This really would be goodbye, then. The pain that lanced through her was sharp enough, she just barely kept herself from wincing. Putting a hand at her chest to ease it, she made herself smile.
‘I’ve kept you long enough. But you must let me thank you again. I’ve enjoyed our bargain far more than I ever imagined I would. I’ll be grateful to you for gifting me with the Stephenson lecture for the rest of my days.’
‘It will be a treasured memory for me, too.’
He couldn’t treasure their time together as much as she had, or he wouldn’t be letting her send him away.
But she was being foolish. Did she really want him to press her, when marrying him would mean endless repetitions of the snubs she’d received at the ball last night? Murmurs of the scandal might fade for a man, but never for the woman involved. Did she want to let herself suffer the indignity of having her friendship forbidden to others, like the Earl had forbidden it to Lady Margaret?
Lose for ever even a nodding proximity to the engineering world?
Austin’s gentle affection would soothe the ache left in the wake of Dellamont’s departure. If she could groom their long attachment into a deeper bond, secure and safe where she belonged, her distress would ease and her enthusiasm for their shared future revive.
She just needed to sever her ties to Crispin before the pain cut any deeper.
So she stood, wooden, uttering the appropriate courtesies, curtsying to his bow. Then he was gone, the garden suddenly duller, chillier, as if all brightness and colour had been stripped from it.
Not able to prevent herself, she hurried over to the garden wall. Peeking through the gate, she watched as a few moments later he descended the front entry steps, fitted his beaver hat on his head, and walked off to collect his phaeton. Without a backward glance.
Angrily she swiped at tears she vowed she would not shed.
There was no reason to feel despondent. Lord Dellamont—she would no longer think of him as ‘Crispin’—had made no secret from the first that he didn’t wish to marry. Obviously, nothing they had shared had given him enough reason to change his mind. If she’d thought he’d proposed because he actually wanted her...she might have given in to temptation and accepted.
But his offer had clearly been made only out of duty. Returning the refusal he hoped for and expected had been the only prudent thing to do.
It was time to cauterise the raw edges of her bleeding heart, end this chapter and move on to the next phase of her life.
* * *
After giving herself a few more minutes to settle her uncertain emotions, Marcella returned to the drawing room, which fortunately at the moment was empty of callers.
‘I asked Dellamont to stay for tea, but he refused,’ Lady Arlsley said as she entered. ‘I had hoped you had reached an...understanding.’
‘If you are asking whether or not I’m going to marry him, the answer is “no”.’
Alarm flared in Lady Arlsley’s eyes. ‘At the least, assure me that he is not going to drop you, or you are truly ruined!’
‘Let me just say that you have nothing further to worry about.’ Before Marcella could inform her sponsor that her onerous chaperonage duties were over, the butler appeared at the door.
‘Lord Hoddleston has arrived, asking to speak with Miss Cranmore.’
‘Saints be praised!’ Lady Arlsley exclaimed. ‘Perhaps you do have one option left. Show him in, Mannering.’
‘Should you not ask whether I wish to see him?’ Marcella asked as the butler bowed himself out to do his mistress’s bidding.
‘That’s of no importance,’ her sponsor snapped back. ‘We may salvage something from this disaster yet.’
If Marcella had had any doubts about who had started the rumours, Hoddleston’s appearing today, probably to gloat over his accomplishment, dispelled them. He was about to discover that she hadn’t just been making idle claims when she vowed she’d never consider his suit, she thought, pressing her lips together in determination.
The Baron walked in and made them an extravagant bow. ‘Good day, ladies. You are looking lovely, but a bit...pale, Miss Cranmore. As I can well imagine, after suffering such a distressing evening.’
‘You certainly contrived to make it so,’ Marcella said acidly. ‘In any event, it may prove to be a relief.’
‘Perhaps you would allow me a moment alone to speak with your charge, Lady Arlsley?’
‘There is no need for her to leave,’ Marcella countered. ‘There is nothing we have to say that can’t be said in front of her.’
‘Tender moments shouldn’t have...outside witnesses, my dear,’ he said with a pointed glance that she knew was a reminder of the episode in the maze. ‘You can hardly be unaware that I conceived a constant affection for you almost from the first time I met you, Miss Cranmore. That regard was...shaken by the disaster that has sullied your reputation, but ultimately could not destroy it. I would have some privacy to—’
‘A constant affection for my dowry, you mean,’ Marcella interrupted. ‘And I will never be your “dear”. As I have told you on several occasions, I will not marry you. I wouldn’t consider your suit when Lord Dellamont was paying his attentions, and I am no more interested in them now that society has deemed me an outcast. As I have also advised you numerous times, you will have to find relief for your monetary difficulties elsewhere. I should even think you would be relieved to look elsewhere. You never truly wanted to give your proud and ancient name to a “jumped-up cit’s granddaughter who doesn’t know her place”. Now, I believe there is nothing further to be said. Good day, Lord Hoddleston.’
