“Your husband has not yet been found. I need to have control of his funds so that I may care for his lands and estates until he returns. You needn’t worry about any of this. You’re only a woman after all.” Looking down his nose at her when he contemptuously demanded control of her funds was not his best played move. Obviously he considered her intelligence to be minimal at best. Was he not in for a surprise?
“Well, my lord, I have read the marriage contract as I just mentioned, and I have consulted with my father and my solicitors. It seems I do not have to turn over any of my dowry to you. They have advised me that I may maintain control of these funds until my husband returns as long as I maintain his properties and pay his debts. I have already paid all of his outstanding debts and, as you can see by my activities here, I am refurbishing his properties with my dowry funds. He will have nothing to worry about when he returns. You, however, are responsible for your own liabilities. Whatever debts and losses you have incurred are yours alone and are no business of mine.”
The earl snarled at her, his face red, his hands fisted, his right hand crumpling the documents he demanded she sign. “But you can’t do that. I am the Earl of Reignsfield. Andrew is my son and his fortunes are under my jurisdiction. You must sign these papers and turn over the monies of your dowry.”
Marianne rose from her seat and moved gracefully toward the door, assured of her circumstances and her power over them. “My lord,” she crooned softly, “I have absolutely no reason to sign those papers. I have been assured by multiple legal authorities that I am fully in my rights to function as I have until my husband returns. If you are unhappy with what I have conveyed, I suggest you take it to the courts. I am sure the amount of money it will cost to have them tell you the same thing I tell you today will be of no matter to you. After all, you are already used to living far beyond your means.”
She opened the door with a graceful tug and spoke to her butler, the one who had already been installed when she arrived in her new home, just outside the door. “Blevins, would you please be so kind to show his lordship out. Then if you would bring tea, I would greatly appreciate it.” Turning back to her father-in-law, she made a respectful if minimal curtsy. “My lord, may you have a pleasant day.”
The earl stomped through the portal, then turned back wagging the crushed papers in her face. “You’ve not heard the last of this, you ungrateful chit. I’m a lord of the realm. You’re nothing but a merchant’s daughter. I’ll have you taken to court and you’ll see just who I am and what I can do. Your dowry will be mine and you’ll be out on the street until my son comes home. Then we’ll just see if your marriage holds up.”
“Do as you please, your lordship. But remember, if you dissolve the marriage, the dowry must be returned intact and in full. Do you have the funds to do so? I seriously doubt it. Good day to you.” Quietly she closed the door in his face, then leaned back against it. Taking a deep breath, she sighed. Speaking to herself, she remarked, “I am so glad that is over. I expected this before two weeks were up. Now we’ll have to wait and see just how much force he can bring to bear with a title that has nothing but the name behind it.”
With a lighter step, she moved back toward the chaise to wait for tea to be served.
~ ~ ~
As if the trauma and drama of dealing with her father-in-law the day before wasn’t enough, today she was summoned to the drawing room because one of the ladies of the ton had deigned to call upon her.
What further set of insults would be heaped upon her today?
She studied the card once more. Lady Vanessa Drake, Countess of Summersborne. Who in heaven’s name was this and why would she be visiting Marianne without any form of introduction?
Of course, a countess really needed no introduction. She could impose upon whomsoever she would wish. What person in her right mind would dare to refuse the attentions of a countess? Certainly not Marianne. Her parents had taught her better than that.
She stood before the drawing room door for one more moment before girding her loins, turning the doorknob and entering.
Giving the most gracious curtsy she could, Marianne greeted her guest. “Your ladyship, welcome to my humble home. To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”
As she rose, the countess waved her to a nearby chair.
“Let me get straight to the point, Lady Berensfeld.” Lady Summersborne folded her hands in her lap.
Marianne took in a deep breath as surreptitiously as she could. The matter sounded quite ominous and the subject had yet to be broached.
“It has come to my attention that you have been recently wed and your husband has seemingly fallen off the face of the earth. Is this true?”
Stifling a gasp, Marianne nodded. “My lady, he disappeared sometime during our wedding night and the next morning no one could find him anywhere. We have been sending out runners but those who have already returned have found no news of him. Of course, others have been sent abroad so it may be some time before we hear back from them.”
“Pity.” The countess shook her head. “So, what do you plan to do with yourself while you are waiting for his return?”
Marianne just caught her jaw before it dropped open and then took a breath as a knock came on the door. Blevins entered with the tea tray. Thank heavens for his timing.
After pouring tea and serving cakes and regaining her composure, Marianne was ready to revisit their conversation. “Do with myself? What should I possibly be doing with myself? I will see that his home is in order, his properties are maintained, his bills are paid, the remainder of my dowry is invested. What else should I possibly be doing with myself?”
“Really, Lady Berensfeld, don’t tell me you expect to remain self-confined in this town house for however long it takes to find his lordship. That is not only ridiculous, it’s not in your own best interests. Do you want Society to be chattering about what you are up to and starting all manner of untrue and detrimental rumors as to what you are about?”
