Beauty in Black

by Nicole Byrd

  Between introductions Louisa chatted about London’s amusements and hinted at another visit to Vauxhall. She also could not keep from glancing toward any younger man with brown hair and medium height, which, Marianne was thankful, the marquess didn’t seem to notice. But as far as she could tell, Sir Lucas was not among the park visitors on this afternoon.

  Still, Marianne was relieved when Louisa suggested they stroll a while in the park. The marquess directed his coachman to pull up the carriage and then offered his hand to the ladies to help them down.

  Louisa went first, flashing her wide smile and taking a few steps up the pathway, where she paused to unfurl the parasol she had brought with her.

  As she stepped down, Marianne felt the strength of the marquess’s hand, and it seemed almost as if he allowed his grip to linger. Marianne looked up at him as they stood, for a moment, very close; she felt a little breathless. His shoulders were so wide, and he had an air of great strength closely contained. She could see his chest rising and falling beneath his outmoded jacket; did he breathe quickly? Beneath his wide-brimmed hat, his hooded dark eyes were hard to read, and yet—

  Then Louisa called merrily, “Come along, Aunt,” and the spell was broken.

  No doubt, Marianne told herself, she was putting too much emphasis into a common courtesy. She could hardly act like Louisa; she had no excuse in a lack of social experience. Refusing to meet his eyes again, she gazed resolutely at the flowering shrubs and blooms they passed as they strolled along the wide walkways.

  For a time they walked three abreast. Louisa chatted about the flowers, Lord Gillingham nodded agreement, and Marianne simply listened.

  Even though it was for Louisa’s best interests that she was forced to play chaperone, Marianne did feel, at times, a bit de trop. So when Louisa paused to chat with another young lady she had met during their evening at Vauxhall, Marianne dropped back a little. But the marquess, to her surprise, lingered near her. Perhaps he did not wish to speak to yet another stranger.

  “Do you miss the quiet of the countryside?” she asked on impulse.

  His dark eyes lifted. A mistake, she had not meant to allow her gaze to linger on his. There seemed to be too much understanding between them, as if their thoughts were attuned, with meanings that passed easily even without words. He was not her suitor, Marianne told herself sharply and turned to study the top of a distant tree.

  “An oak, I believe,” he told her, sounding amused. “And yes, I admit that I do. I lack the polish—”

  For some reason she felt a stab of annoyance. “You mentioned that before, my lord. The polish on my silverware comes from hard rubbing. It was not acquired without effort.”

  “You think I need more—ah—rubbing?”

  To her fury, she found that she was blushing as furiously as any girl in her first season. But perhaps with more reason. Louisa would likely have read no double entendre into his comment. Which he—surely—had not meant the way her unbridled thoughts seemed to be leading her.

  “I meant that with some effort, even if it does not come naturally, you could be as cultured as you should wish.”

  That was the real question, however. What did this man really want? Why had he come to London and plunged so quickly into courtship of a girl he hardly knew? No, she knew the answer to that, gossip said he wanted a son to inherit the title.

  Again, he seemed to understand her too well. “Surely you do not fault me for wishing to set up my nursery? I have an old name to protect, and I need an heir.”

  A reasonable motive, and yet, his voice held an urgency she did not understand. Once more, his words rang with undertones of meaning, and this time he showed no hint of humor to lighten the mood.

  “You are not ill?” she said before she thought.

  He shook his head. “I am quite well, Mrs. Hughes.”

  Now she was the one to feel foolish. So much for being the dignified chaperone. Where was Louisa? Let the girl deal with this dratted man herself, Marianne thought. She looked about for Louisa, who was still chatting with her new friend.

  And indeed the path was becoming more crowded. Three gallants walked side by side, chins high behind even higher collars, jackets all that the most florid of tailors could deliver. One held a lorgnette with which to peer at the ladies, and they all openly ogled any personable woman within view.

