“For I could not proceed, my dear Lady Purford, without consulting your convenience.”
Not much to Marianne’s surprise, Grace became flustered.
“Oh! How kind, only I don’t know — Justin has not said anything to me.”
Lady Sessay smiled but Marianne saw no pleasure in her at mention of her prospective son-in-law.
“Lord Purford is content to leave the matter in our hands, he told me. Gentlemen, in any event, are not much in the way of participating in these arrangements.”
“But it is his wedding,” Grace protested.
Marianne judged it to be time for a rescue. She forced a laugh. “Now, ma’am, you know Justin is no hand at such arrangements. One has simply to set all in train and remind him to appear on the day.”
Grace looked relieved and troubled all at the same time. “That is true indeed. He can never be got to involve himself in domestic issues.”
Like his stepmother, Marianne could have said. It was plain she must take a hand. “Have you decided upon a particular day, Lady Sessay?”
“I have several in mind, but I would not settle the date before discovering if it will suit Lady Purford.”
Grace looked rather helplessly at Marianne. Nothing was further from Marianne’s desire than to become involved in the preparations for Justin’s nuptials to another woman, but duty beckoned.
In the event, once the date was settled, she and Grace had nothing to do but agree to the various queries Lady Sessay put forward since she had clearly determined the entire proceedings before coming to Purford House. Guessing she would be put out by a request to change any of the details, Marianne offered none. Truth to tell, she was in too great a state of shock to think properly.
The only change she truly wished for was a complete cancellation. Her heart shied at the early date selected. June! A rapid calculation told her it was less than six weeks away. Such haste was almost unseemly. Was Lady Sessay so intent on securing Justin that she did not dare give him time to retract?
It was also extremely inconvenient. How in the world were they to prepare Purford Park for the reception of its new mistress in such a short space of time?
This question occupied her through most of Lady Sessay’s visit, and she took it up as soon as that lady departed.
“You know, ma’am, we ought to have objected to the date.”
Grace’s face fell. “Oh, Marianne, no! I supposed you must know we had no engagement on that day.”
“We don’t, but it’s much too soon, cousin. Unless Justin and Lady Selina are intent upon a prolonged honeymoon.”
“Good heavens, do you think so? I should not have supposed either would be wishing to be alone together for long. I mean, they scarcely live in each other’s pockets. They might have been married for years!”
This observation did nothing for Marianne’s peace of mind, sending her thoughts flying back to the matter of the scarlet-coated cavalier. She forced them back. The wedding was in train and there was nothing to be done about it now.
“We will ask Justin. The wedding may be the business of the Sessays, but he can’t ignore what happens afterwards.”
“You may ask him, Marianne, for I cannot. Only conceive how embarrassing!”
Marianne gave an inward sigh. She would not only be obliged to put the question herself, she would likely have to suggest where he should take the creature. As if she cared! But that was scarcely the point.
“However much time they may spend away, cousin, the fact remains they will return to Purford Park and no preparations have been made for Lady Selina’s reception.”
Grace’s face of dismay was almost ludicrous. “Oh, dear. Oh, Marianne, what are we to do?”
“It is rather more a matter of what needs to be done. At the very least, we must make her apartments ready.”
“Oh, dear. Thank goodness I moved out of them after dear Edmund passed on.”
“You could scarcely have remained after Justin took up residence, since they adjoin his. But that bedchamber has not been used for years and it is bound to be musty.”
Grace began to look as harried as Marianne felt. “And Mrs Woofferton is here with us. Oh, Marianne, whatever shall we do?”
There was no question what must be done. Within three days, Marianne departed for Purford Park, accompanied by the housekeeper, on a mission to make all ready for the new mistress of the house, a task she regarded with a mixture of loathing and despair.
By dint of putting pressure on a number of persons, Marianne succeeded in transforming not only the bedchamber which was to house the new Countess of Purford, but the dressing-room and parlour as well. With no notion of what Lady Selina might like, she had thought only of a suitable setting for her elegance and beauty.
With insufficient time to apply to the fashionable London suppliers, she was obliged to rely upon the estate carpenters, the village sewing women and the linen-draper in Woking. The four-poster had been polished, stripped of its old hangings and the ugly tester replaced. All the rugs were taken out and beaten, the floors scrubbed, the cracks in the walls re-plastered and painted over, the window blinds dusted.
Marianne ransacked the unoccupied bedchambers, and was able to exchange the plain old press for one with an ornamental inlay. Discarded in the attics, she found a pretty long mirror with very little spotting which she caused to be transported to the dressing-room, along with a landscape painting to be set above the chaise longue on the parlour wall.
While Marianne planned and directed, Mrs Woofferton bustled, setting all available hands to clean and polish in all three rooms. By the third week, Marianne was able to breathe again, feeling everything was being done that could be done to effect what was necessarily a makeshift change. No doubt Lady Selina would have her own ideas, but at least Grace would have nothing to blush for and Justin might bring his bride home to a welcoming environment.
She was just finishing a luncheon of simple fare — for the servants were so busy she had insisted upon informality for the moment — when Mrs Woofferton came in to tell her the sewing women had finished.
