Chapter Nine
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Marianne wished, quite desperately, for the armour of a fine gown in which to clad herself to face Alex, but the servants Thomas had sent to Cumbria had not yet returned with her wardrobe. She had to content herself with the lavender silk gown she had worn every evening since her arrival at Havers Hall. At least Jean was doing a wonderful job in keeping it clean and pressed, ready for her to dress in each evening, but she was definitely coming to despise the colour.
Apparently divining that her mistress was self-conscious about only having the one evening gown, Jean had been producing different accessories every night to dress it up from some store of things somewhere in the Hall. Tonight she had a wide sash of golden silk, some gold ribbons for Marianne’s hair, and a long string of creamy pearls.
“They’re fakes, m’lady,” Jean said the moment Marianne opened her mouth to protest she couldn’t borrow valuable pearls from Ellen. “See, they don’t even have a proper catch.”
“Where did you find them?” Marianne inspected the pearls with interest. She’d never seen fake jewels before.
“Lady Havers has been cleaning out the attics,” Jean admitted. “There’s all sorts of things up there in old trunks: gowns which must be a hundred years old, bits and pieces of rusty armour, children’s sewing samplers, and broken old toys. I don’t think anything’s been thrown away in the Hall since it was built.”
“Quite likely,” Marianne conceded, seating herself to let Jean put up her hair. “Is Lady Havers throwing it away, though?”
“Oh no; she don’t believe in throwing things away much. Finds a use for near everything, she does. I asked if I could take a few bits and pieces to dress up your things a touch and she said I could take whatever I wanted.” Jean beamed proudly. “These gold ribbons will look very well in your hair, m’lady, and the sash brightens the dress up a treat.”
“They do,” Marianne said warmly. “Thank you, Jean. You’ve been so thoughtful.”
“Oh, I’m just doing my job, m’lady,” the maid disclaimed, but she beamed brightly, and Marianne determined then and there she would give Jean at least one or two gowns once her wardrobe arrived. She did not have much in the way of money or trinkets, but the maid would be able to sell the gowns or pick them apart as she pleased. It was small enough repayment for the confidence the maid’s ministrations gave her, enough to get her all the way to the foot of the grand stairs, where Allsopp bowed correctly to her before opening the door to the Oriental Parlour.
While Marianne had seen the room, they had not used it before. She assumed Ellen and Thomas had made the decision to remove here due to the increase in numbers. More guests had arrived, she saw as she entered, and this time she was familiar with the new arrivals.
“Lady Creighton!” Mrs. Pembroke almost fell over herself scurrying to Marianne’s side, smiling widely. “It is so very good to see you again!”
“Amelia!” Marianne was genuinely delighted in her turn. Amelia Temple had made her debut at the same time as Marianne, and, as a notable heiress, had been a target for fortune hunters. Since Marianne had been targeted by rakes, the pair of them had discovered themselves hiding out in more than one retiring room together.
Amelia had been lucky enough to marry for love, however. While her parents had wanted her to catch a title, she had instead married a mere Mister: a country squire with a small but charming estate in Hampshire and a passion for horses. A passion Amelia shared.
Mr. Pembroke stood behind Amelia now, smiling broadly. Marianne felt unexpected tears prick at the back of her eyes. Creighton had not approved of her friendship with the Pembrokes and had forbidden her any contact beyond the briefest of polite interactions at social events they were all attending. Being able to express her delight at seeing Amelia again without fear of reprimand was a true pleasure.
“It is wonderful to see you.” Impulsively, Marianne embraced her friend. “It has been an age since last I saw you. How do you know the Havers?”
“The earl purchased some horses from us. The sweetest mare for Lady Havers, and a top-grade stallion to improve the bloodlines of his tenants’ plough horses. When he told Mr. Pembroke he did not plan to charge his tenants stud fees for the stallion’s services, we knew he was someone we should very much like to know better.” Amelia beamed. “And Lady Havers is just delightful.”
“She most certainly is,” Thomas agreed, joining them and making Amelia laugh. “I am glad you are already acquainted; it saves me the probable embarrassment of making a mess of the introductions.”
