“I only wish I could. Without a fixed income, though, I fear I could not guarantee her long-term employment, and it would be quite unfair to Jean.”
“As to that,” Thomas said as they turned to descend the stairs together, “I have some ideas which could provide quite a nice little income for you, with a small initial investment.”
“Yet I have no money to invest, Thomas!” She cast a despairing look up at him. “Have you forgotten already how I arrived on your doorstep? Surely not, since your men have just returned from collecting the belongings I was unable to bring with me, for which I cannot thank you enough!”
Thomas made a negating gesture. “Do not think on it. You befriended Ellen in London when she was a wallflower, and I can never sufficiently express to you my gratitude for that kindness.”
“I have never been more glad of the impulse which drove me to speak to her that night,” Marianne insisted, “for I have found the sister I always wished I had.”
“She says the same of you, and I consider you my own sister as well,” Thomas said, “which is why I am happy to perform any service within my power.”
They had arrived at the study, and Thomas opened the door to usher Marianne inside. A large wooden box was sitting in the middle of the desk, a sheaf of paper beside it.
“Please.” Thomas showed Marianne to a chair, and she sat down, looking curiously at Thomas as he gathered the papers up. “Apparently, your late husband kept records of all the jewellery pieces he purchased for you.”
“Well, yes, but I understood they were all estate property and had now passed to the new Lady Creighton,” Marianne said, startled.
“Had he recorded the purchases differently, perhaps they might have, but when his solicitors visited the bank while probating the estate, the jewels were each stored with the purchase receipts, copies of which you see here.” Thomas offered her the sheaf of papers. “Each of them has a handwritten note at the bottom which reads, ‘Purchased for Marianne’.”
Even the sight of her former husband’s handwriting, large and spiky, the pen almost stabbing through the page, sent a shiver down Marianne’s spine. She glanced only at the top sheet before asking, “I don’t understand what that means, I’m sorry. Surely if they were purchased with Creighton money, they still belong to the estate?”
“Under the law, they belong to you. I suspected such was the case; on the last occasion I spoke with the former Earl, he showed me a pearl brooch he had ordered for you, and I saw the receipt with that exact note on it. When I wrote to the current Earl requesting he send your belongings back with my men, I noted it would be simpler for him to send the jewels with my steward rather than me having to contact his solicitors to request their return on your behalf.”
She remembered that pearl brooch. Creighton had given it to her the day before Thomas and Ellen’s wedding and all but commanded her to wear it. An ugly, gaudy thing guaranteed to draw the eye, she had done her best to conceal it by pinning it at her waist rather than to her bosom. She half-thought it had been Creighton’s anger over her defiance, small as it had been, which had led to his fatal apoplexy, though it could have been any number of small transgressions on her part. She’d been enjoying herself that day, after all.
“I don’t want it,” she said instinctively as Thomas handed her a small iron key and nodded towards the chest.
“The brooch?”
“Any of it.” Putting the key down on the desk, Marianne shook her head. “This is the only jewellery I have ever cared to wear.” She reached to her throat, where a simple silver cross hung on a fine chain. “It was my mother’s, the only thing I have left of her. My father sold her other jewels to fund his gambling, but this wasn’t worth enough for him to bother with. Creighton never permitted me to wear it; now that I have the choice, I would as soon not wear anything else.”
“Quite understandable,” Thomas said kindly. “In which case, why not consider selling them? Some of these pieces are worth a considerable sum, you know.”
“They are?” Marianne had never thought on it. Creighton had never permitted her to see bills or receipts for anything; her accounts were all sent directly to him.
“Certainly according to these. Three hundred and seventy-five pounds for a ruby necklace and ear bobs, for example.”
Marianne frowned. “A ruby necklace? I never had a ruby necklace.”
“Purchased from Garrard’s a few days before his passing. It’s possible he never got the chance to present it to you.” Picking up the key she had rejected, Thomas opened the box, checked a number on one of the papers, and took out a flat jewel case with a number written in chalk on the lid.
