I shall travel in secret—it would not do to let Lord W know my plans. I fear he will not allow me to leave. Or, God help me, in spite of all that has passed between us, I very much fear he will. . . .
The Absolutely True Adventures of a Country Miss in London
“What are you doing?” Jocelyn said, stepping into Marianne’s room.
“What does it look like?” Marianne threw a day dress into the portmanteau on her bed.
“It looks like you’re packing,” Becky said, a step behind Jocelyn, Henry at her heels.
“You are astute.” Marianne moved to the armoire and yanked several gowns free. “That is precisely what I’m doing.”
“They’ll wrinkle if you don’t do it properly.” Jocelyn glanced at Becky and jerked her head toward the door.
Becky started to leave.
“Where are you going?” Marianne snapped.
“I thought you could use the help of a maid.” Becky’s eyes widened in innocence. “Jocelyn’s right, you know, everything will be dreadfully wrinkled, and I thought—”
“You thought you’d fetch Aunt Louella.”
Becky and Jocelyn exchanged guilty glances.
“I’d prefer not to deal with her, but I will if need be.” Marianne drew a deep breath. “She will not stop me, and neither will you.”
“Where exactly are you going?” Jocelyn came closer and sank down on the edge of the bed.
“Italy, eventually.” Marianne folded the gowns haphazardly. Her mind was anywhere but on what she was doing. “I shall take a carriage to Dover and a packet to France. It shall be a most adventuresome journey.”
“Why?” Becky crossed her arms and leaned against the bedpost. Henry plopped down at her feet.
“Well, there are any number of interesting things that can occur. Just crossing the channel shall be exciting.”
“No.” Becky heaved an exasperated sigh. “Why are you going?”
Marianne knew full well what she’d meant. “Because I can, and because I want to. I have enough money to get to Paris and, after that, I intend to get my dowry from Richard. This is what I’ve always wanted and the time is right. And because”—her voice wavered and she ignored it—“there’s nothing here for me.”
Jocelyn’s brow rose. “What about Helmsley?”
Becky studied her. “We thought perhaps you and he . . . ”
“Then you thought wrong.” Marianne tossed the clothes in her hand into the case.
Jocelyn drew a deep breath. “But he does want to marry you, doesn’t he?”
“So he says.” Marianne’s gaze met her sister’s. “How do you know that?”
“We know everything,” Jocelyn said. “All of it.”
“And we were rather shocked, too.” Becky shook her head. “How could you? We never dreamed you would make your Country Miss stories so . . . so . . . ”
“Authentic.” Jocelyn said the word as if it were obscene.
“They weren’t absolutely true,” Marianne muttered.
Jocelyn narrowed her eyes. “True enough.”
“And I shall pay the price for them,” Marianne said firmly. A terrible price. A life without Thomas.
Yet what choice did she have? Wouldn’t the cost be far greater to live the rest of her days loving a man who did not love her? A cost that would destroy her soul. And the one price she refused to pay.
The back of her throat ached with unshed tears at the thought of the years ahead without him. She ignored it and pulled a steadying breath.
“Now, then, I have a great deal to do, and I could use your assistance. I intend to leave tonight.”
“Tonight?” Becky’s gaze filled with concern. “So soon?”
“How can you possibly leave tonight?” Jocelyn’s voice rose in dismay.
Even Henry stared at her with a mournful look.
“I think it’s best.” Marianne forced a light note to her voice. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not as if we will never see each other again.”
“I know this is what you’ve always wanted, but . . . ” Jocelyn blinked hard in an obvious effort to hold back tears. “We shall miss you.”
“And I shall miss you. And who knows? I could be back in no time.” Her eyes blurred with tears. “Why, anything could happen. My carriage could break down or my money could be stolen at the point of a pistol or the road could be flooded and I would be forced to come back or I could change my mind—”
“Oh, I do hope so.” Becky brushed a tear from her cheek. “Not the carriage or losing your money or floods, of course, but—”
“But you won’t change your mind, will you?” Jocelyn’s lower lip trembled.
