Kit measured that for what it was worth, and compared it to Marianne’s gossiping inquiry about Blackmoor. “She is my wife,” Kit murmured.
His friend gave him a quizzical smirk. “Indeed, she is. I wondered about that, but I assumed you had your reasons.”
“I did,” Kit said with a nod, then offered a slight smile himself, “though I may forget them from time to time.”
Blackmoor nodded with a surprising degree of understanding in his eyes.
“If you could remind me that I had reasons on those occasions,” Kit sighed, giving a sardonic look to his friend, “I would be most grateful.”
Looking amused, Blackmoor nodded once more. “I shall.” He glanced towards the ballroom, then back at Kit. “Did I see Marlowe here tonight?”
Kit nodded. “You did.”
“So I take it he is…”
“Yes.”
“Still?”
“Yes.”
“And he’s never…?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“Amazing,” Blackmoor murmured with a shake of his head. “I had better speak with him before he vanishes for four months again.” He looked at Kit once more. “Are you yourself once more?”
Kit nodded, smiling with a newfound degree of warmth for his somber friend. “As much as I ever was.”
Blackmoor smiled back, which would have shocked the rest of the world. “Well, that is all that we can hope for these days.” He bowed slightly, and returned to the ballroom.
Kit waited a few moments more, exhaled slowly, and did the same, his carefully composed self once again.
Marianne was irritated, and no amount of amusement from her peers could help that.
Oh, she had been swarmed by people ever since Kit had left, all begging her for the story of her horrific abduction, wanting the details as to how they all could have been so deceived by Mr. Marksby, and even the faint scattering of felicitations on her marriage. She had all the attention she could want, and from some people who had never bothered to speak to her before. She was under no illusions about those gossipmongers, and she was not about to give them the merest sniff.
She had managed to play the entire group off with coyness and false modesty, claiming it was too distressful to recall, and she was only grateful to have been saved from it. Which had sparked another series of questions about that particular venture.
Who had saved her? How did they find her? Was it terribly heroic?
Was it gratitude that had sent her flying into her husband’s arms?
She’d tried to be as delicate as possible, vague and off-putting, and it worked, for the most part. She could see the disappointed and sometimes exasperated expressions of those who had hoped for grand tales, but she’d kept them all entertained with tales of their new home. Particularly when she reminded them that the last occupant had been the Duchess of Falmouth.
They had seized upon that subject gratefully, no doubt hoping she would let something slip about her marriage, but also keen to hear about the scandalous death of Lord Rodale.
She had danced several times, and was pleased that most of her old favorites still hung about. Even Fanny had come to this event, though she looked a trifle distracted and a little pale. Poor thing, she’d never quite recovered from hearing the truth about Marksby. She alone knew what had really happened between him and Marianne, and she had vowed to keep it a secret.
Fanny might be a bit of a simpleton, but she never broke a confidence.
And then there had been that vile Lord Darlington. He’d thought this particular evening an appropriate time to attack Kit, much to the delight of others, and though she had been furious with Kit, though there wasn’t a single reason for her to do so, Marianne had flown at him in a rage, and were it not for Annalise’s calm intervention and quick thinking, a true scene might have broken out.
Clearly there was more to be done in repairing Marianne’s reputation than she thought.
She’d made Annalise promise not to tell Kit anything about that, which her sister-in-law had agreed to, though her disapproval was clear. The gossip of the incident might reach Kit anyway, but Marianne couldn’t do anything about that. She just couldn’t bear to have Kit think that anything was changed between them.
Not when there was more about their past to discover. With all of that going on, she’d not managed to get another hint of what the people had been saying about her and Kit before.
He had got what he wanted? How was that even possible?
Kit despised her! Well, perhaps that was too strong a word, but he certainly barely tolerated her. Yes, they had been close once, but he had become stiff and disapproving the more popular and sought after she became. He did not like the way she behaved in public, and she did not care.
How anyone had managed to hear about his proposal was a mystery, and the fact that anyone had taken it seriously was even more mysterious. It was an embarrassing time to remember, for her and for him, and only one person had ever been so crass as to confront her about it. Thankfully, Mr. Townsend had not been to London in ages, and he’d never spoken a word about it again.
She regretted every moment of that day, and though she had no idea at the time, it had been the end of her treasured friendship between her and Kit.
But they thought he had actually meant to marry her? As if he had truly sought her hand?
It truly was laughable. Surely someone like Kit would have done a proper job of romance.
She scanned the guests in the room, searching for the men whom she had heard speaking before. If Kit would not tell her what they meant, or what he knew, then she would go to the source of the gossip. She highly doubted these men in question were the instigators of the rumors, they merely spread the stuff.
She felt a rush of satisfaction when she caught sight of them and started in that direction.
Before they saw her, however, her arm was forcefully seized and she was steered away. She gasped and looked up to find her husband hauling her off, his expression bordering on the murderous.