“Ugh,” Marianne grumbled when Thomas opened the box. The necklace was gaudy in the extreme, the ear bobs heavy-looking. “I would have hated to wear that.”
“Well, if I were going to spend several hundred pounds at Garrard’s, I don’t think that’s what I’d have chosen,” Thomas said diplomatically.
Reaching out to close the box, Marianne shook her head. “Even if he had better taste, I should still not wish to wear jewels he chose for me. At least I was permitted to choose my own gowns, even if they always had to be in the first stare of fashion. These… were a demonstration of his power over me, nothing more. I don’t want them.”
“So let us arrange to sell them,” Thomas said practically. “If we are able to achieve prices even half what Creighton paid, you will have a nice little nest egg. Look on it as a proper widow’s jointure, if you will.”
“I shall indeed,” she decided, pleased at the notion of disposing of the jewels and gaining a measure of financial independence at the same time. “Would you assist me with the sale, Thomas? I would not know where to begin.”
“Neither do I, but I will investigate on your behalf how to achieve the best prices, I promise you.”
“Perhaps Lord Glenkellie might assist?” she offered tentatively, knowing Alexander knew far more people in London than Thomas.
Thomas gave her a curious look. “I was under the impression you and Glenkellie weren’t on the best of terms,” he said cautiously.
“A misunderstanding,” Marianne prevaricated, “and one which is now in the past. I believe he would be amenable to providing some contacts, at least.”
“Then I shall ask his assistance. In the meantime, would you like me to have the box placed in your room?”
“No,” she said immediately. “Just… lock it up somewhere safe, if you please.”
“Whatever you wish.”
She blessed Thomas for not asking any more questions. He had a very good idea how miserable her marriage had been, she suspected, though she had shared far fewer details with him and Ellen than with Alexander.
Instead, he only replaced the ruby necklace in the box, locked it up again, and handed her a single sheet of paper, saying that was the complete inventory of the box’s contents. Written by his steward, it had been countersigned by Arthur, certifying all the jewels belonged to her, Marianne, and were not the property of the Creighton estate. There were far more than she’d realised, and the total at the bottom of the sheet made her eyes pop. Thomas was quite right; if they were able to achieve prices even half the new sale value of the jewels, financial independence truly would be within her grasp.
Chapter Fourteen
)
The jewels could be the answer to my money problems, Marianne thought as she folded the paper and put it in her pocket alongside Diana’s note. Climbing the stairs to return to her room, she mused on the possibilities. She would be able to offer Jean a position. She could buy a cottage somewhere for the two of them, but retiring to a country cottage didn’t appeal. Better to invest the money, with Thomas’ advice, and stick with her original plan of spending most of the year staying with friends. At least she would be able to pay her own way now without being entirely dependent on the generosity of others, which was a huge relief.
“My lady.” Jean turned to her, face aglow, when Marianne r
e-entered her room. “I have never seen such gowns!”
The maid was holding a gown in her hands, one Marianne vaguely recalled ordering and not yet wearing. Made of a dark emerald silk, it had delicate gold embroidery all over the bodice and around the hem and cuffs.
“Such fabric,” Jean said almost reverently. “It isn’t even crushed!”
“That’s good silk for you,” Marianne said with a nod. “I’d forgotten how beautiful this was.” Fingering the sleeve, she asked, “Shall I wear it tonight, do you think?”
“Oh, yes!” Jean cried enthusiastically. “I cannot imagine any colour better suited to you, my lady; you will be the focus of all eyes!”
“You flatter me, but I am also convinced.” Marianne hesitated before saying, “I know you already helped me dress once today, Jean, but now that my better gowns are here I believe I should like to change out of the one I am wearing. I’ve been rotating the same two gowns for almost a fortnight now.”
“Of course, my lady.” Reverently laying the emerald silk on the bed, Jean hurried into the dressing room, where the other two maids were still unpacking trunks and hanging gowns. “How about this one, my lady?”