Marianne’s eyes popped open. “In heaven’s name, why would they gossip about me? They don’t even know me.”
“And is that not the point? You have married one of the most eligible of their number, even if he is silly and foppish in his ways. He has disappeared in the most mystifying manner. You have been left, thankfully, after the marriage and not at the altar. Their imaginations will run without bound if they do not see you in the flesh, composed, intelligent, refined, the very image of a responsible viscountess.”
Marianne set down her half-emptied teacup, rose from her seat, and paced in front of the unlit hearth. “No one wanted to marry him. Our marriage was arranged. I am quite sure Society would laugh at my intrusion upon their elite world.”
“Everyone knows why he married. Everyone knows whom he married. Everyone knows that he has disappeared. What needs to happen now is to have his wife take her rightful place in their ranks so that when and if he returns, she is supported by their ranks and he is accepted back among them. Otherwise, you could be permanently shunned and when he returns, assuming that he will eventually, he could divorce you out of hand. If he were gone for a long period of time, he could accuse you for his own convenience of being an adulteress despite you maintaining all of his responsibilities as you so thoughtfully listed only moments ago. With no knowledge of you or your plight, who would stand behind you to retain your standing in the ton?”
“Oh.” Marianne paused in her trek to gaze into the waning embers, twist her wedding ring on her finger. “That would not be good, not for me. But how do you propose I conquer this formidable task?”
“That is exactly why I am here, my lady. To escort you through the challenges of the beau monde.” Lady Summersborne set her teacup into its saucer and placed them on the tea tray.
“But, Lady Summersborne, why would you do that for me? You know nothing of me.
Not my background, upbringing, personal traits, nothing.”
“Tsk, tsk, you are a woman under duress. I have been in your shoes. I married very young, then was widowed after ten years and left with a young son. I have had my share of being the center of gossip, innuendo, and lies. I decided rather than be one of those who makes life miserable for others, I would be one who clears the path. I have a number of young ladies who have married well but were still on the fringes of Society. Under my tutelage, they are bright lights in circles of women who are often disparaging to the point of being cruel. I hope you would take this opportunity to be one of the former rather than the latter.”
Marianne sat across from the countess once again. “I have much to learn, your ladyship. If you are willing to teach me and introduce me to others to whom I might be a friend, how could I decline? Currently, I have not a single acquaintance in the circles my husband frequented. Thank you for your kindness.”
“It is nothing, my dear. Someone once helped me not too long ago. I merely pass along the good tidings to someone else.”
~ ~ ~
Shanghai
1833
“Rumor has it, Andy, that you might be leavin’ us.” His bunkmate and ship’s cook, Donovan, glared at him in derisive accusation. His one good eye looked straight at him, but the second eye wandered in some unperceived direction. Drew had bunked with the lifelong seaman for over three months. Donovan’s cooking was tolerable, definitely better than that of the last two ships, but the man snored louder than thunder from a South Seas typhoon. His bunkmate continued, “You’ve been on three other ships in a year and a half. Why is that?”
Drew rolled his ale mug between his hands. “I spoke to Captain Dunnard this morning. We’ve worked out an agreement that makes us both happy. I’ll not be leaving Fortune’s Lady in the near future.” His eye caught movement in the far corner. A small, strange-looking Oriental sat drinking what could be tea from an earthenware cup. When their eyes met, it was Drew’s discomfort that forced the contact to break. Why would this man stare at him?
“Well, thar’s a cause for celebration.” Joe, his second companion, much younger than Donovan but on the seas much longer than Drew, raised his mug. “We all seem to be making a little more blunt with you on board. I’m only too happy to be keepin’ it that way. What say I buy you another round, Andy?”
Drew stared down into his almost empty ale mug. He’d already had quite enough. He went drinking with the crew in just about every port but he couldn’t say he liked it. For the most part, the men were tolerable, as long as he didn’t get into their faces over inconsequential things. But, he no longer enjoyed the feeling of inebriation. It dulled his wits and the morning after, especially if the ship left port, he felt worse. He was pretty close to his limit tonight. “I think I’ll pass, Joe. Are we not shoving off early in the morning?”
Joe nodded. “Cap’n says the mornin’ tide. He has plans to make it to the next port afore Saturday next. Worried the weather might come upon us, too.”
Drew glanced toward the Oriental. The man’s stare was unrelenting as he took a sip of his tea.
Drew returned his attention to his mates. “Well, I’ll be shoving off for now. It’s been a long day of translations and negotiations. Once we take to the sea, I’ll need to review everything with Captain Dunnard. You two should head back soon as well. The captain won’t be happy if he has to send someone back after you.” Drew swallowed the last of his ale. Making for the door, he took one last look toward the Oriental. His stare hadn’t faltered. Drew nodded in acknowledgement, then went through the door.
Moments later, he lay in the gutter looking up with blurred vision into a moonless but star-studded sky. The attack had been quick and brutal leaving him dazed and confused. He rubbed the back of his head and felt wetness. He groped in his pockets relieved to find the miniature and not surprised to discover the loss of the few coins he had carried with him. The street, the sky, the universe spun around him.