Pembroke and Marianne joined in the laughter, and an atmosphere of general gaiety ensued as they began a lovely conversation. The Alleynes entered the room a few minutes later and were persuaded to join them, and then Ellen herself came in accompanied by a young man and woman Marianne did not know. She introduced them as Viscount Thorpington and his sister, Lady Serena Thorpe.
The viscount was a plain-faced man of around thirty, with a stutter he concealed by speaking as little as possible. Lady Serena was around two and twenty by Marianne’s estimation and handsome rather than conventionally pretty, tall and sturdy with a thick mane of black hair barely constrained by her pins. With an unfashionable tan, she looked to be the outdoorsy sort who would have no patience with the languid pace of high society life.
Marianne liked Lady Serena immediately, but she could see why she hadn’t been a success in London. The Ton matrons wouldn’t have approved of her at all, and her brother’s speech issues would have made it difficult for him to make many friends too.
“The Marquis of Glenkellie,” Allsopp announced from the door, and a hush fell over the room. Miss Leonora Alleyne squealed a little, hand over her mouth and her eyes wide.
Until her brother nudged her with a frown. “Hush, you goose.”
“But a marquis!” Leonora whispered back.
Marianne gave her an indulgent smile. “I’ll tell you a secret about marquises and dukes,” she whispered to the younger girl. “They have to use the chamber pot just like the rest of us!”
Leonora promptly developed the giggles, and Lady Serena Thorpe, who was also close enough to overhear, gave a rather horselike snort before muffling her face in a handkerchief. Blue eyes sparkled as she glanced sideways at Marianne, and Marianne gave her a conspiratorial grin, inwardly thankful for the distraction which meant she didn’t have to look at Alexander.
Of course, her reprieve was short-lived, as Ellen escorted Alexander around the room to make introductions. Leonora had edged closer to Marianne, obviously reassured by her apparent nonchalance, and she could hardly flee and leave the debutante alone.
“You are, of course, acquainted with Lady Creighton,” Ellen said. Alexander nodded, his eyes cold as they met Marianne’s. Instinctively, she looked down at the floor, even as she silently chastised herself for cowardice.
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Marianne couldn’t even meet his eyes, intently examining the pattern woven into the Turkish rug beneath their feet. Gritting his teeth and ordering himself to be patient, Alex forced a smile as Lady Havers presented a blushing debutante.
“Miss Alleyne.” Bowing correctly over the girl’s hand, Alex resigned himself to social niceties for the time being. He was acquainted with only one other of the guests -- Viscount Thorpington -- and for Thomas and Ellen’s sake he must at least try to be agreeable. He would not for the world spoil their first house party, no matter how much he wanted to shake the truth out of Marianne.
He watched her from the corner of his eye all evening. As the highest-ranking lady present, she went into dinner on Thomas’ arm and was seated at his right hand, at the other end of the table from where Alex, as the highest-ranking gentleman present, was seated at Ellen’s right.
Young Mr. Alleyne was seated on Marianne’s other side and watched her in wide-eyed awe, the kind which could well turn into infatuated puppy love, Alex thought grimly, determined to nip that in the bud if Marianne should take it into her head to break another young ma
n’s heart for her amusement. At least Thomas Havers was infatuated with his own wife and not likely to be susceptible to Marianne’s charms, laugh and smile though she might.
Reluctantly, Alex had to admit Marianne was even lovelier now than she had been at eighteen; maturity had only refined her beauty. If he didn’t already know how heartless she could be, he’d likely be crawling after her himself. As it was, he found it difficult to look away. Dressed in a muted lavender gown trimmed with gold ribbon, her auburn hair shone like fire, the perfection of her features outlined by the candlelight. Again and again her softly musical laugh came to his ear, and he only realised he was staring at her in utter absorption when Ellen Havers touched his hand lightly, making him start.
“My apologies, Lord Glenkellie. I was wondering if the soup is not to your liking?” Her brow was creased.