“What are you doing?” she hissed, looking around to see if anyone was aware of his manhandling.
“Taking my inquisitive wife home,” he replied in harsh, clipped tones.
She glowered up at him as they exited the ballroom and headed for the entrance. “Afraid that I will discover something?”
His icy glare stole her breath for half a moment. “Afraid you will cause more trouble, Mrs. Gerrard, and you really must behave yourself.”
“I am not a child,” she reminded him pointedly as she took her cloak from the servant.
Kit nodded as he took his hat and set it on his head. “I am well aware of that. A child is far more obedient.”
She screeched between clenched teeth and marched out to the carriage ahead of him, climbed in without help, and settled herself, wishing, for once, that she could walk home.
“Kit, tell me what they were talking about,” she demanded once he entered the carriage.
“No.”
“Yes! Or I will continue to seek for answers on my own at every event and outing I attend!”
He snorted and rapped on the ceiling for the coachman to depart. “You know the gossip.”
She frowned, starting to seethe a little. “Of course, I know the gossip,” she snapped. “I’ve been fighting the torrent about you and me for years, and I’ve never heard that little detail.”
He gave her a very serious look. “Do you believe every detail about every life you hear?”
That was a fair point, but she would not be swayed. “No, of course not…”
“Then do not believe that.”
His avoidance only made her more determined. “You are hiding something from me, Kit,” she said in a low, hopefully dangerous tone, and folding her arms, “and you cannot stop me from finding out. You cannot corral me forever, not from every event and every circle. We have danced around this subject long enough, and now that we are married, it will only get worse.”
He knew that, however reluctant he was to admit it.
Which meant this could be her only chance.
“Why would anyone ever assume that you wanted me?” she asked him without hesitation.
“Because I did.”
Her eyes widened at his low response, simply stated with marked coldness.
“What?” she cried in a breathless, weak exclamation.
A sneer curled on his features. “Surprised, are you? All of London seems to know that I was in love with you, but not you. And you are thought to be so intuitive.”
“You loved me?” she managed to stammer, suddenly going cold.
He scoffed and shook his head. “The idea that you were ignorant about that then and still are now is the most preposterous thing in the world.”
“I didn’t know that, Kit,” she insisted, wringing her hands a little. “How was I supposed to know that?”
“You have eyes,” he suggested bitterly.
“What?” she cried, her hand going to her throat. “You never said anything!”
“If I remember correctly,” he drawled with false casualness, “I did propose to you.”
“Hardly!” She shook her head in astonishment. “You never said you loved me.”
His lip curled, making her feel ill. “And you never thought of me. You laughed at me.”
“You had been teasing me about proposals and suitors!” she protested with a wild gesture of her hands. “I thought you were mocking them!”
He sat back and surveyed her without pleasure. “Well, I wasn’t.”
Her whole world had been turned upside down. He had actually proposed to her? In all sincerity?
Suddenly the words he had spoken to her upon his return three years ago echoed once more in her mind.
I have a very low tolerance for unfeeling creatures who care only for themselves.
Oh, Lord, she had been exactly that. Unknowingly, it was true, but… “I never meant to hurt you,” she said softly, feeling an ache well up within her.
“I know that,” he bit out, his composure cracking for the first time. “Don’t you think I know that? But that was worse. You didn’t take me seriously. You never even thought of me. I burned for you with such love, such passion.” He shook his head, seeming to laugh at himself. “And you didn’t even think of me.”
Good lord, what had she done?
“Kit…” she breathed, suddenly and inexplicably wanting to reach out and touch him. To mend something. To feel something.
He seemed to know her intentions and scoffed, surveying her with cold eyes. “It makes no difference now. They can say whatever they want about us. We know the truth.”
Her brief turn towards tenderness vanished and the desire surged to wound him as he had wounded her. “That I was a fool and you saved me from ruin by marrying me,” she recited in mocking tones. “A convenient marriage, aren’t I lucky?”
He raised his chin in indignation as they arrived home. “If you want out, be my guest. Lord knows, I suffer enough for it.” Without another word, he exited the coach, yet he still waited to help her down.
Still a gentleman. He ought to have left her here and gone on ahead, storming away in his fury. She would have preferred that.
But no, Kit Gerrard was a gentleman, even when he was cruel.
Reluctantly, and with a look of hatred, Marianne took his outstretched hand, then released it the moment she could. They silently walked into the house, said nothing to the servants, and separated for the night without a word.
There was absolutely nothing more to be said.
They’d said quite enough.
Chapter Ten
“Kit! Did you see? We have received invitations to a masquerade at the Rivertons!”
Kit looked up from his solicitor’s letter in irritation, not at all amused by the way his wife was fairly bounding on the balls of her feet, her pale pink dress swishing with her motions.
“Pardon?” he inquired with a would-be patient sigh.