“No.” Marianne shook her head. “I won’t.”
The words hung in the air for a moment and then all three sisters were in each other’s arms. They sobbed promises and solemn vows and declarations of what each meant to the other. Marianne knew with a bittersweet surety they would never be this close again. Until now, she hadn’t given a moment’s thought to how much she’d have to give up to live the life she wished. This, too, had a price.
They’d been through so much together. Their mother’s death. Their father’s gambling and the poverty that resulted from it. His demise, and their struggle to make ends meet. But no matter what had happened in their lives, they’d always had each other.
Jocelyn and Becky would be fine, Marianne told herself. Aunt Louella would see to it. They’d no doubt be married within the next few years, with families of their own.
At last, they drew apart.
“Enough of this sentimental nonsense.” Marianne pulled off her glasses and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I shall come back for visits and I’ll write. Lovely long letters about my . . . adventures.” She was hard-pressed not to choke on the word.
“Of course you’ll write,” Becky said staunchly.
“Are you hiring a carriage, then?” Jocelyn sniffed and her eyes glittered. “Or taking a public coach?”
“No. I am borrowing an Effington coach and driver. It shall save me a bit of money.” She replaced her spectacles and tried to keep her voice level. “I daresay the marquess won’t mind. It is the least he can do.”
“Why don’t you just marry him?” Becky blurted. “Wouldn’t it be rather an adventure to make his life miserable? That would serve him right.”
“It would certainly teach him a lesson,” Jocelyn added.
“There have been one too many lessons already, thank you.” She turned back to her bag. “Now, then, if someone would hand me that gown.”
Jocelyn passed her the dress. “If you’re certain about this—”
“I am.”
“Then I suppose the least we can do is offer you some assistance.” Jocelyn nodded at Becky. “Why don’t you go to the kitchen and see if a basket can be put together for her? It’s an exceedingly long way to Dover. I shall go at once and arrange for the carriage.”
“Thank you.” Marianne forced a smile to her face. If Thomas had not already broken her heart, it would surely break now. Lord, she would miss these two.
Another flurry of hugs ensued, another few tears shed, then sisters, and dog, took their leave.
Marianne’s packing was nearly complete. She couldn’t possibly take everything; most of the new gowns would be left behind, at least for now. She would send for the rest of her things later.
The girls were right on one count. Thomas did indeed need to be taught a lesson. But Marianne simply didn’t have the will for it. The heroines in her books never had this kind of problem. They were always resolute and never gave up. Perhaps Marianne didn’t have whatever it took to truly be a heroine? Or, more likely, fictional heroines really had nothing whatsoever to do with the real world she lived in. Pity she didn’t realize it sooner. Still, would she have done anything differently?
Probably not.
No, she had no desire to teach Thomas a lesson of any sort. No desire to do anything but turn her attentions to
ward her future and put Thomas firmly behind her.
And that might be the hardest lesson of all.
Thomas held his glass out silently.
Berkley passed the decanter to Pennington, who refilled his own glass and handed the vessel to Rand, who proceeded to top off his brandy, lean forward and, at last, pour the amber liquid into Thomas’s goblet.
He and Rand had scarcely said more than a dozen words since their return to Effington House. Even the arrival of Berkley and Pennington had not stimulated conversation. Now they all sat in the library, furniture haphazardly rearranged to make certain no man had to reach overly far for the liquor. The four men shared the brandy as well as a heavy silence due entirely to the inability of three of them to provide any guidance whatsoever and the realization by the remaining one of how thoroughly he had muddled his life.
“Lord Witless,” Thomas muttered.
“Indeed.” Pennington snorted. “Admittedly, you haven’t handled things in the best possible manner.”
“He’s been damned stupid, if you ask me,” Berkley said.
Thomas narrowed his eyes but held his tongue. He preferred not to hear it but could hardly deny it.