Looking down, Alexander saw he’d taken up his soup spoon in his hand and then failed to even taste from the dish in front of him. “I beg your pardon, my lady,” he said contritely. “I was distracted.”
“So I see,” Ellen murmured, and her eyes flickered as she glanced to the other end of the table. “I do hope you will try it, but if there is anything you particularly wish to have prepared, I pray you will let us know.”
Ashamed of his poor manners, Alexander tasted the soup and pronounced it excellent and resolved to pay closer attention to both his dinner and his dinner companions. Ellen had been carrying the entire conversation, with quiet Thorpington on her other side, and he should speak as well with Mrs. Pembroke on his other side. Turning to that lady now, he offered a smile, only to be met with an uncomfortably appraising stare.
“I daresay you do not remember me, my lord,” Mrs. Pembroke said almost immediately, “but we have met before, though it was many years ago. Just before you went to the Continent with the army, I believe.”
“Indeed?” Alex said, guarded. Mrs. Pembroke looked to be almost exactly Marianne’s age, but had none of her mesmerising beauty. Instead, she was positively ordinary, with mid-brown hair, brown eyes, a slightly snub nose, and a round face. A quirky smile lent her expression character, however.
“Why, yes, though I was Miss Temple then, and you merely Lieutenant Rotherhithe. I think we were introduced at Lady Smithfield’s garden party.”
He still didn’t recall the introduction, though he did remember with awful clarity sneaking off from that garden party for a clandestine meeting in a glade of trees with Marianne. A meeting where he’d kissed her for the first time and sworn his undying devotion.
“Ah,” Alex said, feeling sweat break out under his collar.
“Yes, I think Lady Creighton, Miss Abingdon as she was then of course, introduced us.” Mrs. Pembroke was watching him like a hawk.
She knows, Alex thought, his anger resurfacing. She and Marianne had been friends back then, had probably laughed over his infatuation. Had she egged Marianne on, urged her to agree to a secret engagement only to marry the wealthy Earl of Creighton a few weeks later?
“And have you and Lady Creighton remained close since?” he clipped out, reaching for his wine and draining it.
“Sadly, no. Her husband did not permit her to have friends.”
Alex paused in the act of setting his glass down. “I beg your pardon?” he said, confused. “I never met the late Earl, but I heard stories of how he spoiled his wife, buying her more fashionable gowns and costly trinkets than any woman could want.”
“If all a woman wanted were expensive baubles, indeed, Marianne was the luckiest woman in England,” Mrs. Pembroke replied, and he heard the sarcasm in her voice. “Should she desire affection, respect, and the comfort of friendships, however, she was the veriest pauper.”
That’s what you get when you marry for mercenary motives, Alex wanted to snap back but forced himself to bite his tongue. Mrs. Pembroke was Marianne’s partisan, which was useful information. He would ensure neither she nor her husband were available to intervene when he sought his private audience.
“I daresay being a rich widow will suit her a great deal better, in that case,” he said caustically and nodded for the footman to top up his wine.
Chapter Ten
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Marianne was acutely aware of Alexander watching her. Her hand shook as she tried to eat, and her voice sounded high and thin to her ears -- her laugh forced and artificial. Thomas looked quizzically at her once or twice, obviously picking up on her distress, but she refused to acknowledge his silent query, instead picking up her wine and drinking.
By the end of the meal, she realised what a mistake that was, however, since an attentive footman had kept her glass filled and she was more than a little tipsy. When Ellen invited the ladies to the parlour, it was more than enough reason to make her excuses and retire to bed.
“I have become unaccustomed to wine,” she said quite truthfully, “and it has brought on my headache again. Please forgive me for retiring early; I promise I shall be more sociable tomorrow.”
“You are forgiven already, though we shall miss your company. Sleep well and feel better, dearest, and please do not hesitate to have Jean or another maid bring you anything you might wish for your relief.”