His falsely tender smile fading, Hoddleston cried, ‘You think you can just dismiss me? Do you still harbour illusions that Dellamont will come riding in like some medieval knight to rescue his lady? But of course, I’m forgetting. How could I expect someone of your background to understand the workings of the ton? Let me point out the stark truth. Dellamont will never offer his name to a woman who has disgraced herself.’
‘That’s not quite accurate. You disgraced me. I shall no longer be attending Lady Arlsley’s at-homes, so you needn’t call again. Must I summon the butler to escort you out?’
Marcella stared at him, her coldly implacable gaze never wavering.
At length, Hoddleston looked away. ‘I can see myself out, thank you. Good day, Lady Arlsley. As for you, Miss Cranmore—’
‘I believe the conventional response is goodbye. For ever, Lord Hoddleston.’ Giving him the barest of curtsies, she turned her back on him and walked over to the window.
Lady Arlsley waited only until the door closed behind Lord Hoddleston before exploding, ‘Are you out of your mind? You just dismissed your last and only chance to your salvage your reputation!’
‘It wasn’t my only chance. As it happens, Lord Dellamont also made me offer this morning—he being an honourable gentleman who did not wish to see my name sullied by false and malicious rumours. Which, as I believe his appearance here just confirmed, were orchestrated by Lord Hoddleston. When I told the Baron repeatedly that I’d never accept him, he always replied that he would wait until after Dellamont rejected me and see what my answer would be then. I suppose he grew tired of waiting, or perhaps his financial difficulties grew too pressing. So he tried to engineer that result himself by manufacturing those rumours. He has such a low opinion of me, he was certain the scandal would drive Dellamont away, leaving me with no other option but to marry him.’
‘Nor do you have any,’ Lady Arlsley retorted. ‘Don’t you realise that, you stupid girl?’
‘I have the option I intended to choose from the moment this charade of a Season began. We can both congratulate ourselves on having done our duty. I fulfilled my mother’s wish by embarking on this enterprise, you fulfilled your duty to your husband by taking on the onerous task of presenting me. I know you find it incomprehensibl
e, but I never had any intention of wedding a society gentleman. So, you see, your fears of being held responsible for my being raised above my station have been unfounded from the start. I thank you for your hospitality, however grudgingly given. But I think we can both admit to being relieved that we shall not have to meet again. I can see myself out. Goodbye for ever to you, too, Lady Arlsley.’
Given the efforts her sponsor had expended on her behalf, it probably would have been polite to allow the woman a chance to reply. Marcella walked out of the room leaving the Baron’s wife still gaping at her in shock.
Collecting Mary, whom she wasn’t surprised to find waiting outside the reception room door with her bonnet and pelisse, Marcella hurried out the entry and down the front steps. There was a grim satisfaction in having had an opportunity to tell off Lord Hoddleston, but beyond that, she felt...nothing.
Her family’s affection, and she hoped Austin’s, would help fill the chilly void. She should probably go first to Papa’s office, give him a sanitised version of what had happened, and let him break the news to her mother that she was ending her Season. Mama was certain to be disappointed and sorrowful at how what she’d imagined would be an exciting and glamorous adventure had turned out.
As she walked to the hackney stand, Marcella smiled sadly. She’d thought her time in society might be a lark, sometimes amusing, more often frustrating and distasteful. But she’d never imagined when she abandoned the ton that she’d be leaving behind a store of her most precious experiences...and far too much of her heart.
Chapter Seventeen
Later that evening, Marcella walked into the parlour at her father’s house in Tavistock Square and sat down at the pianoforte. She’d had a long talk with her father in his office, trying to sound matter of fact, but fearing he might have sensed how close she was to tears. He’d given her a hug, told her if she were ready to end her foray into society, of course he would support her and reconcile her mother to that decision.
He must have broken the news to her mother before dinner, for Mama’s eyes had been suspiciously red when she appeared for the meal. Still numb, her hands automatically going through the ritual of taking out music, Marcella thought that playing would help to soothe her as well as her disappointed mother. Even better, it would bring to a halt the flood of questions Mama kept asking about why she wished to end her Season so abruptly.
She must focus now on returning to life as it was before Dellamont. But time spent with him had created such a glittering, exciting, energising interlude, she wasn’t sure how to recover ‘normal’. When what was once ‘normal’ now looked so dispiritingly dull.
Would he call for her at her father’s office—in a week, a month, ever?
How was she to walk into the storeroom without recalling their marvellous adventure? Go to Hatchard’s for a new book, without remembering their discussion about the restrictions placed on educating women, when he’d surprised her with his willingness to listen and learn more? Ride in the park without thinking about the talks they’d shared, the merriment of her chats and his races with Lady Margaret?
Even playing tonight reminded her of the duet they’d performed at the Dellaney musicale and how he’d rescued her from Lord Hoddleston.
She’d hoped they might find a way to play duets again. Her Season had been curtailed before that could happen.
Suddenly she realised it would be almost impossible to recover her former self if she remained in London. She needed to get away, to scenes not imprinted with the heightened excitement of him walking beside her, far from places like Berkeley Square and Hyde Park and the elegant town houses of Mayfair where around each corner, her spirits might leap at the possibility of encountering him.