“The men are hanging the curtains, Miss Marianne, and I thought you’d like to see how they look.”
“I would indeed, Mrs Woofferton. I will come directly.”
She was eager to see the effect, for she had selected a very pretty pattern for the new bed hangings, which was a little out of the way. It was one of the most expensive in Mr Petherick’s shop, but Marianne had been drawn to it despite feeling it might be a little too frivolous for Lady Selina. She had pored over a number of more traditional brocades and velvets, but her eye kept returning to this particular one and in the end she had allowed her partiality to rule.
By the time she got to the chamber, the hangings were up and drawn around the bed. Marianne stopped on the threshold, feeling an unexpected pang as a memory leapt in her mind.
The bright pattern of birds intertwined with leaves and vines was almost identical to that on the bed-curtains she’d had as a child when her parents were alive.
Guilt and dismay swamped her. How had she been so imprudent? All unknowing, she had imposed her own nostalgia upon Lady Selina. As if this was her bed, her chamber, her place in Justin’s life!
“Do you not like it after all, Miss Marianne?”
The disappointment in Mrs Woofferton’s voice cut into her shock. Marianne pulled herself together.
“Yes, indeed I do.” Far too much, if she spoke truth. “It was just … I had not expected it to make up so well.”
The three sewing women from the village were looking anxious, clearly awaiting her verdict. Marianne smiled and went forward to clasp each of their hands in turn.
“Thank you so much. You have made a wonderful job of it. And so quickly too! I cannot thank you enough. Be sure your diligence and support will be reflected in the fees for your services.”
Beaming with pleasure, the women thanked her for having been given the opportunity. Thrusting her dismay out of mi
nd, Marianne took time to examine the hangings closely so that she might admire their stitchery. She was perfectly aware, as were they, that such a task would not have come their way in the normal course of events, and the extra income would be only too welcome.
The curtains were then drawn back and tied so Marianne could see the effect for the daylight hours. She expressed herself as being delighted with the result, even as the sight of the new quilt she had bought told her she’d been guilty of yet more nostalgia. It was precisely the warm gold colour she’d had in the little house where she and Mama (alone for the most part with Papa away at sea) had lived in Portsmouth, and blended perfectly with the pale gold ground of the hangings.
The sewing women curtsied themselves out under Mrs Woofferton’s escort. The men had already left and Marianne was alone in the chamber at last.
She could not resist touching the fabric of the hangings, running her fingers over the flying birds as she had done when it lay on Mr Petherick’s counter along with the other options she had considered. Memories flooded her mind.
Sitting up in her bed, drinking the hot sweet tea Mama permitted her the time she was ill with influenza. A rare luxury, for Mama kept the precious tea for visitors as a rule… Giggling and shrieking as she wriggled all over the quilt when Papa tickled her without mercy, in a bid to leave her with a happy memory as he always did each time his ship was due to depart… Clinging to the bed-post, sobbing into the curtains on the dreadful day she knew he would never come home again…
Marianne’s throat tightened and she released her hold on the curtains. This would not do. She had not thought of the old days for years and this was no moment to be raking them up.
Nevertheless she could not withstand a surge of resentment that Lady Selina would inhabit this bower with all its unconscious contact with her own past. She had only herself to blame. So stupid not to realise, to allow herself an impossible indulgence.
Well, it was too late now to change it. She must console herself with the reflection that none but she need ever know. Nor was it likely she would enter the chamber once Lady Selina was installed in her personal apartments.
“Miss Marianne?”
Guiltily snatching her hand away from the fabric, she turned to face Sprake. The under butler had charge of the household in Rowsham’s absence, and had been a rock in this crisis. She smiled.
“Will you tell the men how grateful I am for all their help, Sprake? They have done so well, don’t you think?”
The man bowed. “Very well, miss.”
She then noticed the silver salver which bore a folded paper, and took in that Sprake was looking a trifle grave. “What is it?”
“An express from London, Miss Marianne. It was delivered but a moment ago. I thought it right to bring it straight to you.”
A flitter of unease ran through Marianne as she went towards him. What now? What was so urgent that one of the family must send to her now? “Is it from his lordship?”
“It is franked by Lord Luthrie, miss.”
Marianne stared even as she reached out for the sealed letter. “Lord Luthrie?”
Then it must be from Justin’s aunt. Unprecedented. What in the world had happened? “Thank you, Sprake.”
She broke the seal as the butler bowed and departed, her mind leaping with possibilities. Her pulse began to thrum as the horrid image of Justin either dead or injured flitted through her mind. Or was it Grace? She could think of no other reason for Lady Luthrie to be writing to her.
She unfolded the single sheet, only half aware of moving back towards the familiarity and comfort of the bed with its fatal new hangings.
“My dear Marianne…” Her eye swept to the end. “In haste … Philippa Luthrie.”
The paper quivered as Marianne’s fingers began to shake. Her eyes flew back to the start and she ran them rapidly down the sheet, hardly able to take in the words.
