by Georgie Lee
Marianne’s eyes snapped to Lady Ellington’s. He was here. He’d come to see her.
Lady Ellington clapped her hands together in delight. ‘One day without you and he’s already sprinting over here to visit you.’
‘It took him quite a few hours to sprint,’ Marianne grumbled, wishing she’d gone for a walk in the garden. It would take crossing all of the Falconbridge lands to calm her now since she couldn’t very well pace a hole in the floorboards.
‘You’ll learn, my dear, it takes men a little longer to come around to things. Darby, show Sir Warren in at once.’
The butler left before Marianne could stop him.
‘What if he isn’t here to see me, but to end things?’ This was what she’d wanted when she’d drafted the letter ending the agreement, the one sitting unsealed on her writing table in her room. She should have sent it and made things clear before he could come over here and clarify them for her. It would hurt less if she was to break with him instead of him breaking with her.
‘If he wanted to end things he’d send a note, not come here in person.’
She hoped Lady Ellington was right. She didn’t want to endure another rejection like the one the Smiths had sent her four years ago.
Marianne dropped her hands in her lap and twisted around to face the sitting-room door. She attempted to affect her usual air of indifference, but it wasn’t easy. Whatever he said, she would disregard it as she did Lady Cartwright’s snide remarks. She could cry over it later.
No, I won’t cry.
Warren entered the room and Marianne willed the creeping smile from her lips. He wore a dark blue coat as wrinkled as his untidy cravat. His hair was combed smooth over the back of his head, but the ends possessed a wildness which matched his attire. A generous smile lightened the dark circles beneath his eyes and increased the faint flutter in her stomach. No one smiled so wide before they ended an affair as she’d seen more than once at Madame de Badeau’s.
He bowed to them, clutching a notebook and writing case in his left hand. ‘Good morning, Lady Ellington, Miss Domville. I’m very sorry Miss Domville was unable to come to Priorton today. I hope it isn’t too presumptuous of me to ask if I may work here instead.’
He wants to be with me, to keep our arrangement.
It thrilled her as much as when new sheet music arrived from London. Dread quickly squashed it. She still had no idea what was happening with Mr Hirst and what, if anything, had come of his visit. She wanted to ask Warren about it, but with Lady Ellington present she couldn’t. Whatever had taken place between them after she’d left it must not have been too awful if he was here.
‘What a lovely idea,’ Lady Ellington answered while Marianne remained too lost in her thoughts to speak. The Dowager guided him to the escritoire to the left of the pianoforte. It sat against the window so anyone working there could see the garden with their back to the instrument. ‘I’ve missed having music in the house these last few days. Are you sure you can work here?’
He leaned one hand on the rounded chair back, his other hand perched on his hip and drawing his coat back to reveal his solid middle. The sensation of his body against hers, his wide hand on her neck, his flat chest firm against hers made her skin flush at the memory.
‘I used to write aboard ship, in the middle of storms. A foreign desk and some lovely playing won’t distract me.’ His eyes met Marianne’s. She kept her outward stature as impassive as possible while inside she was running in circles. He hadn’t left her, but had sought her out as though she were more important than rumours or brothers-in-law or anything else. However, it had taken him a day to do so. Had he wavered during their time apart or considered not coming here? If he held any doubts they were not in his soft eyes or the sureness of his stance. ‘I won’t disturb you, will I?’
‘Of course not.’ She flicked through the pages of her composition book, searching for something to play as if he were not here. For all her excitement at his arrival, the old caution refused to release its hold on her. She’d been careless with him yesterday and she wouldn’t allow it to happen again.
The shift of his shoulders while he arranged his things on the desk undermined her determination. She studied the width of his back, noting how the wool wrinkled and flattened with each movement, sliding up over the curve of his buttocks as he leaned forward to set out his ink. She gripped the book tight, wrinkling a whole note near the edge of one page. She wanted to wrap her arms around his waist, lay her head on his shoulder and breathe him in like the mist in the morning.