  Behind them an elderly lady ambled with slower steps, her companion holding a parasol over her to shade the wrinkled, powdered face from the sun. A simply dressed younger woman followed, her eyes downcast. Then another lady of middle age and great fashion strolled and chatted with a friend, while the small dog she held in her arms surveyed the scene like a royal personage making the tour. Marianne saw faces among the crowd that were known to her and debated whether the time was right for introductions. Turning her head, she was able to catch Louisa’s eye and make a subtle motion.

  Louisa said good-bye to the other young lady and wheeled to rejoin them. Then, Marianne caught sight of another familiar face. Oh no, not him, she thought. It was Sir Lucas and, of course, the man must once more be escorting a damsel. Marianne prayed that Louisa would not notice her old sweetheart, but the two young people seemed as connected as two magnets drawn always by their invisible bond. Louisa’s head lifted and she gazed straight at Sir Lucas.

  He nodded his head gravely and looked away. Marianne held her breath.

  Except for a slight flush, Louisa maintained her composure. Marianne thought with relief that there would be no social gaffe for others to remark upon. And so it might have been, except that the small dog in the nearby matron’s arms suddenly spied a pigeon loitering too invitingly upon the grass. His ears pricked, his head lifted, and he leaped out of his mistress’s grasp.

  “Heros! Come back!”

  The animal paid no heed. Making a mad dash for his feathered prey, he crossed the path just as Louisa stepped forward.

  Treading on the little dog’s paw, the girl tripped. The dog yipped in distress as Louisa struggled for her footing.

  Marianne knew that Louisa must feel foolish, especially with Sir Lucas and his new amour still within easy viewing of her awkward posturing as she flailed her arms, dropping the parasol, and struggled to keep her balance.

  The lightweight parasol came down upon the beast’s head; the dog yelped again.

  Louisa, who was usually as fond of animals as anyone, snapped, “Oh, do be quiet!”

  This did not appear to endear her to the dog’s owner, who waved her handkerchief in alarm.

  “Oh, dear.” Marianne hurried forward. But her progress was impeded; a crowd was gathering around the principals, and she found it hard to push her way through. At least she could see that Louisa was once again steady on her feet. The girl bent to console the dog, which lifted its lips and snarled at her.

  “Here, now,” Louisa scolded. “I did not do it on purpose. Let me see your paw.” She tried to touch it, but the animal growled once more.

  “Will you attack my dog again?” the dog’s owner shrieked, rushing up to reclaim her pet. A scarlet ostrich plume that adorned her hat now dangled over her forehead, and she was flushed with alarm.

  “I did not mean to—”

  “And then to rebuke my poor baby! How can you be so insensitive? Heros, mon petit, are you injured?” She scooped up the small dog.

  “But,” Louisa protested, “really, you must see that it was not my doing. The dog ran in front of me—”

  “If you had been looking where you were striding, you would not have trodden upon his tiny feet! Such clumsy manners, my dear, really—a milkmaid would have more grace.” The woman’s voice was high-pitched and all too audible; the interested group around them grew denser with each passing moment.

  “I am hardly a milkmaid, madam!” Perhaps aware of all the staring faces, Louisa lost her temper with a flourish. “I am a lady of quality, and to suggest that I lack grace is hardly decorous behavior on your part!”

  “You would impugn my con
duct? A lady of more experience of the world than you, and, I am sure, of higher position?” The woman’s tone sounded truly dangerous now, and Louisa had the wit to hesitate.

  Marianne pushed past a stout woman in puce who had been most unwilling to give up her view of this interesting bit of drama. “Louisa!” she said, her tone a warning. “I’m sure, Lady Jersey, that my niece did not intend to harm your dog. We are so sorry that such a mishap occurred. I hope your pet is uninjured?”

  The stylish matron still glared. “Let us hope so, indeed, Mrs. Hughes. I shall summon my personal physician to have my chéri examined when I return home. In the meantime, you would do well to give your young relation some lessons in deportment, especially when pertaining to ladies of higher rank.”

