With Mairin in his life, he would never have to come home to a dark house and a cold bed. He would never be alone, and she would not be, either.
Iefan halted on the corner of Brook Street and Davies Street and turned to look up at the sun. “Why not?” he asked the dazzling disk.
As he was already facing that way, Iefan returned the way he had come. As he got closer to the house, his pace increased, until he was almost running. He burst into the house and ran upstairs and shoved the bedroom door open.
The bed was empty. Her clothes were gone.
Iefan rattled down the stairs once more and strode into the dining room, where he could hear china clinking.
Stamp looked up, startled. He was laying china.
“Where is Lady Mairin?”
“Oh, she left, sir. Almost as soon as I was up, she asked me to fetch her a cab, so I did.”
Iefan shoved his hand through his hair. “Did she say where she was going?”
“No, sir.”
“Damn.”
Stamp’s eyes widened.
Iefan whirled and left the house. This was a quiet street. He would have to go back out to Brook Street to find a cab. He didn’t want to wait for the brougham to be hitched. Now he had made the decision, he was impatient to execute it.
Mairin would have gone home to the white house on Park Lane. She had been wearing an evening gown and would need to change if she wasn’t to draw the wrong sort of attention.
It was the glorious Twelfth, the end of the season. The twelfth was always jammed with at-homes and farewells, morning and afternoon teas, luncheons, dinners, balls and soirees. Almack’s would hold its last dance tonight, too. Society became frantically busy on the twelfth, squeezing in last minute frivolity before everyone left London and returned to their estates for the hunting and the Christmas season.
It was likely Mairin’s calendar was as choked as everyone else’s. He would have to catch her before she left for the day, although it was still early. There was time yet.
AFTER THE ACTIVITIES OF the night, Mairin was starving. She washed and changed into a morning wrapper before hurrying back downstairs, where she could smell toast and tea and bacon.
Cian was already at the table. He put his cup down as she entered, his brows coming together. “Where were you, last night?” he demanded.
Mairin moved to the buffet and picked up a plate. Her stomach rumbled. “Lord Asterbury’s dinner party,” she said, filling the plate.
“No, I mean afterwards. You didn’t come home last night, Mairin.”
She kept her head averted as her heart gave a hurtful thud. A convenient lie did not suggest itself. She flailed, looking for an excuse. Then she remembered. She no longer had to lie, or please anyone but herself.
Mairin put her plate at her setting and met her brother’s gaze. “No, I did not come home until just a while ago.” She held his gaze.
Cian’s cheeks hollowed out as he worked his jaw. “With Mother and Raymond in Sussex, I am responsible for you, Mairin. Any damage to your reputation would be my—”
She laughed. “My reputation? I have no reputation left, brother.” She picked up her knife and fork and ate. The bacon was heavenly—salty and crisp.
“What on earth does that mean?” Cian demanded.
“Then the gossip has not moved as swiftly as usual this morning,” she replied. “Never mind. You will hear the exaggerated version soon enough, I am sure.” She smiled at him, forcing the expression. “I argued with Gascony last night. I told him truths which do not sit well with the ton. I destroyed any chance of him asking me to marry him.”
Cian rubbed his temple. “What happened?” he asked, his tone gentler. “What did you tell him?”
Between hastily chewed and swallowed mouthfuls, Mairin related every word of her exchange with Gascony. By the time she was finished, the true weight of what she had done settled around her once more. Iefan’s company, last night, had held it off for a few sweet hours.
Mairin rested her elbow on the table, in defiance of good manners, and rested her chin on her fist. “I am ruined, brother. Unmarriageable. No man will take me, now a duke has discarded me. I will have to retire to Sussex and take up tatting.”
Cian turned his teacup and saucer around with one long finger, his expression thoughtful. “You really told him no other mother would let him near their daughters?”
“It’s true enough,” she replied.
“It is, only I didn’t think you knew it.” Cian’s mouth twitched. “I almost wish I had been there to see his expression.”