Don’t be silly.
She smoothed the wrinkled edge of her music and set the book on the stand. Her mother had thrown herself at any man with a title and money. Marianne had never behaved so basely. Her experience with Warren was an exception, not a habit, and she wouldn’t allow it to continue. She’d find out more about Mr Hirst later, then make it clear to Warren their behaviour from the other day was not to be repeated. He wanted a muse and she’d be one. He could find more physical inspiration elsewhere.
As Marianne played, Lady Ellington waved her fingers in time to the music, her smile so wide one would think she’d arranged this. She probably had. Marianne should be annoyed by her friend’s meddling, but she wasn’t. At least the Dowager was more conscientious in her chaperon duties than Mrs Stevens.
Marianne paused to scratch a few notes in the composition book when Lady Ellington interrupted. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Walker is waiting for me in the garden.’
And there went the chaperon. Marianne frowned as the breeze fluttered the hem of Lady Ellington’s grey pelisse as she hurried out of the French doors to where Walker waited with his pruning shears to trim the roses.
Warren turned in his chair, about to speak, but Marianne resumed her playing, not wanting to talk. It had already landed them both in too much trouble. He didn’t interrupt her as he returned to his writing.
Under the influence of her music, she began to relax and enjoy his presence. In their separate spaces, they worked in tandem as if they’d done this for years. The clink of his pen against the ink jar punctuated her notes every now and again. It didn’t disturb her pace, but at times enhanced it like a harmony from an accompanying flute. It settled the tension from his presence and the other day’s debacle.
The melancholy tune which had teased her last night, the one she’d been reluctant to sit down and write this morning, faded into the background as a new one came forward. It startled Marianne with its effervescence and she followed its lead, playing with a vigour she hadn’t experienced since the last time she’d performed for Mrs Nichols. It wasn’t the piece but Warren’s presence creating the change. She didn’t fight it and slid into the music, not like a cave to hide in, but as if it was a pool of cool water on a hot day.
* * *
A long time passed before Lady Ellington returned. Pollen from the last of the summer roses clung to her dark skirt as she carried them to the vase on top of the pianoforte. While she arranged the flowers, she looked back and forth between the two young people and smiled with a self-satisfaction Marianne didn’t mind. When Marianne reached the end of the piece, Lady Ellington clapped.
‘It’s too lovely a day for you both to be inside for so long. Marianne, why don’t you show Sir Warren the garden?’ Lady Ellington suggested to Marianne’s amazement.
The peace Marianne had enjoyed while playing ended. Why didn’t Lady Ellington draw the curtains and lock them in the room together? It would be more effective.
‘Yes, I need some exercise.’ Warren stretched over the back of the chair, the arch of his body more appealing than the buds in the vase.
We shouldn’t be alone together...we can’t be trusted.
She couldn’t beg Lady Ellington to stay with them like a child afraid of the dark. Warren had been brave to come here unannounced. She could summon enough courage
and self-control to walk with him in the garden, in broad daylight and in plain sight of the house. It wasn’t as if she were dragging him to the orangery, as tempting an idea as it might be. No, it wasn’t tempting but ridiculous and it was time to compose herself like a proper lady and not some hoyden. ‘All right, then.’
She rose from the piano bench and led him outside. Lady Ellington’s excuse for not coming followed after them. A stiff wind whipped through the garden, blowing dead leaves off of the fading summer vines and revealing more of the provocative statuary. Marianne regretted bringing him here to walk. She should have taken him to the front of the house. Perhaps he wouldn’t notice the statues.
‘Lady Ellington has some very unique garden decorations,’ Warren remarked as they passed a well-endowed satyr.
‘The house used to belong to her brother, the prior Marquess of Falconbridge. These were his statues. For some reason, she’s never got rid of them.’
‘Maybe they remind her of him.’ With a smile, he nodded to the naked Zeus entwined with a nymph.
