They were just reaching for their books when the sound of another carriage’s wheels had Ellen rising to her feet again.
“You need not come down, if you wish,” she said. “I would not drag you up and down stairs all day, every time another guest arrives!”
“I will accompany you until Thomas gets back from his visit with the tenant,” Marianne compromised. “After that, he can climb all those stairs with you!”
Ellen laughed. “I am always glad of your company,” she said warmly, and they set off again.
)
The change in sound disturbed Alex, and he looked up from his book. The carriage wheels were crunching on gravel now, rather than the packed dirt of the road. The horses slowed, which told him they were likely arriving at Havers Hall.
Setting the book down on the seat, he peered out of the window, admiring the handsome larch trees lining the broad avenue leading up to a beautiful house built of golden Cotswold stone. Even on a dull, grey December day, the house had a warm and welcoming look.
“A pretty prospect,” Alex murmured to himself, startling his valet awake from his snooze.
“Beg your pardon, m’lord?”
“I believe we are arrived, Simons.”
“So soon? Why, we left Worcester just a little while ago!”
Alex hid a smile. Simons was in his late sixties and definitely nearing retirement. He was also fanatically loyal to Alex and extremely protective of his master’s privacy, which was why Alex would never dream of going anywhere without him.
“It is nearing noon, Simons,” Alex said when he had recovered his countenance. “We have made good time, though. The roads in this part of the country are certainly better maintained than those in the far north.”
“Indeed.” Simons peered out of the other window. “Very handsome grounds,” he approved. “I count no less than four gardeners attending to that shrubbery yonder - in the depth of winter, too! Let us hope the house is equally well-cared for.”
“And the stables.” Alex turned his head to check on his horse, following behind the carriage, its lead line held by one of his grooms aside another horse. “Else Julius will likely wreak havoc.”
“Don’t know why you keep that animal,” Simons grumbled. “Troublesome beast.”
“He saved my life too many times to count on the Continent. I’ll not abandon him now.”
Simons humphed as the carriage finally drew to a halt. Two footmen immediately approached the door and opened it, placing a step for them to disembark. “Attentive, at least,” Simons mumbled from his corner. “Go ahead, m’lord. I’ll see to your things.”
“Don’t be lifting anything yourself,” Alex said, receiving a narrow-eyed glare in return. Turning away to cover another smile, he stepped down from the carriage with a nod of thanks to the footmen and started up the steps to the Hall. Three steps up, he raised his gaze to the two women standing at the door and promptly stubbed his toe on the next step.
His only consolation, as he bit back a yelp of pain, was that Marianne looked far more shocked to see him than he was surprised to see her standing arm-in-arm with Ellen Havers. He had, after all, known she was going to be there, and from her expression she had not put together the Marquis of Glenkellie with Alexander Rotherhithe. When he had known her, he was only a very distant relation, never expected to ascend to the title.
“My lord.” The Countess of Havers curtseyed gracefully as he arrived at the top of the steps, and Marianne perforce followed suit, though she had blanched pale.
“Lady Havers.” Alex bowed deep in return. “Lady Creighton.”
“Oh, you are acquainted with Marianne? How silly of me; of course you are! With you not in London this year, I forgot you lived there for several years and know everyone.” Ellen turned to Marianne with a friendly smile, placing her hand on Marianne’s arm.
“It has been many years since Lady Creighton and I last met,” Alex said after a full minute of awkward silence. “Indeed, she was then merely Miss Abingdon, daughter of a viscount, and I... nobody of consequence at all.”
He had not thought it possible Marianne could turn any paler, but her skin took on the hue of ash, and she swayed a little. Kind, thoughtful Ellen noticed at once, of course, and urged her friend inside, back into the warmth.
Alex found himself delegated to the care of a very proper butler, who promptly escorted him to a handsome guest suite on the second floor with sweeping views across a valley to the west of the house, a winding river at the bottom, and thick woods on the hill beyond.
It was quite lovely, and he was still standing at the window admiring the vista when Simons arrived with four sturdy footmen carrying Alex’s trunks. Simons looked quite in his element as he directed the men, and a moment later extended his sway to two more who arrived bearing jugs of hot water for Alex to wash.
“A nuncheon will be served at noon, my lord,” one of the footmen advised, “and Lord Havers is expected back in time for it.”
“Indeed,” Alex murmured, “I believe I see him now.” A horse had entered the picturesque view outside, cantering along the river to a crossing point. The rider was still a little too far away to make out his identity, but his coat and hat were clearly those of a gentleman. Perhaps a half-mile distant, the horse and rider would reach the house in no time at all, and therefore Alex should also waste little time in changing his clothes and washing off the dust of travel.
He wondered if Marianne would attend the nuncheon, or if she would cry off after obviously having been surprised by his arrival. Perhaps she would plead illness.
His jaw tightened as he turned away from the prospect beyond the window. She could not avoid him indefinitely, not at a house party expected to last a full fortnight.
Sooner rather than later, they would have the conversation which had been postponed for too many years - and he would have his answer as to why she had lied to his face and broken his youthful heart.