“Unfortunately, there were a dozen servants who did see it. He will not forgive me for that humiliation. In addition, I forgot to keep my voice lowered. It is possible every lady in the salon also heard me.”
His smile formed fully. “The poor man…”
“Are you laughing at me, Cian?”
“Not at you, sister.” He rubbed his forehead and sighed. “This family cannot go a month without a scandal.”
“Says the man carrying on a secret affair.”
Cian jerked. His jaw tightened. “How do you know that? Is someone spreading rumors? Is it common gossip?” Fear thickened his voice.
Alarmed, Mairin lifted her hand in a calming motion. “You spend the season in London, yet you attend no functions, no public events. Even so, you are rarely home. I surmised it, Cian.”
He studied her, a pulse throbbing in his neck. “If that is all…”
Travers cleared his throat at the door. “My lord, the Duke of Gascony waits in the drawing room.”
Mairin gasped.
“For me?” Cian asked, after shooting Mairin a sharp glance.
“For the Lady Mairin,” Travers said. “He apologized for the unconventional hour and suggested Lady Mairin would not mind.”
Mairin grimaced. “I suppose Louis is entitled to his pound of flesh. I embarrassed him.” She put her napkin on the table and got to her feet.
So did Cian.
“You are coming, too?” she asked him, startled.
“You are my sister. Of course I will come, if only to make sure he doesn’t leave scars.” Cian rested his hand on her shoulder, briefly. “That’s what family is for.” His face hardened. “Or I can have him tossed into the gutter. You have only to ask.”
She gave him a warm smile. “I think I would rather do my own tossing, but you may help, if you wish.”
Cian chuckled. They walked into the drawing room.
Gascony stood in the middle of the floor, gazing at the framed oil painting of Innesford as seen from the sea, the sand-colored house with its many windows shining at the top of the cliffs. A tiny figure stood on the edge of the cliffs, little more than a smudge of black paint. Mairin had always wondered who it was, although no one seemed to know. The painter had died many years ago, so no one could ask him, either.
Gascony turned as they moved into the room. His gaze went to Cian. “Lord Innesford.”
“Your Grace,” Cian replied. “It is rather early, is it not?”
Gascony’s hand curled into a fist by his side. “On the contrary, I have come perilously close to being too late. I wonder if I might speak to your sister alone for a moment?”
Cian glanced at her.
Mairin’s heart sank. She had brought this upon herself, however. She nodded at Cian, telling him he could go.
Cian cleared his throat. “Actually, I would prefer to remain here. I have learned what happened last night, Gascony. I’m sure you don’t mind if I…hover?”
Louis’ expression shifted, too quickly for Mairin to follow the gamut of emotions which flashed across his face. Then he gave a very Gallic shrugged. “I do not mind,” he said. “Your family is famous for its intimacy and I have learned how refreshing it can be, so…” He moved toward Mairin, then sank down on one knee.
Mairin drew in a breath which seared all the way to the bottom of her lungs. A high note whistled in her mind, muffling her hearing. She could not move,
not even when Louis dug in his waistcoat pocket and held a diamond ring toward her.
“You have taught me many valuable lessons, Lady Mairin,” Louis said. “One of humility, and also one of perspective. Once I had recovered from the shock of your bluntness last night, I realized your honesty and frankness was the touch of a fresh breeze upon my life. I have grown staid and rigid in my thinking.” He moved his hand, so the ring glittered. “I made the mistake of looking for a wife who would fit in with my life. You would utterly change my life and now I see how desirable that is.” His gaze was steady. “Would you do me the honor of marrying me and being my wife, Mairin?”
Mairin let out a breath that shook.
“Please say you will,” Louis added.
Mairin pressed her fingers to her lips. They felt quite numb.
He was asking her to marry him, anyway! How extraordinary!
Cian leaned toward her. “I believe this is where you say yes,” he murmured.
Mairin found her voice. “Oh my! Yes, Louis! Yes, I will marry you! Oh, you have surprised me!”
Louis got to his feet, a charming smile on his face. “No less than you have surprised me, Mairin. May I?” He held out his hand for hers, then reached a little farther and picked up her left hand. He slid the ring onto the proper finger. “A perfect fit,” he murmured. “A sign, perhaps?”