‘Given some of the stories she’s told me about him, they probably do.’ Marianne had never minded the garden decor before. Today, all the naked marble bodies in a variety of suggestive poses made the unspoken between her and Warren even louder. She still didn’t know what to think of the kiss, or him. He hadn’t groped her like other men, but it had still been secretive, with no promise of anything else except possible rumours. She kicked a small pebble with her boot. It didn’t matter. There was no future with him or any respectable man and no reason for her to think of one.
‘Your playing has had quite an effect on my story today. I couldn’t write my war scene so I finished the feasting one instead. Sometimes critics accuse my novels of being too dark. I don’t think they’ll say the same about this one.’ He laughed with an agility Marianne admired. ‘I hope you don’t mind the intrusion, but I needed to see you.’
‘For me or my inspiration?’ She stopped and faced him, needing the truth.
‘Both.’ He studied her, his green eyes intense like a field of fresh grass in the spring. ‘I cut off my dealings with Rupert because of what he said to you.’
‘You think there’s more to be gained by associating with a woman like me than a man like him?’ It didn’t seem possible.
‘Yes.’ His honesty shook her expectations. Few people had ever been worried about losing her. Here was one who wouldn’t let her run away. It scared her more than any rumour or scandal she’d ever faced and fuelled the hope which had been building inside her since their kiss. If they weren’t standing in the centre of the garden, she might slide her hands over his broad shoulders and pull him down to her. She raised her hands anyway, resisting the inclination to cow before her worries and doubts. This morning, she’d thought he’d never want to see her again and here he was in front of her as though she were as important to him as the Prince.
He shifted closer to her as her hands settled on his shoulders, his body hard beneath her palms. He stared into her eyes with mesmerising intensity which drew them closer. She began to slide up on her toes as his arms encircled her, aching to taste him again, to restore the connection between them which had been broken the other day.
Then the squeak of a wheel sounded over the birds. She jumped back from Warren just as Walker came around the corner rolling a wheelbarrow full of dirt. He waved to them. Warren waved back without hesitation. Marianne wasn’t as exuberant with her greeting.
‘We always seem to attract an audience,’ he joked, but she didn’t laugh.
If they kept up these near misses it wouldn’t be long before his decision to stand beside her was tested. She expected him to fail, almost everyone else had. It was time for them to exhibit more decorum, especially in Lady Ellington’s garden. ‘Walker isn’t a gossip. Is Mr Hirst?’
He fiddled with the loose knot of his cravat, the gesture more telling than his words. ‘I made it clear his ruining your reputation would ruin his. Besides, he saw nothing.’
‘It doesn’t matter. He guessed enough and it’s all he or anyone needs to condemn me, and you too. You could lose patrons and people’s support.’ She didn’t mention what she might lose. She didn’t want to think about it.
‘I sold books and earned money before people like the Cartwrights or even the Prince found me. I can do it again. I don’t care what they think of me or what they might say.’
‘Some day you will, just like the Smiths, and then I won’t be as tempting to you.’ She started for the house.
He caught her hand. ‘You think you aren’t worthy to be cared for, made to feel important and valuable, but you’re wrong.’
She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let go, his hand firm around hers. ‘Experience has taught me different.’
‘I’m not like them.’ He drew her slowly back to him. She put up the weakest of resistance, moving step by step closer to him. She didn’t want to fight him as she did the rest of the world, but believe in his affection. It was foolish, ridiculous, but her lonely heart didn’t care. She wanted to lose herself in his desire for her. They stood so close her breasts brushed his chest with each of her deep breaths. He continued to hold her hand while his other smoothed the wisps of hair from her temples. ‘You’re a wonderful person and others are shallow and blind if they can’t see it.’