Chapter Eight
)
Claiming a sudden sick headache, Marianne retreated immediately to her rooms, grateful for Ellen’s kindly disposition. She was quite certain Ellen suspected her illness coming upon her at the same time as the Marquis of Glenkellie’s arrival was no coincidence, but Marianne was in no way ready to explain her prior connection with Alexander Rotherhithe.
Lying down, she allowed Jean to place a damp cloth over her brow and then pleaded to be left alone. She needed to think.
Jean retreated only as far as her dressing room, leaving the door cracked open so she would hear if Marianne called for her, but that was far enough. In silence and blissful solitude, Marianne tried to come up with a method by which she might somehow avoid being in a room with Alexander Rotherhithe for the next two weeks.
A headache was coming on in earnest as she tried to find a way out of her dilemma. If only she still had access to the Creighton fortune! But even if she wrote a letter to Arthur, she doubted he would send for her. And she could not possibly ask Ellen and Thomas to convey her back to Cumbria.
She had friends who would take her in - at least she hoped she did - but getting to them without funds was another matter. Running away was not an option open to her, even if her pride would permit it. Ellen would be convinced something dreadful had happened to her, besides, and that was no way for Marianne to repay Ellen’s kindness.
Somehow, she was going to have to face Alexander and live with his contempt. She’d seen the disgust in his eyes as he looked at her. So far as he knew, she’d broken their secret engagement a mere three weeks after he sailed for Spain to marry another man: a much older, much wealthier, titled man.
It was a cruel twist of fate that Alexander was now both wealthier and better titled than her husband had ever been. If only her father had known! He might have let her ‘throw herself away on a mere Mister’ after all.
If the last eight years had taught her anything, it was that there was no use crying over spilt milk. Lying still and silent, Marianne reconciled her
self to facing Alexander and being civil to him. She was no longer the naive girl he had cared for; she was a grown woman, married and widowed. She would not be intimidated by contemptuous stares, even though Alexander Rotherhithe had grown up into a very impressive man indeed.
Tall and slender as a young man, maturity and his years as a soldier had added muscle and breadth to that long frame. And the scar on his cheek only added to his dark, wickedly handsome looks as far as she was concerned.
Unconsciously, Marianne lifted her hand to her own cheek, wondering how exactly Alex had received the scar. Though it had faded to pink now, it must have been a terrible wound when he’d first received it, flaying his cheek open to the bone and barely missing his eye. It was hardly something she could ask him, especially as she planned to avoid being in his company as much as she could possibly manage!
The sound of carriage wheels outside again brought a smile to her face. With more than twenty guests to stay at the Hall and more coming from the local area each day for activities and dinners, surely there would be enough people around that she need never find herself alone with Alexander. She could hide behind a shield of politeness and sociability, much as she had hidden her feelings behind a polished social facade when Creighton paraded her around London as his trophy bride.
She could do this.
What choice did she have, after all?
)
The Earl of Havers grinned as Alex entered the drawing room. “Glenkellie. Glad you decided to come.”
“So am I,” Alex said honestly, shaking Thomas’ offered hand. “Havers Hall is beautiful; my compliments on your home. My valet is in heaven with such facilities at his disposal.”
“You can thank my predecessor for most of the Hall’s amenities,” Thomas admitted. “He liked his luxuries.”
“It’s not your predecessor who employs a veritable army of staff though, is it?” Alex raised his brows. As the owner of a large estate of his own, he knew the Hall was definitely overstaffed.
“I wanted to talk to you about that, actually. I’m thinking of starting a proper training academy, staffed by experienced mentors who are getting a little long in the tooth for heavy work but have a wealth of knowledge to pass on.”
“For house servants?”
“For all kinds of skilled tradespersons. The current system of one apprentice per tradesman - and that’s if they’re willing to take one on - doesn’t increase the supply of skilled workers, does it?”
“I suppose not,” Alex conceded. “Where do I come in?”
“I’m looking for investors, of course.” Thomas grinned irrepressibly.
“Naturally. Well, if you have a proposal, I’ll take a look at it.” Alex had no problem with the idea of going into business with Thomas; there were few people he could say that about, but the American earl had proved himself both financially astute and compassionate towards those of lesser consequence to himself.
“Do not start talking business now, Thomas.” Ellen came up beside them, resting a hand on her husband’s arm.
He placed his own hand over her fingers and gave her an apologetic smile. “Sorry, my love.”
“You must let me introduce Lord Glenkellie to our other guests,” she reproved gently. “Or are you already acquainted with the Alleynes, my lord?”
“I am not, but I should be honoured to meet any friends of yours, Lady Havers,” Alex said gallantly. “I already know Lady Creighton, of course. Where is she, by the way?”
Ellen’s glance was sharp. “Resting,” she said a little curtly. “She was feeling unwell. Should she be recovered enough, she may rejoin us at dinner.”
“I didn’t know you were acquainted with Lady Creighton, Glenkellie,” Thomas said, his expression surprised.
“It was a long time ago,” Alex demurred. “I daresay I don’t know the person she is now at all.”