Cian went to the door. “Travers! You can stop hiding now. Is that bottle of Dom Pérignon still on ice?”
Travers appeared at the door. “I will bring it at once!” His smile, though, seemed strained. Mairin wondered if he was finding the sudden turn of events as shocking as she.
“It is barely seven o’clock in the morning, Cian,” Mairin said.
“Who gives a damn?” Cian said. “You certainly should not. You’d better kiss her, Gascony. She is being far too sensible.”
Louis was still holding her hand. He touched her cheek with his lips.
Mairin blinked. The sensation was not objectionable, although she did not shiver at his touch. It was difficult to feel anything at all, not even pleasure at having managed to catch a duke, which she thought would be the least of the emotions she would feel at this moment.
In fact, a hard knot sat in her middle, which seemed to be preventing any emotion from making itself known.
It was simply that Louis’ proposal had come out of nowhere, she decided. She had been snatched from the black ashes of social disaster and ruin and needed time to consider it properly. That was all.
While Cian and Travers fussed with champagne and glasses, and the rest of the household were woken by the footmen and asked to attend the drawing room to hear the good news, Louis drew Mairin into the corner. He lowered his voice.
“You have made me very happy,” he told her. “In more ways than you know. I should thank you for the lesson you provided, last night.”
Mairin swallowed. He was a good man, she decided. A man smart enough to reflect upon life, instead of simply moving through it. “You have thanked me,” she assured him. She lifted her hand. “I did not expect this at all.”
“Perhaps that is why I did it, hmm?” he asked, with a glint in his eye. “You and I, Mairin, are not a natural pair and I suspect it will work in our favor.” His hair, she realized, was perfectly brushed and laid neatly against his head. It was always appropriately groomed, even at seven in the morning.
Did he ever run his fingers through his hair in frustration, or fury?
Mairin gave him a smile she hoped appeared warm and happy. “Thank you, Louis…may I call you that? You told me to, once. After last night, I would not presume…”
“Yes, yes, you must call me Louis,” he declared. He moved closer and took her face in his hands. They were cool against her skin and smelled faintly of cigars. His smile grew warmer. “I know we will be very happy, Mairin. I feel it in my bones.”
And he kissed her.
“Gascony, our family is informal, yes. You, though, are stretching the bounds just a little,” Cian said in a loud voice.
Louis laughed and let Mairin go. “I have much to learn, Innesford.” He moved over to the sideboard where Cian was filling glasses, while Travers hurried to rouse the rest of the household.
Mairin raised the back of her hand to her lips and wiped them. The emptiness leapt inside her. She had felt nothing at the touch of Louis’ mouth. Not a single note of pleasure.
Will I have to spend the rest of my life pretending, again?
Louis brought her a glass of the bubbling wine and Mairin forced another smile to her mouth.
TRAVERS, THE BUTLER AT the Innesford townhouse on Park Lane, nodded when Iefan asked his question. “Why yes, Lady Mairin is at home, although she has a guest right now. Please come in.”
“A guest at this time of the morning?” Iefan said, startled, as he stepped into the airy foyer of the white house.
“It will be one of those days, Mister Davies,” Travers replied, smiling, as he led Iefan over to the drawing room door. “I’m sure Lady Mairin will be happy to give you the news.”
Over Traver’s shoulder, Iefan could see three people in the room. Cian’s tall figure was to one side and Iefan barely noticed him, for his gaze was pinned by the pair in the corner.
Mairin. Gascony.
He was kissing her.
Iefan slithered to a halt on the tiles, his heart seizing. He spun away, turning his back, so he would see no more. He found himself by the library doors. He put his hand on one of them, to prop himself up, as the strength seemed to drain from him.
“Sir?” Travers whispered, bending to peer up at Iefan’s face.
Iefan closed his eyes. All he could see was the pair of them.
Cian said something, his tone chiding. Then Gascony’s voice. Lighter. Happy.