He tilted his face down and she lifted her chin. His kiss jolted her like a carriage thrown off balance in a turn. She clutched his arms to steady herself, not against him, but from the old habit of retreating. Even if she’d wanted to run away from him, his light hand against the small of her back wouldn’t allow it. She folded her body into his, lost in his heady heat. She reached her fingers up to touch the hair brushing his collar, the strands as soft beneath her fingertips as his mouth. He’d come here because he didn’t want to be without her. In her answering kiss she reassured him she wouldn’t bolt, but would stumble with him through whatever was burgeoning between them.
‘Sir Warren.’ Darby’s voice cut through her joy.
As fast as Warren’s kiss had united them, the butler’s appearance sent them flying apart. Marianne wanted to scream in frustration. She and Warren should consider sending invitations to their next meeting. It would be more convenient for all involved.
‘A message has come for you from Priorton Abbey,’ Darby announced. ‘You’re needed at your publisher’s in London right away.’
Darby’s message delivered, he left the couple. Marianne wanted to stomp her foot at his pretend deference. He wasn’t as tight-lipped as Walker and was probably whispering what he’d seen to Lady Ellington already. The Dowager Countess would clap her ring-covered hands in glee. The picture of it settled her anger for it was exactly what she hoped her friend would do. She could now tell Lord Falconbridge there was more to Marianne and Warren’s arrangement than impetuous desire or skirting scandal. What exactly it was Marianne refused to say. She was too afraid to give voice to such a thing and kill it like a seedling planted before the threat of frost had passed.
‘I have to go. If Mr Berkshire has sent for me, it must be important,’ he explained with notable regret.
‘When will you return?’ She didn’t want him to leave. It was the rare person who returned to her.
‘I don’t know, it depends on what Mr Berkshire wants, but I’ll make sure to be back in time for Lady Astley’s musical evening. You will be there, won’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I look forward to it.’ He claimed her lips with a swift kiss, catching her off guard. She grasped his firm upper arms, not wanting to let go, his kiss more honest than any words. He broke from her and she wavered on her feet, unable to say anything before he touched her cheek longingly with his fingers, then turned and made for the house.
Snatches of his parting conversation with Lady Ellington carried out of the open sitting-room wind
ows before it faded way.
Smoothing her hair and adjusting the wrinkled fichu over her chest, she returned to the house, trying not to skip back. He’d kissed her, again, and told her she was more precious to him than his brother-in-law. It hadn’t happened in a darkened room, or while he was drunk, but in the open for everyone to see, eliminating doubts about his intentions, especially hers. If Darby hadn’t interrupted them, who knew what other declarations he might have made.
Her cheeks burned as she caught sight of Lady Ellington waiting for her, a self-satisfied smile adorning her lips. It seems Darby had been quick to report to his mistress.
‘Too bad Sir Warren was forced to leave so soon,’ Lady Ellington lamented as Marianne stepped inside. ‘It was quite nice of him to come to see you today.’
‘It was.’ Marianne leaned against the door jamb and stared at the desk where his papers had sat a short time ago. The surface was empty again, with no sign he’d been here, but she knew, the whole house did. He wanted her and she wanted him. She touched her swollen lips, his kiss still lingering there and with it the promise of what could happen when they met again. A passion for anything beside the pianoforte was dangerous, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t wield a little of its power. Perhaps it was time to play up her less musical assets. ‘I’ve been thinking, maybe a new gown for the musical evening would be a good idea. Perhaps a blue one like you mentioned the other day?’
‘You mean something like this?’ Lady Ellington slid a ladies’ magazine off of the table beside her and flipped it open. She held it out to Marianne, struggling as much as her young friend to refrain from showing too much enthusiasm. ‘It would be stunning on you.’
Marianne leaned forward, her eyebrows rising at the cut of the neckline, not sure even the stiffest brocade could contain her. Tongues would wag if she wore something so daring, but never in her life had she wanted a man’s consideration as she did Warren’s and she would have it. A new dress, and the fondness created by his absence, would all but guarantee it. ‘How fast do you think Madame Martine can sew the dress?’