She needed to get away and forget that time when the sun had shone brighter, the colours of the world appeared more vivid, and every discussion more lively, because she’d shared it with him.
She didn’t dare think about kisses.
After she finished the piece, she said, ‘Mama, can we go visit Grandda? I’ve been missing him.’
After giving her a quick, concerned glance, her father said, ‘An excellent idea. I know the events of the Season can be...exhausting.’
‘They were. I find myself yearning for the serenity of the gardens at Faircastle House, the sea air and long rides through the countryside with Grandda.’
‘What do you think, my dear?’ her father asked her mother. ‘I shall need to remain in London for a while longer but I could join you there soon. Have you had your fill of buying dresses, taking tea and gossiping with friends?’
‘I should miss you terribly if we go on without you, but I always love to see my da,’ her mother replied.
‘Good.’ With a sympathetic glance at Marcella, he said, ‘Let’s make plans tomorrow to send you on your way.’
Marcella jumped up from the bench and went over to give each parent a hug, dangerously near tears. They’d always supported and loved her, as they were now. Their love would be enough.
Away from here, away from memories of him, she would find tranquillity again.
* * *
After leaving Lady Arlsley’s home on Upper Brook Street, Crispin had headed for the nearby hackney stand, intending to engage a jarvey to take him to Portman Square. He needed to warn his mother of the outcome of his meeting with Marcella and let her know he’d stand ready to escort her and his sister back to Montwell Glen as soon as they could prepare to leave.
But unsettled by their final interview, once he reached the stand, he changed his mind. A brisk walk would help soothe him and let him ponder what he should do next.
He first debated whether or not to seek out his sire and let him know he was ending his participation in the Season. But a moment’s reflection succeeded in convincing him that having an interview with the Earl would just subject him to abuse for no good purpose, since whatever harassment Comeryn meted out would not change his intentions. He’d pen a note instead.
He smiled grimly. His lack of deference in not waiting to have an in-person meeting before his departure was certain to make the Earl even more furious. But he’d deal with the repercussions of that decision the next time he was forced to meet the man.
Where would he go, after he left his family at Montwell Glen?
His immediate impulse was to return to London and pay a visit to Richard Cranmore’s office, seek out Marcella and cobble together those plans for continuing their friendship that the scandal had not given them time to arrange.
He’d found it distressingly hard to leave her in the garden at Lady Arlsley’s, once he realised that this was to be the last meeting of their bargain. A sudden but final end to all the rides, dances, talks and adventures he’d enjoyed so much over the last month. He’d several times checked his steps, driven to return to the garden—and do what?
She was determined to leave society, and after the way she’d been treated, he couldn’t blame her. He couldn’t in good faith try to persuade her to delay a little longer. With the bitter taste that had to have been left in her mouth after having her character unfairly maligned, her determination to marry her engineer must be stronger than ever. Small wonder she hadn’t hesitated to refuse his offer.
For which he was relieved. Wasn’t he?
As he’d told his mother, his instinctive aversion to marriage hadn’t changed. But Marcella was...different from any other female he’d ever met. Over the course of their association, he’d come to believe it was possible she’d had as congenial and happy a domestic life as she’d described. He’d seen through her that a family needn’t necessarily be a source of constant strife and turmoil.
He had to admit that he liked her more than he’d ever liked any female. Her lack of interest in attracting a husband allowed him to relax around her in a way he could not around conventional, marriage-minded young ladies. She was as easy to talk with as his male friends, never
resorting to the coy, attention-seeking mannerisms he found annoying in other single females.
Most striking, unlike any of his friends, she was both interested in and knowledgeable about the railway enterprises that fascinated him. With her, he’d been able to talk at length about his passion for them and his visions for their future, a passion and a vision she shared.
Indeed, he thought with a grin, she possessed much more technical expertise and was probably more intelligent than he was. In addition to her keen intellect and wide-ranging interests, her sunny, optimistic personality and subtle humour made her a delight to be around.
And then there was her physical loveliness, which sharpened every sense, igniting a simmering passion that kept him always at a knife’s edge of desire.
In short, being with her made him feel more energised, more alive, and more engaged than he could remember being with any of his other friends. Spending time with her magnified his enjoyment of whatever activity they shared.
It wasn’t until this moment, contemplating for the first time what he would be doing, with whom he’d be spending time now that their bargain had ended, that he fully realised how deeply she’d woven her way into his life. How much his enjoyment of the things they’d experienced had been heightened by her interest and expertise and by being able to share those experiences with her.
She’d taught him about more than railways. Recalling the discussion they’d begun at Hatchard’s, he now had a much greater appreciation for the difficulties faced by women whose intellectual development was hemmed in on every side by restrictions on where and how much females could study and what they could do with the fruits of their education. How frustrating and discouraging it must be for an erudite woman to have her future limited to marrying, bearing children and running a household.
She’d opened his eyes, too, to how deep and wide the sense of inherent superiority ran in those born into the gentry. Anger stirred again as he recalled the slights to which she had been subjected. She, who in beauty and intelligence was far superior to any of the gently born women he knew.
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