Iefan’s breath squeezed painfully from his chest.
“Sir?” Travers breathed.
“I’m fine,” Iefan said, forcing the words from him. “Perfectly fine.” He made himself stand straight once more. He even managed to look Travers in the eye. “I’ve changed my mind, Travers. I will call on Lady Mairin at another time. I will let the family enjoy their celebration.”
“But…you are family, too, sir,” Travers said, looking confused.
“So I am,” Iefan said bitterly. He turned and left. The cab he’d used to get to Park Lane was still standing by the park entrance, looking for another fare. Iefan crossed the road and opened the door, then looked up at the driver.
“Where to, sir?” the driver asked.
Iefan opened his mouth. Nothing emerged.
Where to?
Chapter Fourteen
It was August 12th, the Glorious Twelfth, and the end of the London Season, which meant both Gascony and Mairin had full calendars, many of their appointments coinciding.
Louis wanted Mairin to go with him to every event they shared, to announce their engagement in public.
Her heart sinking, Mairin demurred. “We cannot make a public announcement before speaking to my mother and Raymond. You must come to Marblethorpe first. Then we can announce it publicly.”
Louis’ expression hardened.
Cian, who sat on the arm of the sofa, said mildly, “How would Lady Natasha feel about her future son-in-law, if she learned about her daughter’s engagement from the London gossips?”
Louis scowled. “She is in Sussex,” he pointed out.
“And every family in London will leave tomorrow for the four corners of England. At least three of those families live in Sussex,” Cian replied.
Louis blew out his breath and nodded. “Very well,” he said. “I see I will have to remain patient for a while longer.”
After reassuring Louis she would write to him with a date he could visit her in Sussex, as soon as she had arrived home and told her mother and Raymond the news, Mairin bid him farewell.
Louis kissed her again, by the front door, a soft touch of his lips to hers, then left.
Mairin hung her head for a moment, her ha
nd against the door, her heart hurrying along heavily. She looked at the ring on her finger.
This was what she had wanted. Why was it not even a little bit satisfying?
She did not attend any of the society events that day. It was the last day of the season and she did not care. She wrote swift notes to all the hosts, speaking of a small family crisis.
Instead, she worked with Travers and the maids, directing the packing of her trunks, while Cian arranged the closing down of the house for the off-season. Travers spent most of the day in the service rooms at the back of house, his sleeves rolled up and a heavy apron over his uniform, while the rest of the staff hurried about the house.
Lunch was a slip-shod affair, with only the second footman in attendance. The tea, at least, was hot. Lisa Grace didn’t speak to Mairin during the meal. Her sister instead ate her sandwich, her thoughts focused upon the packing of her canvases and her painting tools, for no one in the house knew how to pack them to her satisfaction.
Supper was interrupted by Daniel strolling into the dining room with one of his sideways grins. Annalies squealed and hugged him, while Cian called for someone to bring Daniel a plate.
“I’m back for just a short while,” Daniel told them. He raised a brow at Cian. “Last night in the old town. Shall we see who is at the club tonight?”
Cian considered, then nodded. “Everyone will be at one of the balls, or Almack’s, tonight. We should have the club almost to ourselves.” He glanced at Mairin. “Are you still intent upon staying home?”
The lack of sleep from the previous night had been making itself felt since mid-afternoon. “Even more so, now,” Mairin told Cian. “An early evening for me. I shall sleep through fireworks and cannons, I am sure.”
“The sleep of the victorious,” Cian murmured.
Daniel raised his brow. “I sense a story.”
Cian shook his head. “Later, brother. Let me speak to Travers, then we can go.”
Lisa Grace sniffed. “Clubs. Really…how old fashioned!”
Mairin was more than happy for the men in the house to leave them alone. She climbed into her bed shortly after the carriage had left with the pair. The sun was just setting, although she didn’t care what anyone thought about such odd behavior. She considered reaching for a volume sitting on the table by her bed. Only, she had already relaxed upon the soft bed and didn’t want to move.
Season of Denial (Scandalous Scions Book 7) Page 14