woman destined to be a member of an even wealthier and more powerful family, for I will not see you throw away your life and fortune on a penniless ne’er-do-well with a title merely to fund his empty coffers. As such, you have an obligation not lightly dismissed. I will not ask you to explain your relationship with Max since it was two years ago and people change—including Max Trevellyan.’
‘In this instance you are quite wrong, Grandmother. Lord Trevellyan is exactly the same as he was when I knew him in Hong Kong—arrogant and completely absorbed with his own self-importance. Believe me, I am the last woman in the world he would consider taking as a wife.’
‘We shall see about that.’
* * *
Marietta was a woman with a mind of her own. Contrary to what she had told her grandmother, with cool calculation, the thought was beginning to form in her mind that marriage to Max might not be so terrible after all.
Max represented security and a release from the gnawing fear and uncertainty of being shoved into an alliance with a stranger. Despite everything that had happened, she trusted Max, she suddenly realised, and perhaps marriage to a man whose feelings concerning children were the same as her own would put an end to her sleepless nights, when she would stare wide-eyed into the dark, thinking and worrying about it.
But was she ready for marriage? It was all so sudden. Was she about to give in too quickly? Could it be? Could it work? It was, as yet, only a whisper inside her, but it was growing, becoming more insistent. She allowed the whisper to extend to the hope that Max might one day feel for her what he had felt—might still feel—for Nadine. She shouldn’t have kissed him that day in Hong Kong. It was unfortunate that he had reacted the way he had, but she had acted in innocence and it had been kindly meant. Being engulfed with the kind of feelings she had felt that day, she had been unmindful of propriety or plain good sense.
What she meant to propose was not wrong. It was an arrangement to profit them both. She would go and see Max tomorrow. With that motivation there was nothing for her to do now but wait out the torturous hours until tomorrow morning.
For most of the night she tossed and turned, dreaming and waking with a million things running through her mind. Though her eyes were closed and her mind drifting, his face swam dreamily into her vision. His eyes were a warm silver-grey as they locked with hers and his lips parted across his teeth. His smile was engaging as he put out a hand to her, which she took in her dreaming sleep.
* * *
She woke just as night slipped away from day and a grey mist was dispersing above the grass. She heard the first clear call of a blackbird, then the other early birds began. As soon as breakfast was over and her grandmother occupied with her guests, without her knowledge and with a cool deliberation, Marietta ordered the carriage to take her to Arden House.
Straight and prim, Yang Ling sat across from her. Her face was devoid of expression, but excitement danced behind her eyes on this her first outing with her mistress since coming to Grafton.
The arrival of a Chinese maid had disrupted the smooth running of things at Grafton and she had been a subject of much controversy among the servants, which had concerned Marietta for a time. But, quite unfazed, Yang Ling had gone about things in her own quiet, but firm and resolute manner and things had soon settled down. To Marietta’s relief, Yang Ling had now become an accepted and well-liked member of the staff.
Just a few minutes into the journey to Arden Hall Marietta’s fragile serenity began to slip. Apprehension began to gnaw at the edge of her resolve as questions flew at her like bats in the night. Would Max laugh at her? Would he deny her plea with a cruel jest? She tried to calm herself as they drove through the countryside clothed in flaming shades of autumn by imagining what she would say to Max. A twinge of nervousness invaded the moment as the carriage drew ever closer to her moment of reckoning. There was only the steady drum of the horses’ hooves bringing her ever closer to her destination.
The carriage eased its relentless pace and swung around a bend in the road and approached a pair of closed, tall iron gates. A gatekeeper stepped out of the gatekeeper’s house and spoke to Ben, the coachman, after which the gates swung open soundlessly on well-oiled hinges. The carriage swayed on through gracious parkland dotted with trees for as far as the eye could see over the gently rolling landscape. They clattered over a humpback bridge spanning a deep-flowing stream, and finally the most magnificent house Marietta had ever seen, with immense expanses of crenulated turrets and mullioned windows, came into view.
She called to Ben to halt the carriage so she might look at it in its entirety. It was fascinating because of its overall effect, not just due to the splendour or beauty of the architecture and the rich golden-yellow stone of which it was built, but because it was enormous, ancient, powerful and beautiful. With dramatic grace it stood against a backdrop of sweeping lawns and a terraced courtyard.
She stared at it in wonder and disbelief. She had been impressed when she had first seen Grafton le Willows, but compared to this palatial estate, it would fit into one of its wings with rooms to spare. The windows looked south with a permanence of expression that emphasised her sense that she was trivial and temporary in the scheme of things. Was she doing the right thing? she asked herself. Yes, she told herself and, with more determination and vibrant with hope—I will see it through.