Marianne felt guilty about deceiving Ellen, but she lost no time in hurrying up the stairs, nervous all the while that Alexander might choose to leave the other men to their brandy and port and come looking for her. What he might have to say to her after all this time she could not imagine, but she knew she did not want to hear whatever it was. Merely looking on his face, only grown more handsome with the passage of years, was painful, especially since she’d had to listen to Lady Alleyne eagerly quizzing Lord Havers about Alexander’s marriage prospects. He would need to marry, and soon; marquisates required heirs, and undoubtedly he would be choosing from among London’s latest crop of debutantes.
Perhaps he even had someone in mind already. Miss Alleyne was a sweet creature with a hefty dowry; perhaps she might suit him. Or Lady Serena Thorpe; she would look very well on Alexander’s arm, and she had a strong character and a sense of humour too.
Marianne did not realise she was crying until she tripped, blinded by the tears in her eyes, and almost fell. Catching herself with a hand against the wall, she stumbled on until she found her room at last, pushing the door open with a sob of frustration when the knob stuck briefly.
“My lady!” Jean rose from where she had been seated by the fire mending a stocking, an expression of shock on her face as the sewing fell to the floor. “Are you unwell?”
“I feel sick,” Marianne choked out, and Jean managed to get a pot under her nose just in time.
“That will teach me to drink too much wine,” Marianne groaned a few minutes later, as Jean helped her to lie down and placed a cool, damp cloth over her brow. “Maybe my husband was right to insist I should only ever be permitted one glass.”
“Well, it can be powerful stuff if you’re not used to it,” Jean agreed. “Especially if you don’t eat nothin’.”
Marianne’s guilty silence made the maid sigh. But she hadn’t been able to choke down more than a couple of spoonfuls of soup, not with the anger in Alexander’s gaze scorching her from the other end of the table.
“I daresay you won’t make the same mistake again, m’lady,” Jean said, removing Marianne’s slippers. “Let’s get you comfortable for bed now, and I’ll make a herbal tisane up for your head. A good night’s sleep, and you’ll be right as rain in the morning.”
Privately, Marianne doubted she would sleep at all, but the tea Jean persuaded her to sip after helping her change into her night rail must have had some soothing herbs in it. Her eyelids soon began to feel heavy and she lay back against her pillows without complaint, allowing her eyes to close.
“That’s it, m’lady,” Jean encouraged softly, and Marianne heard her moving quietly about the room, setting things to rights and putting the noxious pot out for someone to take away and wash. “Sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
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Rejoining the ladies to discover Marianne had already retired infuriated Alexander to the point where he pleaded weariness from travelling and retired himself, ignoring Thomas’ expression of disbelief. He was in no mood to be polite to anyone, and with no possible opportunity to corner Marianne tonight, he might as well retire rather than manage to offend one of the Havers’ guests with his ill temper.
At the top of the stairs, he paused, considering briefly whether it might be worth trying to locate Marianne’s room. His valet Simons would probably know exactly where everyone had been accommodated by now, and have opinions on whether Lady Havers had correctly placed them according to precedence, too. But asking Simons where he might find Lady Creighton’s rooms and then going to look for the lady would create a scandal.
Alex did not care in the slightest if a scandal affected him, and Marianne deserved no consideration, but he would not see the Havers’ first ever house party marred in such a way if he could help it. No, far better to bide his time and confront Marianne privately. One way or another, he would manage it.
And while he might not feel like company tonight, he had a good book to read, and undoubtedly Simons would be able to procure some of Havers’ excellent brandy for him to drink while he did so.
Perhaps Simons might have some interesting gossip from belowstairs he could be convinced to share, as well. Marianne appeared to be well-settled here at Havers Hall; knowing how long she had been in residence and who was attending her could be useful information.
Making his way to the comfortable room he had been allotted on the second floor, Alex nodded to Simons as he entered. “I’m going to retire early, Simons; I’m in no mood for company.”
“When are you ever, sir?” Simons rejoined smartly. “I took the liberty of obtaining some brandy for you.” He indicated a decanter and glass sitting ready on the mantelpiece.
“In that case, you are forgiven for the snide remark on my social ineptitude.” Alex threw himself into a seat by the fire.
A Marquis For Marianne (Blushing Brides Book 2) Page 6