Had he ever known her? He had to wonder, even as one part of his mind remained focused on remaining polite as Ellen introduced him to the Alleyne family. Miss Alleyne looked quite overawed and said not a word, which at least meant she was unlikely to pursue him, though her mother positively fawned over him. He was used to that and tuned it out by thinking of Marianne, of the look on her face as she’d recognised him. He’d changed from the young boy she’d known when they were children playing together before he was sent away to school, even from the stripling lad she’d led on that fatal summer. He was grown up now, hardened by war and life.
Of course, she’d changed too. She’d been a lovely child, but at eighteen, she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen -- fresh and beautiful as a sunrise. Every head had turned when Marianne Abingdon entered a room; she’d had every man in London panting after her.
Alex, a lowly lieutenant with no honorifics before his name, had never got close enough to speak a word to the perfect Miss Abingdon, despite their prior acquaintance. Not until the night when he’d stepped out of an overcrowded ballroom, head spinning from heat and one too many glasses of champagne, and walked through a garden in the darkness looking for somewhere to take a rest. On a stone bench beneath a weeping willow, Marianne Abingdon had been seated, her hands braced behind her, leaning back to gaze up at the sky.
)
Alex froze, shocked, a few steps away, wondering whether he should back away. Was she waiting for someone?
“I can’t see the stars,” she said after a few moments, making him jump.
“It’s the smoke from the manufactories,” Alex replied finally when she said nothing more, and she turned her head to look at him. Realising he stood in shadow beneath the trees, he moved forward, into the bright path of moonlight which stopped just short of her bench. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to intrude on your privacy.”
“That’s quite all right. I was about to go back in anyway.” Swinging her feet to the ground, she rose gracefully, the sway of her willowy body making his mouth grow dry. Miss Abingdon never wore fancy frills or lace or even strong patterns; she favoured simple white gowns which contrasted spectacularly with her chestnut-red hair and did little to conceal her lissome figure.
“Have we met?” she asked him quite directly.
He bowed, finding it difficult to speak in the face of her incredible beauty. “Not in many years, Miss Abingdon; you were a child when last I saw you and I daresay you do not remember me. Alexander Rotherhithe, at your service.”
She tilted her head, examining his uniform, one long curl bobbing against her neck as she did so. “Lieutenant Rotherhithe?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“And are you lately returned from the Continent or yet to be deployed?”
“Yet to be deployed, my lady,” he answered, startled by the question. She seemed intelligent and informed, unlike the other debutantes - and older ladies - he’d met in London. “My regiment does not yet have orders.”
“And do you look forward to the fighting, Mr. Rotherhithe?” She began to walk back towards the house, and he fell into step beside her without thinking.
“No.”
“No?” She shot a sideways glance at him. “No dreams of glory on the battlefield, of winning the war for England?”
“Several of my friends have already perished on battlefields far from England’s shores,” he answered her frankly. “I’ll consider myself fortunate if I live to see my home again.”
“Finally,” she sighed, stopping and turning to look him fully in the face. “A young man with something more than sawdust between his ears!”
Alex couldn’t help himself; he grinned. “My apologies, my lady, but I was just thinking something very similar about you.”
Her laugh was softly musical. “You are forgiven, Lieutenant… if you will dance with me when we return to the ballroom. I am heartily tired of hearing endless plaudits and paeans to my beauty. Some sensible conversation would be most welcome.”
He could not wish for anything more. Gallantly, he insisted she re-enter the house first and go to the ladies’ retiring rooms to
be seen before returning to the ballroom, while he went back in by a different door. The half-hour until he was face to face with her again, taking her hand to lead her into the dance, seemed the longest of his life. Somehow, he’d convinced himself she was merely amusing herself with him in the garden and had no interest in him at all.
So, when Marianne smiled up at him and said in a confidential tone, “How this last half-hour has dragged!” he felt an overwhelming relief.
“It always does, I find, when there is something one is desperately looking forward to. Conversely, I am sure the next ten minutes will pass in the merest winking of an eye.”
She made a little moue and wrinkled her nose, nodding in agreement. “No doubt there is some department of mathematicians at Cambridge studying exactly that. Or philosophers, perhaps?”
“Possibly both, being Cambridge,” Alex said dryly. “Though in my experience, there is more drinking and socialising done than actual studying.”
“What a waste. I wish women were permitted to study at university.” Marianne looked at him almost defiantly; he had the distinct impression she was testing him, watching to see what his reaction to such an inflammatory suggestion might be.
“I have no doubt that one day they will be able to,” he said. “Though for the sake of my own gender, I hope they either have their own universities or segregated classes. There were distractions enough without the presence of the fairer sex for foolish young men to lose their common sense over.”
Marianne laughed, and Alex thought he had passed her test. “I agree,” she said. “Though the foolishness would not be entirely on the part of the young men, I think. Young ladies are equally susceptible to being distracted by a handsome face on a tall young man. Especially in a red coat.”
Her eyes twinkled up at him, and he laughed, utterly enchanted by her. “May I call upon you?” he asked impulsively.
“Oh, please do,” she answered enthusiastically, and his heart was lost.
A Marquis For Marianne (Blushing Brides Book 2) Page 5