The Forgotten Marquess

by Jane Charles

  “Why were you kissing me if we weren’t courting?” Another thought struck, even more horrifying. “I didn’t go around doing a lot of kissing did I? I wasn’t, well,…” Blast, she couldn’t think of the word.

  “No. At least not to my knowledge. But had you been a bit friendlier than you should have been, I would have heard.”

  She blew out a sigh of relief. “Then why was I kissing you.”

  “We’d taken a stroll in the gardens during a picnic. The sky was clear, the sun cast golden highlights in your hair, and I didn’t fight the desire to lean in and kiss you. But, before I could, you told me of how you’d been kissed before.”

  She was almost afraid to find out what happened next. Most likely he had walked away. “Then what?”

  “I kissed you. I kissed you most thoroughly and when I was done, you sighed, then smiled.”

  “Did I make a comparison?” Oh, she truly hoped that she hadn’t.

  “You didn’t need to say a thing. I already knew that I’d surpassed your expectations and any kiss you’d ever received from Pierre.”

  She narrowed her eyes on him. “How do I know you aren’t just saying that because you know I can’t remember?”

  “With any luck, you wrote about it, so you’ll know the truth.”

  “I’ll find it, I promise.” And she’d read every last detail of that night to see if he spoke the truth.

  “Then what happened?”

  He winced. “Perhaps I should let you read about that as well. But suffice it to say, it was some time before we spoke again, though I’m fairly certain that’s when I started to fall in love with you.”

  She most certainly was going to find that section of her journal just so she knew he was telling the truth.

  Chapter 19

  “When I’m done with the journals, I’m going to read the letters,” she announced.

  Tristan was curious as to who they were from but wasn’t certain if he should ask.

  “Except, I don’t recognize many of the names. Only Monique and Pierre.”

  “Pierre had written to you?” Tristan wasn’t certain he wanted Elaina reading correspondence from her first love. On the other hand, he had been dead nearly ten years so it wasn’t as if Elaina would decide to turn her back on Tristan and find him.

  “I don’t know if I wrote to him, however. Would I have known where to send a letter to a soldier who was fighting, especially since he was French?”

  “I’m surprised he was able to send letters to an English lady.” How had they managed it? Further, it was highly improper. “Your brother allowed you to receive correspondence from Pierre?”

  Elaina frowned. “He must have, though I’m surprised, given gentlemen shouldn’t correspond with unattached misses.” Then she shrugged. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter. But reading them may give me more insight into myself and hopefully the ones I don’t recognize will give me answers to how I know them.”

  “You may find reference to them in your journals.”

  She tilted her head and looked at him with consideration. “I suppose that’s true. If it was someone who wished to write to me, certainly they were important enough to be written about.” She frowned. “I must have met them after I arrived in London.”

  “You had several female friends who you enjoyed spending time with during the Season.”

  Her face started to turn red again.

  “What?”

  “They aren’t all from females.”

  Tristan frowned. “How do you know if you haven’t read them?”

  “The ones tied with pink ribbons also have very feminine handwriting. The ones in blue, have at one time been sealed, a signet pressed into the wax.”

  “Give me those.” Tristan reached forward and took the bundle of correspondence tied in the blue ribbon. As he opened each, his irritation increased. “They are poems, and from a number of different gentlemen—dandies—set to woo your heart.”

  “Poems?” she cringed.

  “Yes. Poorly written poems.”

  She grabbed them back and the other stack. “By chance are there any from you?”

  “No!” His answer was firm and insistent. “I’ve no talent or patience for writing such drivel.”

  “Then however did you win me over?” She batted her eyelashes at him.

  “I suppose you’ll just need to read about it,” he grinned. “Or, hopefully remember,” Tristan said with a little more seriousness. Praying that Elaina did finally remember. “However, I do hope these poems were written before our courtship or I might need to find the gentlemen.”

  “And what would you do?” she laughed.

  What could he do? They’d been married for six years. Then again…Slowly he smiled. “I’ll do nothing. It is their loss for I am the lucky one who won you, so they’ve already suffered for their impertinence.”

  Elaina leaned forward and grinned. “Was there much of a competition.”

  Of course she’d wish to know if others wanted her. All women would, as would gentlemen. No one wanted to think that only one person found them worthy of attention. “Hordes, Elaina.”

  Her eyebrows rose as she settled back “Hordes you say?”

  “It was quite frustrating, if you must know.” Though his tone was teasing, Tristan had been annoyed. At least that had been the case during her fourth and final Season, and why he went about attempting to attain her attention in manners not incorporated by others. “If one didn’t gain your side early in the evening, then one would be denied a dance.”

  “I’m certain that you are exaggerating,” she dismissed and sipped the brandy.

  “It wasn’t like that the first year. You’d not made yourself, shall we say, welcoming. You were cool in your conversations with gentlemen and preferred not to dance.”

  Elaina frowned. Even though she didn’t remember, she found it very hard to believe that had been her personality. It certainly didn’t sound like the person she’d spent the day reading about. “Why would I behave in such a manner?”