She waved the pair of invitations in the air, looking eager. “Invitations, Kit! To the Rivertons! On Saturday!” She looked at them again, her features alight. “I’ve never been invited to an exclusive event of theirs, only their open soirée every other year. This is something entirely different, and after all the commotion being made about us, I cannot imagine how we have each garnered an invitation.”
He frowned and set down his pen. “Each?”
Why in the world would they garner separate invitations? Was that what they had come to now? Everyone thinking they could spend so little time together, they would invite them as individuals and not as a couple… and perhaps sometimes invite just one. Not that he was pining for invitations to anything, as Marianne was, but to be separated by the public in such a way…
“It’s an anonymous masquerade,” Marianne explained lightly, handing him the invitation with his name on it. “All attendees must present their specific invitations before being admitted.”
“How anonymous can it be with our names on them?” he mused, grudgingly looking it over.
Marianne huffed and rolled her eyes. “The invitations are within, Kit. The names are not on the invitation themselves.”
“Wasteful extravagance,” Kit muttered, shaking his head. “They ought to have sent one letter, with a request for attendance in the body of the letter, rather than include an additional card within, and certainly should only have sent one per household.”
“Kit,” Marianne scolded as if he were a simpleton, “it’s the Rivertons. They are all extravagance.” She hummed a little and looked away in thought. “I wonder what I should wear… I should not like anyone to know me.”
Kit sighed and set the ridiculous invitation on the desk. “Wear whatever you like. I shall not be attending.”
Marianne’s head snapped back to face him, her eyes wide. “You cannot be serious.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “I cannot abide masquerades. I never attend them.”
“But…” she sputtered, looking bewildered. “But it’s the Rivertons.”
“Yes, so you have said.”
She took a step forward and put a fluttery hand on the desk nervously. “No one refuses the Rivertons. How can you?”
“Like this,” he said simply, taking his invitation and tearing it in half, then again, tossing the pieces into the air.
He thought Marianne might swoon, she was suddenly so pale. She gasped almost silently as the pieces fluttered to the floor, then seemed to shake with rage or distress or both.
She screeched between clenched teeth. “You are going to ruin my life!”
He sniffed a mirthless laugh. “I am not. An anonymous event with no announcement of arrivals? I won’t be missed. No one will know you are there, and no one will know I wasn’t.”
Marianne screeched again, stomped her foot, and whirled from the room, drawing a small smile from him.
Goading his wife was really too simple.
But at least they were speaking to each other again. That was progress, was it not?
Part of that seemed to be Marianne’s newfound friendship with Miss Gemma Templeton and Miss Lily Arden, two young ladies of whom Kit thought very highly, and hoped they might persuade Marianne’s behavior down to a more respectable level. He was already accustomed to seeing them about, or hearing of ventures with them, but only time would tell how it affected her.
He shook his head and returned to his letter. There were some issues with the estate in Somerset, nothing too disastrous or challenging, but he would need to pay a visit soon. There was only so much he could accomplish through a letter, though his estate manager and solicitor were both highly capable men. He would need to discuss things with
Colin first, however. Though Somerset was one of Kit’s estates, when it came to matters such as these, the brothers shared details and counseled with each other.
Loughton did not care for anyone or anything, by his own admission, and had given up all properties and duties to Kit by law, and Kit had arranged matters several years ago so that the management of the estates was equally divided. He was the elder brother and heir, it was true, but he had no desire to rule and reign. Both Kit and Colin, though gentlemen by heritage, fortune, and nature, were deeply invested in their estates and the management of them, taking a far more active role than anybody would have expected of them.
Nobody knew that about the Gerrard brothers, and they liked it that way. No one remembered who their father was, except those of the oldest set. They’d been a reclusive family before their mother’s death, and after… Well, things had only gotten worse after that.
But so long as there were more pressing scandals and people like Marianne running about London, Lord Loughton and his reprehensible history were quite forgotten.
If the life he currently lived was any indication, Kit would greatly enjoy being equally forgotten.
Given the identity of his wife, however, he doubted he would be so fortunate.
Wherever she went, people would speak of him, and when they spoke of him, they would revisit the past, both his and hers, and they would wonder what had possessed him to marry her, and what had become of him.
He couldn’t be entirely reclusive until his sisters were married off. Despite Colin’s unfathomable popularity, it was Kit that was the eldest, and the responsibility of his sisters’ future, however small a portion it was in reality, lay with him. He would have to venture out into Society more and more as the years passed, and he had accepted that fate.
But a masquerade he utterly refused. He wore enough of a mask in his everyday life, as did the rest of the world, and hardly needed an excuse to wear more of them. Nor would he ever wish for the freedom that such a disguise afforded those in attendance. Inhibitions and respectability were too easily stripped away by the simple adornment of a mask and a costume.
A Bride Worth Taking (Arrangements, Book 6) Page 11