  Louisa had gone pale. “My lady, I am truly sorry. I only—”

  But Sally, countess of Jersey, who could hold a grudge when it suited her, was not interested in belated apologies. She cuddled her pet to her bosom and swept away.

  Louisa’s eyes had reddened; she looked ready to cry. But the fashionable crowd gathered around them still watched and listened, and Louisa’s hysterics would only add fuel to the already too combustible spark of gossip that would, without a doubt, soon sweep through the Ton. Marianne took her ward’s hand. “Let us go back to the carriage,” she said gently.

  For a moment it looked as if they could not even move, but then the marquess made his way through the press, parting the well-dressed onlookers like a scythe, and offered his arm.

  At last, they could make their way back toward the barouche.

  Marianne was pleased that Louisa kept her chin up, and if her lips trembled, a curious bystander would have to have been quite close to have noted that detail. Still, it was a relief to see their barouche just ahead on the side of the park circle. Its bright colors no longer seemed pleasing, only as gauche as Louisa appeared now to feel.

  Marianne waited to allow Louisa to be handed up first, but just as the younger woman stepped into the road to approach the carriage, someone shouted behind them.

  “Look out!”

  Six

  A riderless horse galloped toward them, and Louisa stood squarely in its path.

  Marianne gasped, too frightened even to shout. The steps had not been put down; there was no time for Louisa to clamber into the carriage, no time for her to evade the horse’s lumbering trajectory. Moments they had, that was all.

  As Marianne watched in horror, time itself seemed to slow. She saw Louisa’s eyes widen and her mouth open in a silent scream. The horse’s eyes were wild, its reins slapped loosely about its neck, and it seemed heedless of obstacles ahead.

  But the marquess moved swiftly, running toward the panicked steed instead of away. Without regard for the thundering, heavy hooves, which could easily have trampled him into the earth, he jumped to grab the horse’s head.

  Marianne held her breath.

  In a moment he had hold of the bridle. A smaller man would have had no hope of controlling the runaway. Even though he was much lighter than the horse, which must weigh five times as much as he, Gillingham, with his solid frame and strong arms, managed to pull the animal aside. It dragged him several feet, but the marquess did not release his grip, although his hat flew off and he seemed to have ripped his jacket.

  He clung grimly to the horse’s neck until the animal slowed, tried to toss its head, then blew through its nostrils and came at last to a halt.

  A garishly dressed young man ran up behind them, his neck cloth somewhat disordered and his expression distressed. “So sorry, so sorry, what a narrow escape! Good God, but what a save, my good man, well done!” He put one hand in his pocket as if to fish out a coin to reward Lord Gillingham. Good heavens, did he take the marquess for a servant?

  If so, he was soon disabused. The marquess turned a stern gaze upon the errant rider, and his tone was icy. “You should control your animal, sir!”

  The younger man flushed. “I had only dismounted for a moment to speak to a lady friend. Somehow, it just dashed off and I couldn’t stop it in time.” He pulled out a mauve-tinted handkerchief to wipe his brow and babbled on. “Something must have spooked it, had no reason to bolt like that. Mind you, it’s a hired hack, so I know little about its temperament.”

  Her legs wobbly with relief, Marianne turned to see about Louisa. The girl looked very pale. “Here, get into the carriage, my dear,” Marianne murmured as the groom hurried to put down the steps. She had glimpsed the marquess’s expression, and she was content to leave the hapless, and careless, young man to his rebuke.

  After a low-voiced dressing down which turned the rider of the runaway almost as white as Louisa, the marquess picked up his hat from the pavement, joined them inside the carriage and signaled to his coachman to drive on. “Probably rides as witlessly as he speaks,” he muttered. “Miss Crookshank, are you recovered?”

  Louisa made no reply, but she gazed at him, her aspect truly pitiful, and drew a long ragged breath.

  “She must have a glass of brandy when you are returned to the house,” he suggested to Marianne.