The gown was wool instead of silk, but a fine, soft lambswool dyed to a lovely shade of gentian blue-violet. Beautifully cut, Marianne recalled it to be both warm and comfortable to wear.
“Perfect,” she said, pleased by Jean’s choice, and stood still to let her maid help with her buttons.
Changed into a fine gown, Marianne began to feel a little of her old confidence returning. She had always moved with ease among the highest of high society, she recalled, uncaring of what any of them thought of her. Their opinions had no power to harm her, after all, and facing very real threats every day of her marriage had inured her to petty insult. Her apparent fearlessness had made her surprisingly popular among the highest sticklers including the patronesses at Almack’s.
Recalling how she had faced down a Russian princess and any number of duchesses, countesses, and more without fear made Marianne smile as she smoothed her hands over her skirts. Her fine gowns were just as much armour as any medieval knight’s plate and shield.
“Oh, you’ve something in your pocket, my lady.” Jean held out the folded sheets of paper she’d discovered in the pocket of the discarded gown. “Would you like them with you, or should I put them in the writing-desk?”
Thinking she should write a letter to Diana thanking her and telling her the expected date of the Havers party’s arrival in London, Marianne nodded. “In the writing-desk, thank you, Jean.”
“Very good, my lady. What shoes will you wear?”
“Oh, these slippers will be fine.” Marianne glanced down at the tan kidskin slippers she had been wearing all morning. Jean looked a little disapproving, but Marianne was unmoved. She’d brought those slippers with her because they were her favourites, snug and comfortable on her feet. It wasn’t as though anyone would see more than the tips of her toes below her gown’s long skirt.
Garbed in a fresh, high-quality gown, Marianne studied herself in the mirror. No more hiding out in my room, she decided. Now that she had made her peace with Alexander, there was nobody else whose opinion she cared for - save Thomas and Ellen, of course, but she already knew she had their loyal support.
“I’m going down to join the rest of the company, Jean,” she advised the maid, who was putting her letters in the pretty little writing-desk by one of the windows.
“Very good, my lady. I’ll make sure Anne and Polly put all your things away just so.” Jean puffed up a little with pride. “We’ll spend the afternoon pressing wrinkles out of everything.”
“You needn’t do it all in one day,” Marianne said, amused and touched by Jean’s dedication. “Have the emerald silk ready for tonight and select another day dress for tomorrow, and the rest can wait.”
“Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today, my ma always says,” Jean answered with a smile. “You just leave it all to me, my lady.”
Shaking her head, Marianne left Jean to her work and headed back downstairs. Arriving in the front hall as Ellen came out of the front parlour, she smiled at her friend. “I do apologise for abandoning you!”
“No apologies are needed; I heard your wardrobe had arrived! And indeed, I see it. What a beautiful dress!”
Preening a little, feeling happy to be wearing colours again, Marianne swished her skirts a little. “Isn’t it pretty? Madame Fallou made it for me; do you know her shop?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“I shall have to take you there when we get to London. She would love to dress you.”
“Oh, but I have enough gowns already,” Ellen disclaimed.
Laughing, Marianne linked her arm through her friend’s. “Ellen, my dearest girl. You can never have too many gowns!”
)
Three more groups of guests arrived during the day, completing the roster of those who were to stay at Havers Hall for the house party. They crowded into the house, despite its large size, disturbing the equilibrium and Alexander’s peace of mind. Unable to avoid company as he might have in his own home, he forced himself to be sociable with the other gentlemen Thomas had invited, and was agreeably surprised. To a man, they were sensible and intelligent, with conversation which did not bore him to tears. For the first time since leaving the army, Alex found himself among company which did not irritate him.
At least, when he was among the gentlemen. While the ladies were obviously intelligent too, almost all of them seemed to be inspecting him rather as though he were a horse they planned to put to stud; more than once he overheard comments about his fine legs and excellent teeth. Lady Alleyne was all but throwing Miss Alleyne at his head, and though Lady Serena Thorpe was too well-bred to make a spectacle of herself, she still made sure to put herself in situations where he was unable to avoid her entirely.