“So.” Rand cleared his throat. “What’s the plan now?”
“Other than my intention to drain every drop of brandy in London . . . ” Thomas stared into his glass. “Haven’t got one.”
“That is a bad sign.” Rand shook his head. “You always have a plan.”
“Not this time.” Thomas looked up hopefully. “Maybe she’ll forgive me?”
Skeptical silence greeted the question.
“I didn’t think so,” he muttered and drew a long swallow.
“I do think Beaumont has something there,” Pennington said. “I think it’s time for some sort of plan.”
“Really?” Thomas raised a brow. “Then I hope you can come up with something. All of my plans have been dismal failures thus far.” He took another drink. “I even did battle with ivy for her.”
“Perhaps we need to look at this in a logical manner.” Pennington’s voice was thoughtful.
“Hah.” Thomas slumped back in his chair. “We are talking about Marianne Shelton. Logic plays no role whatsoever.”
“Come, now,” Pennington said, “logic always plays a role.”
“Not with her. All she’s interested in, all she’s ever been interested in, are damnable adventures and grand excitement and traveling the world. Just like her blasted books.” Thomas took another sip and wondered why the potent liquor was not making him feel the least bit better. “She’s never wanted marriage in and of itself. But if she did, she says she’d want the kind of man she’s read about. A jungle explorer or treasure seeker or pirate or some such nonsense.”
“That’s what comes of allowing women to read.” Berkley nodded his head sagely.
The other three men stared at him.
“What did I say?” Berkley’s eyes widened.
“Not a bad idea, actually.” Thomas raised his glass to Berkley.
Rand chuckled. “Far too late to help you, though.”
“Besides,” Pennington added, “there is nothing quite as dull as an ignorant woman. Oh, if she’s pretty she can be amusing for a time, but after a while one needs more in female companionship than a lovely face.”
“Or a well-turned ankle,” Berkley said.
“Or a fine figure.” Rand nodded.
“Or golden hair that dances around her head like a halo,” Thomas murmured.
The other men traded glances.
Pennington drew a deep breath. “She’s in love with you, you know.”
“She hates me,” Thomas muttered.
“Hardly.” Berkley huffed. “She loves you. She told us so herself.”
“And you, old man”—Rand leaned toward him—“are in love with her.”
“Hah. Wouldn’t I be the first to know if I were in love?” Thomas’s manner was glum. “She drives me mad. She’s not at all the kind of woman I would fall in love with. She’s far too independent and stubborn and—”
“And you said it yourself.” Rand grinned. “When you were saving her from the clutches of Leopard.”
“I would have liked to have seen that,” Pennington said to Berkley.
“You said—”
“You have impugned the honor of the woman I love,” Thomas murmured without thinking. “Did I say that?”
“You did indeed.” Rand nodded. “And with a great deal of enthusiasm.”
“Now, the question is”—Pennington studied him—“did you mean it?”
“Did I?” He hadn’t really considered it. He’d been so busy trying to talk her into marriage, he hadn’t given love more than a passing thought. He’d been so concerned about appealing to her head, he’d paid no attention to her heart. Or to his.
He knew he wanted to share his life with her. Couldn’t, in fact, conceive of his life without her. The very thought triggered a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach. It was a miserable feeling. In fact, he was miserable. And what, save love, could do that to a man?
“I am in love with her.” His voice held a touch of awe.
“It’s about time you realized it.” Rand grinned.
“And more to the point,” Pennington said, “she’s in love with you.”
“I’m in love with her,” Thomas murmured. “And she’s in love with me.” The truth struck him like a slap across the face. “Bloody hell.” He bolted upright and clapped his hand to his forehead. “That’s what she wanted to hear, wasn’t it? When she kept asking why I wanted to marry her? She wanted me to tell her I loved her.”
“I believe you said fate, at that moment,” Rand said wryly.
Pennington chuckled. “Lord Witless does seem more and more appropriate.”