The Oriental, who came from nowhere, pulled a cart up next to him. Without a word, he helped, almost carried, Drew to the vehicle and rolled him in. He quickly checked Drew’s head and neck, handed him a cloth for the bleeding before giving a guttural grunt.
Drew looked up once more before the stars went dim then blacked out completely.
Chapter 7
London
Spring 1835
Marianne poured another cup of tea and passed it to Martha, the parlor maid. As Martha delivered the cup, Marianne continued to play “mother.” The six ladies of the ton seated around the room had become her dearest friends and acquaintances. Vanessa, Lady Summersborne, immediately to her left sharing the settee and her best friend, had seen her through some truly difficult times. Having befriended her shortly after Drew’s disappearance, Vanessa had been there no matter what challenge had befallen Marianne. And her father-in-law had tried his best to appropriate her dowry. Vanessa had been there offering moral support and sage advice. Of course, Vanessa, at least eight years her senior and a widow, had greater knowledge of the ton and its hazards.
She handed another cup to her maid.
The door slammed open to admit a tall, broad-shouldered man with a wild mane of hair who stormed in like a lion about to corner his prey. Marianne’s gaze flew up to sapphirine eyes blazing with purpose. Her breathing hitched. The room fell silent as a church at Sunday service; not even a teacup tinged against its saucer. He ignored the other lionesses in his lair and focused exclusively on her.
Slowly Marianne became aware of someone calling her name.
“Marianne, Marianne, you are spilling the tea. You must be burning your fingers. Marianne.” Vanessa’s voice, soft but insistent, brought her back.
Sharp prickles of heat stabbed her fingertips as Marianne felt the hot tea running over the edge of the saucer, the cup already filled to overflowing. She reclaimed her purpose, hastily setting the cup down in the puddle now being absorbed by the once-white tea tray linens. Some of the tea had poured into the sugar bowl and creamer, the bowl a mass of dissolving cubes, the tainted cream overflowing its rim.
She calmly looked up into blue eyes that had turned from fierce to compassionate. “My lord, you have returned. Welcome home.” Gesturing to the maid, she added, “Martha, please remove the tea tray. I’m afraid I’ve made quite a mess of it.”
Martha lifted the tray and headed for the door which Marianne’s friend, Lady Mumsford or Alice as she’d been given permission to call her, hurried to open for the burdened maid.
Then the real drama ensued.
Alice, turning away from her voluntary duty, glanced back at her. “I must be leaving, Marianne. I believe I’ve forgotten an important engagement.” She returned to a nearby seat to gather her belongings. With a respectful curtsy to the newly present earl, then to Marianne, she said softly, “My lord, my lady, good day,” and was gone.
In like manner, the other four ladies seated about the room made their departures in short order. Claiming various reasons most likely freshly fabricated due to the miraculous reappearance of the long-missing now Earl of Reignsfield, each made the proper curtsy and escaped.
Drew stood his ground at the center of the room, nodding to each departure but not letting his stare leave Marianne’s face. Her gaze remained locked with his.
“Marianne,” came Vanessa’s voice quietly beside her, “I will call upon you in a day or two. It seems you have much to tend to here at the moment.” Vanessa rose, made her curtsies, then followed the others out silently closing the door behind her.
Marianne took a breath and swallowed hard, not about to relinquish her hard-won independence at this late date.
“So you’ve deigned to bless us with your presence once more, my lord.”
A rap came on the door and the butler entered. “Blevins, would you be so kind to
bring a fresh tea service so I may serve the lord of the manor? Thank you very much.”
Returning her attention to her long-lost husband, she regathered her composure as she waved a hand toward a chair. “Would you care to sit down and tell me of your sojourn?”
Drew headed for the hearth where he placed an elbow on the mantel as if to pose for a portrait–The Lord in his Fine Youth.
Marianne’s gaze traveled from his fine leather Hessians up the cream-colored breeches that fit snugly to muscled legs that needed no padding, higher to a slim waist covered by a dark blue waistcoat shot with gold and a well-fitted cut-away jacket covering shoulders so broad she felt her mouth go dry.
The man once noted as the pre-eminent dandy of the ton was nowhere to be seen, not a ruffle in sight, his neckcloth simply but perfectly tied. The quizzing glass, too, failed to make an appearance despite the intense level with which he studied her. He simply stood by the fireplace as if he owned the place.
Which, of course, he did.
She surreptitiously twisted the ring on her left hand, her wedding ring, the one he himself had placed there almost four years ago.
Gone was the dandified man who had deserted her; this was an experienced male with golden skin, blazing midnight blue eyes, and rich, deep mahogany-colored hair flecked with red and blond streaks, the longer strands barely tethered back from his face in a leather thong, the shorter lengths dramatically framing a face with a strong jaw and high cheekbones currently set in determined resolution.
Seduced by the Dandy Lion Page 4