  “Yes, we must go home at once.” Marianne pressed her charge’s hand. “Lean on me, my dear, if you are faint.”

  Louisa still didn’t answer. Marianne tried again to reassure her. “Louisa, we shall have you home soon, and you can lie down. I know it was a terrible fright, but thank heavens you are not hurt.”

  Louisa shrugged, her thoughts apparently elsewhere. “Was that—” she asked in a tremulous voice. “The woman—the lady whose dog I trod upon. Is she the Lady Jersey?”

  “One of the patronesses of Almack’s? I am afraid so,” Marianne agreed, realizing the direction of her ward’s thoughts.

  Louisa burst into tears.

  The marquess looked bewildered, and Marianne made no attempt to explain. She felt both sympathy and vexation. The girl could have died there, and Lord Gillingham—who could have been injured or killed himself—had performed the most amazing rescue that Marianne had ever seen. She herself was still breathless from the sight, and the image of the powerful man grasping at the runaway steed, refusing to release it even when the animal tossed and dragged him bodily along, the muscles in his arms and shoulders visible even through his poorly cut jacket—the vision would linger in her mind’s eye a very long time, Marianne thought.

  And while it was a social setback for a miss in her first Season to anger one of the women who controlled access to Almack’s, it hardly compared to a narrowly averted maiming or even death.

  She could tell that Louisa, dabbing her eyes with her wispy handkerchief and sniffing back more tears, did not agree.

  They rode silently back to Marianne’s town house, and the marquess came inside with them, offering his arm to the still silent Louisa and being all that was polite and solicitous.

  For once, Louisa hardly seemed to notice. She smiled wanly as he advised her to rest and recover and only fluttered her lashes when he promised to check on her the following day.

  “Go upstairs and lie down, Louisa.” Marianne had summoned her ward’s maid as soon as they’d entered. “I’m sure our guest does not expect you to stand on ceremony. I shall be there to check on you in a moment.”

  Lord Gillingham bowed. “No, indeed,” he agreed. “I will take my leave. I’m sure you are both fatigued. I had not meant our excursion to be so tumultuous.”

  Marianne grimaced at the understatement. She left Louisa to Eva’s solicitude and walked with their guest to the door.

  “My lord,” she said on impulse, and he paused to look down at her.

  He had the deepest brown eyes she had ever seen; she thought that stronger emotions lingered in their depths than he ever allowed anyone to glimpse. The moment stretched, and she forced herself to remember what she wished to tell him.

  “Since Miss Crookshank is—understandably—not herself, please allow me to thank you for such a miraculous rescue. She could have died beneath that horse’s hooves. It was incredibly brave
of you to jump in front of the runaway as you did.”

  “Anyone else would have done the same,” he muttered, shrugging off her words.

  “Oh, no, I don’t think so,” Marianne insisted. She put one hand on his arm in emphasis. Yes, his biceps were as firm as an oaken rail, and the strength he projected—

  Something changed in his expression, and he took a step forward. They stood now very close.

  Marianne found it hard to breathe. He was so tall, his shoulders so broad, his eyes so deep and dark that she felt she could dive into them and lose herself entirely. And the warmth that flooded through her, she had not felt this way since—had she ever felt this way?

  She felt dizzy, and she knew she should step back. But she wanted the touch to linger, she wanted—

  He seemed to be breathing quickly, and something primal sparked in his eyes. She had not been a married woman for very long before her husband died, but she knew the look of a man’s need when she saw it.

  Heavens, what was she doing?

  A light voice from behind them broke the spell.

  “Lord Gillingham?” Louisa had followed them.

  John felt Mrs. Hughes jump. She moved quickly to put a more respectable distance between them. He cursed it, every inch of it.

  But she was not the one he was pursuing, and he forced himself to recall the fact. She was spoken for, irretrievable, not within his grasp, even if he had not already made open court to her ward.

  And as if his thought drew her, Louisa Crookshank came to stand next to him. She smiled up at him, her blue eyes wide.