Thomas groaned. “I have made a mess of it all.”
“It’s probably not too late to fix things.” Pennington sipped his drink. “She might well be amenable to listening to your abject apologies—”
“And declaration of love,” Rand said.
“And don’t forget groveling,” Berkley threw in. “Women love groveling.”
“In the morning,” Pennington continued. “After she’s had a chance to sleep on it. Life always looks better at the start of a new day.”
Thomas wasn’t entirely certain he could wait until tomorrow. Still, Pennington was probably right.
Thomas’s spirits lifted. He would go to her first thing in the morning. No. He would awaken her at dawn. He’d tell her what an idiot he’d been and swear his undying love and, yes, grovel as much as was needed. And surely she’d forgive him for being such a fool. After all, she loved him.
Thomas grinned. “Now, that sounds like a plan.”
The door to the library slammed open.
“Helmsley?” Jocelyn’s voice rang in the room. “Are you in here?”
The men sprang unsteadily to their feet.
Jocelyn and Becky swept toward them, followed by Henry.
“What are you still doing here?” Jocelyn planted her hands on her hips.
Becky copied her sister’s stance and tone. “You should be gone by now.”
The dog growled.
“Gone?” Thomas drew his brows together. “Where would I go?”
“After Marianne, of course,” Jocelyn said.
“And where, pray tell, has she gone?” Pennington asked.
Jocelyn squinted into the shadows and Pennington stepped forward. “My Lord Pennington.” Jocelyn cast Pennington a delighted smile and offered her hand. “I didn’t see you. And Lord Berkley as well.” Her gaze settled on Rand. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Now is not the time for introductions,” Thomas snapped. “What are you talking about?”
Jocelyn withdrew her hand reluctantly and glanced at Becky. “Didn’t you tell him?”
“I wasn’t supposed to tell him.” Becky shook her head. “I was supposed to arrange for food. You were supposed to tell him.�
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“No.” Jocelyn shook her head. “I was talking to the driver. You were the one who—”
“Tell me now!” he roared.
“You needn’t take that tone with us,” Becky said in a huff.
“This is not our fault.” Jocelyn’s eyes narrowed in an accusing manner. “If you’d done your part, she’d be married by now.”
“Regardless,” Thomas clenched his fists, “where is she going?”
“Italy,” Becky said with a sigh. “But Paris first, and—”
“Dover,” Jocelyn cut in. “She’s on her way to Dover and then to France. I did tell the driver . . . what was his name?”
“Greggs?” Thomas said.
“I told him to drive as slow as possible. They probably haven’t gone far.” Jocelyn’s eyes narrowed in a threatening manner. “You have to stop her.”
“Of course I’ll stop her. I’ll leave at once.” He started toward the door.
Rand grabbed his arm. “I think, at this point, you do indeed need some sort of plan.”
“And it had better be more successful than anything else you’ve tried,” Jocelyn said. “You can’t simply ask her to return. She’s hiding it well, but she’s angry and hurt and not at all her usual self. I’ve never seen her like this.” She studied him suspiciously. “What did you do to her?”
Guilt surged through him. “We had a bit of a misunderstanding.”
Berkley choked. Pennington coughed. Rand cleared his throat.
Becky stepped toward him. “She said she wouldn’t change her mind. She said nothing short of accidents or floods or being robbed of her money would make her come back.”
“Robbery, eh?” Rand said and looked at Pennington.
“It’s ridiculous, of course. Still . . . ” Pennington nodded thoughtfully. “It might well work.”
Thomas’s gaze slid from one man to the next. “What might work?”
Pennington grasped the elbow of both girls and steered them to the door. “If you would be so kind as to make certain our horses are made ready.”
“What are you going to do?” Becky asked.
“We have a few items to discuss, preparations of our own, then we shall be off to recover your sister.” Pennington eased them out the door and closed it firmly behind them.
The Marriage Lesson Page 27