Chapter Six
As the carriage neared the house, its owner had decided to take things in hand he had neglected for too long, things that were unpleasant and evoked memories he preferred not to remember. There were several items in the house he wished to dispose of—feminine things, things which were of no
use to him. Followed by footmen, he went from room to room, instructing this and that to be removed—and, no, he told a questioning footman, not to be stored in the attics but to be taken to the nearest auction rooms.
The task had put him in an unsatisfactory mood and as the morning wore on he was at his most forbidding when one of the servants announced that a carriage had drawn up in front of the house. ‘Who the devil...?’ he muttered. Glancing through the open door, Max couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw Marietta in the carriage, but then she did have a tendency to surprise and amaze him. He strode outside to receive her. ‘Marietta,’ he said, making the words more a question than a greeting. ‘You always were one for surprises. What are you doing here—and without Lady Wingrove?’
Forcing herself to ignore the fluttering in her stomach, Marietta glanced at him, meeting his arrogant stare. The very air was charged with his presence. Unexpectedly, she found herself the victim of an absurd attack of shyness. A rush of familiar excitement causing her to become tongue-tied, affected strongly as she was by the force of his presence. He stood in front of her, his shadow stretching across the drive. There was a brief silence, then he was holding out his hand to assist her out of the carriage.
Studying him, she was all too aware of the strong arms where the shirt had been rolled up to the elbows, of the small area of chest exposed by the open neck of the white shirt. He looked tousled, his wavy dark hair curling into his neck and outlining his tanned cheeks and emphasising the magnetism in his silver-grey eyes. Up close, his handsomeness seemed more pronounced and the broad expanse of his chest beneath his shirt reminded her rather forcefully of how powerful his body was. Reminding herself of the purpose of her visit, the smile she gave him was entrancing while her nerves were jangling like wind chimes in a hurricane.
‘You might at least seem pleased to see me,’ she said, taking his hand and climbing out of the carriage.
‘You have taken a scandalous chance, risked compromising your reputation, by coming here,’ Max said coolly, regarding her without anger, but with a terrifying firmness and a hard gleam in his eyes.
‘I know it isn’t the done thing for a young lady to visit a gentleman at his home and at this hour, but I wish to speak to you and would prefer to do it in the privacy of your home, rather than in the busy confines of Grafton with Grandmother flapping her ears.’
‘I see. It sounds ominous.’ Marietta’s outspoken humour and refusal to conform to the social mores of the day were like a breath of fresh air let into a stuffy room when the windows were opened. His cool gaze noted how the sunlight behind her highlighted her red-brown hair. ‘Come inside.’
Marietta stood aside when a footman came out of the house carrying a rather dainty looking pink-
upholstered lady’s chair and placed it on the ground along other items of furniture. ‘You’re busy.’
The mocking smile that at once replaced the arrogant stare did nothing to make her feel better, although, had she known it, it was himself he was mocking, not her. She was such a refreshing sight in the circumstances that for a moment he had felt his heart lifting. Which, when he recalled her antagonistic attitude of the previous day, was ridiculous.
‘Just disposing of some unnecessary household items which have been cluttering the house and should have been got rid of some time ago,’ he explained, half-
resenting the interruption after days of working himself up to the unpleasant task of emptying the house of items that reminded him of his dead wife.
When Marietta stepped into the great hall she took a moment to admire her surroundings. The walls were the same golden stone as the outside. Great arches were scooped into its massive walls and solid buttresses strengthened them, but under the arches were windows of delicate and lace-like tracery. It was a vast and cavernous space, with a weathered and uneven floor of ancient tiles. High above crouching wooden figures, mysteriously truncated below the knees, supported the arched timbers of the roof.
‘Oh, what a beautiful house,’ she murmured. ‘I never imagined it would be so big.’
‘Yes, I am rather proud of it. Come into the study,’ Max said, his tone brusque. ‘I’ll order some refreshment.’
‘Thank you, but there’s no need.’ Nothing had prepared her for the cold reception she received. ‘I can see you’re busy, so I won’t stay long.’ She looked back through the door at the carriage to indicate that Yang Ling should follow her, only to find her maid being led away by a young footman to partake of a cup of tea in the kitchen.
‘It’s no bother, I assure you.’