  “You were in love with a French soldier, remember?”

  “That’s right. I must have loved Pierre very much.”

  “According to Lucian, it was an infatuation and you’d built a great love in your mind because of the separation. With the two countries at war, you never thought you’d see him again, but couldn’t wait until the war was over so that the two of you could once again be together.”

  Elaina groaned. “I was so young. And either Lucian read my journals, or I’d told him because that is what I wrote.”

  “Perhaps it was real love.” Tristan offered, though it seemed more like a deep infatuation masked as love.

  “I was devastated when he died and didn’t know how I could manage to go on,” she offered.

  “Truly?” Tristan kept himself from snorting.

  “I was young and apparently naive.”

  “Young, not necessarily naive,” he offered. “You’d come out of your mourning state by your third Season.”

  “Apparently, or we would have never kissed.” She grinned. “I can’t wait to read what I really thought of the encounter.”

  “I just pray that you were kind in whatever you wrote about me.” Tristan chuckled. Though, in all likelihood, those early passages were probably not very kind since he and Elaina had not gotten off to a good start. But, in the end, it had all worked out well.

  “I promise to report my past thoughts on you tomorrow,” she teased.

  Hopefully she read past that third Season, otherwise, she might not be speaking to him tomorrow.

  After Tristan left, Elaina changed into her nightshift, refilled the brandy snifter, and curled up in the corner of her settee to read more about her life. Further, she certainly hoped she had written about that first kiss with your husband.

  After the entry regarding Pierre’s death, not much detail was written about her second season except her arguments with Lucian about all her dresses being lavender and not giving
any bachelor a moment of her time. How could she? She’d been heartbroken.

  Following the Season, during the summer, through fall and winter there was very little to write. Her life at Wyndhill Park was boring. Utterly and truly boring. Her brothers, when home from school, had friends who called on them. Since Elaina hadn’t lived in Surrey beyond her thirteenth birthday and until after she turned seventeen, she’d failed to make as many friends. That was when the folly called to her more and more and she spent hours within the shelter, reading, unless the temperatures dropped so low to be uncomfortable. In fact, the world became whatever story she was reading at the time.

  By the time her third Season had come around, she’d allowed Lucian to convince her that she must shed her lavender and at least make an effort in London. He pointed out that her failure to do so would leave her a spinster, forever living in his home.

  That had been enough to urge Elaina forward, and she ordered gowns of the loveliest shades, not a lavender one in sight. It’s not so much that she expected to find love, but a husband would be nice. She wished to be mistress of her own home, perhaps bring children into the world one day. If it wasn’t a deep love or passion that she felt for her husband, at least she’d be married and happy, as long as he was kind.

  “I truly hadn’t set my sights too high,” she muttered to herself. “Odd that I wanted children, however.” Or, maybe she had assumed it was necessary to want them since an heir was most important, in the event she married a titled gentleman.

  May 16, 1808

  As I promised Lucian, and as I’ve written, I have given every bachelor who wished to inquire a chance to impress me. So many are handsome and kind, but none of them intrigue me in the least and I fear that my brother’s dire warning of becoming a spinster may come true.

  Perhaps such a state wouldn’t be as bad as I assume, especially if all gentlemen are like Lord Tristan Trent.

  Elian sat forward and took a sip of the brandy, eager to read more.

  Though quite handsome with his strong jaw, hint of a dimple at the right corner of his mouth, and light brown eyes, I find I do not care for him. His hair may be thick, his shoulders wide, a perfect match to his slender waist and narrow hips, a perfect symmetry that I couldn’t help not noticing, but there is nothing to admire in his personality.

  Elaina snorted.

  I’d had hope for Lord Trent when he wished to walk with me in the gardens, given his appearance, of course, and that his age isn’t so very old, four and twenty I believe, but my disappointment was soon realized.

  I don’t know why I hadn’t discovered that he was arrogant and perhaps a bit narcissistic before. We’d danced on occasion and had shared a few words, but clearly not enough conversation for me to realize that he was the most unpleasant of gentlemen.

  Her husband had certainly not made a very good first impression.

  I assumed he was a gentleman and continued to believe so when he asked permission to kiss me. Of course, I needed to warn him that it was unlikely his kisses would impress. How could they possibly do so when I’d been kissed by Pierre?

  Lord Trent wasn’t even concerned, which should have been the first warning into his conceit.

  I’m not certain what magic he spun but the moment his strong lips touched mine, a dizziness came over me. That had never happened before but on reflection, I find it might be on account of the heat. We were on a picnic and the sun was beating down, and I was simply overcome.

  When I feared that my knees might give way, I grasped onto his shoulders and he looped an arm about my waist, pulling me closer. He went so far as to kiss me deeply, with his tongue. Pierre had never done so before and I was quite shocked and taken aback. Yet, it was also quite delicious and the more he kissed, the more the heat of the day spread through my body. When he broke the kiss, Lord Trent gently let me go. When my feet were steady once more, Lord Trent bowed, then had the audacity to wink and walk away from me. Further, he avoided me for the rest of the afternoon, as if I no longer existed.