The one woman he would actually have liked to spend time with was no longer avoiding him, but she did not seem to have a particular desire for his company, either. Wearing the brightly coloured, beautifully tailored gowns from her newly delivered wardrobe, Marianne drew the eye everywhere she went.
Including his.
Especially his.
Alexander almost swallowed his tongue when she sailed into the drawing room that evening wearing the most beautiful green gown, her hair a mass of auburn curls atop her head. From the corner of his eye, he saw Viscount Thorpington drop his glass of sherry, gaping open-mouthed at the vision before him.
Mr. Alleyne was a little less gauche and quick to hurry to Marianne’s side, but her glance at the younger man was nothing more than tolerant and amused, Alex saw now. His jealousy had blinded him before, but an evening spent watching Marianne gently fend off both Alleyne and Thorpington made it clear his accusation of her leading them on had been both unfounded and insulting. She gave neither of them the slightest encouragement; indeed, Alexander had cause to be grateful to her when she steered Thorpington in Miss Alleyne’s direction, encouraging him to escort her into dinner.
Hoping to be seated beside Marianne at dinner, Alex was disappointed to find himself between Mrs. Pembroke and one of the new arrivals, a Miss Florence Wilson, who had arrived today with her twin sister Miss Fiona and their parents. A pleasant-looking girl if no great beauty, she was apparently too overwhelmed to speak at all, to him or even to kindly Sir Tobias Alleyne, seated on her other side.
Mrs. Pembroke was friendly enough, though she watched him with wary eyes, and his knowledge that she and Marianne were close kept him from paying too much attention to Marianne during the meal. He was still very aware of her at every moment. Seated on the other side of the table and two places down, it was easy enough for him to watch her surreptitiously, admire the way the candlelight gleamed on her fiery curls, drink in her low, musical laugh as she conversed comfortably with Mr. Wilson and Mr. Pembroke.
Even telling himself he was wasting his time, that Marianne had no interest in marrying
again and he respected her too much to settle for anything less than marriage, he could not make himself look away. He should be trying to draw Miss Wilson out of her shell, discover what Ellen had seen in the girl, or maybe responding to Lady Serena’s frequent smiles, or taking the many opportunities Lady Alleyne offered to get to know her daughter.
None of them appealed to him in the slightest. Marianne drew him to her like gravity: a force as inexorable as it was invisible.
)
“I believe you have an admirer in Lord Glenkellie,” Mr. Pembroke murmured to Marianne as the dessert course was served. “But then, if I were not quite so in love with Amelia, I am sure I should join the ranks of your admirers as well,” he added when she said nothing. “I do not doubt she has already pressed you to share the secret of your modiste.”
Marianne smiled and chose to respond only to his latter remarks. “I hope Amelia will not put too much strain on your pocketbook.”
“At least you’ve only your wife to spend on, Pembroke,” Mr. Wilson grunted. “With twin daughters out at the same time, I swear my banker flinches every time I come to call! Ribbons and bonnets and new dancing slippers every week and I don’t know what all.”
“You will miss them when they are no longer in your house, I think,” Marianne said wisely. Mr. Wilson was a crusty type with a heart of gold, she could already tell. His gaze softened whenever he looked on his wife or either of his daughters.
“Hm,” Mr. Wilson muttered, but he nodded. “Have to be a special young man to win either of my girls. Shouldn’t like them to be too far apart too. Very close, they are.”
“They are quite identical. Tell me, do you insist they wear different colours so you can tell them apart?” Marianne teased gently.
“Oh, Mrs. Wilson and I always know. We make them do it to save other folks from embarrassment.” Mr. Wilson give her a sly smile.
She laughed. Across the table, she caught Alexander’s eye for the twentieth time and looked away hastily, a slight flush rising to her cheeks. Why was he looking at her so much? She had thought all was settled between them after their conversation that morning!
A Marquis For Marianne (Blushing Brides Book 2) Page 9