Not Justin, no. Lady Selina? No! She was gone … dreadful scandal … an obscure colonel… Oh, dear Lord, it must be the fellow she’d met in Hookham’s! She should have warned Justin…
The horrid word jumped at her from the page. Eloped! Lady Selina had eloped with Gregory O’Donovan.
“…branding herself a jilt and exposing Justin to the mockery of the ton.”
Marianne’s legs weakened. She sought the bed and sat down, her spotted muslin skirts spreading about her, and stared at the words that appeared to run into one another on the page. Her vision blurred.
No! She must not faint!
She looked up, away from the paper, deliberately seeking some other view to re-orient herself. She breathed deeply, trying for a measure of calm.
But it was difficult to remain calm when her treacherous blood was soaring with joy. Aware it was deeply inappropriate, Marianne fought to control the feeling. There was nothing joyful in this hideous news.
Her eye fell again to the letter.
“Grace is prostrate, as you may imagine, and determined to run away. Which is why I have written to you, Marianne. Your calm good sense is needed.”
Calm good sense? Good heavens! She was anything but calm and her good sense had wholly deserted her. All she could think about was the desperate hope encompassed in the fact that Justin was free.
“It is vital the family remains in Town to face down the gossips. For Jocasta’s sake, if nothing else. The child is doing very well, holding her head up, even though she realises the harm this may do her.”
But what of Justin? How has he taken it? Marianne saw his name, but looked in vain for any mention of his emotions.
“I must beg you to return with all speed, Marianne. Do not delay when Justin comes to fetch you. I can make no headway with Grace but I know she will listen to you.”
Anger began to seep into Marianne’s already conflicted emotions. Did Justin not matter in all this? He was the one most hurt by it. He must be determined to face it out. Why could not Lady Luthrie make him the subject of her panic?
The letter dropped to her lap, clutched in tense fingers. Was he distressed? Elated? Relieved?
No, how could he be anything but hurt and angry? Exposed to the mockery of the ton, his aunt said. Oh, he must be smarting in his pride indeed! To have waited so long, allowing the gossips to speculate, and then to have thrown the handkerchief only to be made to look a fool when the lady of his choice rejected him for another. And in such a way. Mortifying indeed! To fly from her home, her standing in Society, to her own ruin? How desperately must Lady Selina love her colonel to have courage enough to flout convention.
From pity and anger on Justin’s behalf, Marianne veered suddenly to admiration for Lady Selina. Did it not take courage to abandon all she knew and set herself outside her social circle, all for the sake of love? She had fought for her future, for her happiness.
Marianne could not aspire to such valour. Had she made the slightest push to secure her own happiness? No, she had not. Deciding her case was hopeless, she had put all her efforts into concealment, determined to endure. Lady Selina’s action made her feel a ninny. She could not approve it, for it had hurt Justin and put Jocasta’s chances in jeopardy. But as a woman, she could not but applaud so fierce a resolve to secure what clearly mattered too deeply to be set aside.
She became aware of her surroundings, her eye falling upon the freshly white-washed walls, the polished wood surrounds to the sparkling windows and the beautifully renewed bed upon which she was sitting.
A flood of dismay attacked her. All this work, all this effort and expense, and all to go to waste. Who knew when Justin might marry now? It was doubtful he would soon seek another prospective countess after this disaster. Unless…
The snaking notion crept through the barriers she had herself set up and sprang full-blown into her head, shocking her with its intensity.
No, she could not! Impossible. Yet if she failed to seize this opportunity, it might never come again. Her heart knocked sickeningly in her bosom. He was coming to fetch her, Lady Luthrie
said. What better chance?
Seize the day? She could not do it. She was not like Lady Selina. She could never find the courage.
Or could she?
Chapter Eight
The weather being a trifle warmer, Justin had elected to drive himself. If, at the back of his mind, he’d hoped having something to do would prevent his thoughts from straying, he was disappointed. Despite the necessity to guide his team through the press of traffic in the post towns, there was all too much leisure as he drove through the quieter country roads.
His memory dwelled obstinately on the events of the day Lord Sessay had summoned him to the house in Grosvenor Square.
He’d entered the morning room to find his prospective father-in-law looking worn and grave, while Lady Sessay, thoroughly out of character, sat huddled on a sofa, weeping into a handkerchief.
Shocked conjecture rode Justin. What in the world had occurred to cast the couple into such affliction? He did not wait for his host to begin. “What is amiss, sir?” The absence of his betrothed threw him into instant concern. “Is it Selina? Has some accident befallen?”
“Not an accident, no.” Lord Sessay brought forth a heavy sigh. “But it is indeed Selina.”
A wail from the sofa alarmed Justin.
“What, is she injured? Dead? Pray don’t spare me, sir, but tell me at once!”
“She is alive and well, as far as I can say. Yet I hardly know how to tell you. Won’t you sit down, my boy?”
“Thank you, sir, but if you are big with dismaying news as I suspect, I would prefer to stand.”
Lord Sessay crossed to a side table where a supply of decanters stood on a tray. “Let me offer you a restorative, for you will need it.”
“I need nothing, sir, for the moment. Pray enlighten me, for the suspense is more than I can bear.”
A Chance Gone By (Brides By Chance Regency Adventures Book 2) Page 5