  Cad!

  Well I shan’t ever speak to him again!

  Though these events had taken place seven years ago, Elaina was mortified. In fact, she was angry. How dare he walk away from her?

  This should not go unpunished. She was quite certain it had been, as an unmarried lady had little opportunity and was never in a position for retaliation. However, she was not under such rules any longer. After downing her brandy, Elaina found her wrap, then stormed out of her room to Tristan’s chamber. Without knocking, she barged in and found him sitting in a comfortable chair reading, quite surprised by her entrance, given the stunned, raised eyebrow expression.

  Elaina said not a word, strode across the plush rug, lifted her hand and slapped him soundly on the cheek.

  “I assume you’ve gotten to the part when we first kissed.” He grinned up at her.

  Elaina could form no coherent words and simply growled her anger as she marched out of his chamber and returned to her own, his laughter following her down the corridor. After she locked the door to her sitting room, Elaina added more brandy to her glass and settled once again on the settee and continued to read.

  Page after page she searched for his name, only to learn that they didn’t speak or dance again that Season. However, Tristan was always present at the balls, picnics and every function she attended, and it became quite aggravating. Instead of seeking her out and apologizing as he should, he’d mocked her from across the room, raising a glass as if to toast her. His eyes taking in her appearance from her toes to her hair, eyes darkening when he offered a nod, as if to approve.

  As she neared the end of the journal, and the end of that Season, without speaking with Tristin again, Elaina couldn’t help but wonder how they’d ever come to court, let alone marry.

  Chapter 20

  Tristan arrived in the breakfast room at the normal time, but nobody had been there as of yet, save the servants who had set out the foodstuffs. As he ate and drank his tea, Tristan waited for Elaina to make an appearance.

  When her brothers entered, and she had not, Tristan grew concerned. What if Xavier had been correct and reading about her past had upset Elaina far more than any of them were prepared for? Was she suffering a bout of hysteria and none of them knew?

  Though, he had difficulty seeing Elaina hysterical, especially after she had charged into his chamber and slapped him – which he well-deserved given his behavior that Season. Elaina may be angry, but certainly not irrational or hysterical.

  After finishing his tea, Tristan excused himself and marched up the stairs and to her chamber. A maid stood on the other side of the door knocking but received no response.

  Tristan tried to open the door, but it was locked from within. “Do you have a key?”

  “Only the housekeeper does, Lord Hopkins.”

  “Bring her to me, but do not alert her brothers.”

  “Lord Hopkins, if something is wrong, they have a right to know.”

  “I’m certain she is sleeping,” he assured her. “We spoke late into the night and then she was going to return to her reading.”

  “If you are not concerned, then why shouldn’t I make her brothers aware?”

  How dare this maid question him? Such would never occur in his home. “Because, Lady Hopkins is my wife, and I’ve ordered as such.”

  She gasped but stepped away and Tristan was quite certain that she would indeed go to the brothers and send the housekeeper to him. He just wasn’t certain what she’d do first. With those thoughts, Tristan knocked, determined to wake Elaina before Xavier arrived, demanding answers.

  When there was no answer to the door leading to her sleeping chamber, he knocked on the one to her sitting room, and called her name. After three times, Elaina answered, eyes narrowed, hair a mess and pale as a ghost. He quickly stepped inside and locked the door again.

  “Are you ill?”

  She groaned and sat back onto the settee.

  “My head is pounding and my
stomach, well, it’s churning.”

  He glanced about the room. “Did you sleep in here last night?”

  “I believe so,” she answered absently. “Do you have water? I’m terribly thirsty.”

  “I’m certain you are,” he muttered when he realized that she’d drank more of the brandy after he’d left. Two more glasses at least, by his estimation.

  “Go to bed, Elaina, let me get this cleaned up.”

  She frowned. “Cleaned up. Why?”

  “The maid has been trying to wake you and I’m certain she has gone for your brothers, worried about your health or state of mind.”

  Elaina’s eyes widened as she reached for a journal.

  “I’ve got them. Go to your bed.”

  “No. I know how it’s supposed to go.” With that, she gathered up the journals, not bothering to check to see if they were in order, closed the door on the priest’s hole, and threw the rug over the top, then Tristan helped her adjust the table. They had just gotten everything in place when there was a pounding on her bedroom chamber.

  “Elaina. Open up right now. Do you hear me?”

  She rolled her eyes and fell back onto the settee. Tristan handed her the Radcliffe book. “I’ll take care of this.”

  He strode into the other room and yanked open the door. Without invitation, Xavier strode inside, looked around and then marched into the sitting room. “Why weren’t you at breakfast?”

  She winced at his tone.

  “Elaina fell asleep reading on her settee.”

  Xavier frowned. “That is not like her.”

  “Yes, well it happened,” Tristan dismissed. “Nor is she feeling well. Please ask a maid to deliver tea and bread to my wife and I will see her settled in bed.”

  “Tea and bread? How ill is she?”

  “Please, Xavier, lower your voice.” Elaina complained as she massaged the front of her skull.