Max escorted her through the hall into his study, where he offered her a seat beside the roll-top desk, which she declined, preferring to stand. She was wearing a long-sleeved dark-green dress trimmed with black velvet. The bodice was plain with a square neckline filled with white gauze and ruffled at the throat. Perched on her silken red-brown hair was a wide-brimmed matching hat with a jaunty white plume set at an attractive angle. The overall effect was one of quiet elegance, which wasn’t a word that would have occurred to Max in connection with the Marietta he had known in Hong Kong.
He wondered briefly whether she knew how seductive she was. In fact, clinically assessing her, he was forced to the conclusion that she was the most beautiful young woman he had seen. It was a pity that she was also one of the most exasperating and ill disciplined.
Perching his hip on the edge of the desk, he watched her when she moved to the wide sweep of windows and stood looking out at the rolling green hills that rose up from behind a thickly wooded area beyond the smooth lawns and shrubs.
‘What a lovely situation this is,’ she said, fixing her gaze on the scenery as she tried to summon some semblance of her characteristic composure. ‘The view is quite spectacular.’
Max studied her stiff back for a moment longer before he spoke. ‘I don’t expect you came all the way here to admire the scenery.’
‘No—I shouldn’t be here.’
‘No, you shouldn’t. Well? Let me hear it.’
‘Hear what?’ Marietta asked nervously, turning round.
‘The reason for you being here. An explanation. Yesterday I was led to believe I was your worst enemy, yet here you are this morning awash with excitement. Why?’
Marietta looked away, beginning to wish she hadn’t come after all. How could she begin to tell him the reason that had brought her to his house to see him when he looked at her like that? ‘Yesterday you were—disagreeable.’
‘Because I kept from you that I am the Duke of Arden. I am still disagreeable,’ he pointed out shortly. ‘I haven’t changed. I am not the one who is oozing goodwill this morning. What is it, Marietta? Come, you are here now. Out with it. Tell me the purpose of your visit. Something is troubling you, that is obvious. It must be something of importance to bring you to Arden to see me.’
‘It is—but I am not unduly troubled, not really,’ she said, turning her face back to him. Her breath caught in her throat when unwillingly she met his eyes and, seeing him here, relaxed and at home in the splendour of his house, he was every inch the aloof, elegant nobleman, the master of all he surveyed. Never had he looked more handsome. ‘I’ve had all night to think about it...’
‘Think about what?’ Max prompted.
She could sense he was wary, that his guard was up and she sensed a distance between them. He was watching her closely. He had not invited her to sit down and she knew he was deliberately keeping her on tenterhooks until he found out the full reason for her visit. She chose directness, calming herself and saying, ‘My grandmother has some maggot in her head that we should marry. I know she has already broached the matter with you, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise. I’ve come to tell you that I’ve thought about it and I am prepared to be your wife.’
Max couldn’t remember the last time when someone had succeeded in dumbfounding him, but he gave no sign of it. Not a muscle flickered on his face. He was silent, looking at her hard, incredulously, as though she had s
uddenly changed before his eyes. His expression became grim and he could almost hear the funeral drum-roll of his heart.
Folding his arms across his chest, he said, ‘Did I ask you?’
Marietta stared at him in sudden confusion, completely thrown by his reply. His eyes glittered with a fire that burned her raw. The words were uttered without anger, but were none the less cold and final. ‘No—but—I...’
‘Then wait until you are. Yes, Lady Wingrove did mention something of the sort and I did agree to give the matter my consideration. But when and if I decide to marry, I prefer to do the asking myself. I am not in the market for a wife.’
Marietta turned her face away and her heart sank. Had he exploded with fury and injured vanity she would have understood it better than this deadly quietness which frightened her.
‘May I ask why you think I have any desire to marry you?’
Marietta was beginning to wish the ground would open up and swallow her. ‘I—I thought... Oh, I don’t know what I thought.’
‘I don’t know what has prompted you to come here and ask me this, but I am flattered. What man wouldn’t be—to be propositioned by a beautiful woman?’
‘It was presumptuous of me, I know.’
‘Yes, it was,’ he answered, shoving himself away from the desk and standing straight in a haughty pose, with a suggestion of arrogance which came naturally enough to him. His eyes remained fixed on her face without the trace of a smile to soften their steely expression.
Wanting to conceal her embarrassment, Marietta turned back to the window. It had all been going as she had planned. In fact, she had actually found herself thinking that she would like to be married to Max.
‘Just how much has your grandmother told you, Marietta. Did she mention anything about a settlement?’
Bewildered, Marietta shook her head. ‘What kind of settlement?’
‘Concerning some land.’
It penetrated through the wave of alarm sweeping over her that there was something amiss in all of this, something that didn’t make sense. ‘What land?’
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