by Anne Herries
‘Oh, I do not mind,’ Drew said, giving Lucy an indulgent look. ‘I need no telling that you are Marianne’s youngest sister, Miss Lucy. Shall we take some food into the garden and then you may ask all the questions you like?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Lucy said. ‘Aunt Bertha’s cook makes wonderful cakes. Do you like cake, sir?’
‘I do if it is good,’ Drew said. ‘Let us see what there is to choose from, shall we?’ He offered her his arm, and Lucy took it, for all the world as if she had known him her whole life.
Marianne watched as they walked across the room together, envying her sister’s easy manner with Drew. She felt constrained with him, uneasy, and she had sensed a reserve in him.
‘May I fetch you anything?’ Dr Barton asked from behind her. Marianne turned to face him, forcing herself to smile naturally. He was a pleasant gentleman and she liked him, but a part of her was conscious only of Drew and Lucy as they laughed together and then disappeared through the open French doors to the garden with their plate of cakes.
‘Oh, no, nothing for the moment,’ Marianne said. ‘I am supposed to be looking after the guests. I must make sure that everyone has what they like—and tell Bessie when more food needs bringing through from the kitchen.’
‘Yes, of course,’ he said, but looked disappointed. ‘I understand you are to visit Bath soon? I shall be there shortly myself, for I have a medical lecture to attend. We are at last beginning to make some progress in the art of medicine, though there is still so much we do not understand. I shall stay for a few days with my brother, who resides in the town. Perhaps I shall see you there?’
‘Yes, perhaps,’ Marianne agreed. ‘I must go, for Bessie is waiting for a signal.’
She went to speak to Bessie, who wanted to know whether they should bring in the trifles and sweetmeats that had been left in the cold pantry until some of the food had been cleared. Marianne spent some minutes with her and then passed on to one of the other guests, who wanted to know where she could refresh herself.
After that, the wedding speeches began and it was a while before Marianne was free. She had seen Lucy return to the large parlour alone, but did not get a chance to speak to her until Jane had gone upstairs to change her gown.
‘Did Lord Marlbeck leave?’ she asked Lucy.
‘Yes,’ Lucy said and smiled at her. ‘He is so nice, Marianne. He said that he had something he ought to do, but would call on us tomorrow morning at about eleven.’
‘I see…’ Marianne smiled, but her heart felt as if it would break. Had he wanted to see her alone, he would have found some way of speaking to her in private. No doubt he simply wanted to tell them the latest news concerning Lieutenant Humble or whatever the rogue was calling himself now. ‘Well, I dare say he had other reasons for coming down here. It would not have been just for the wedding.’
Her heart ached but she kept her smile in place. She was determined that no one should guess how much she was hurting inside.
Chapter Ten
‘Where are you going, Marianne?’ Mrs Horne asked the next morning as Marianne came downstairs wearing a heavy silk shawl about her shoulders. ‘I wanted to talk to you about my decision concerning your great-aunt’s request that we make our home with her.’
‘Aunt Bertha asked me if I would walk down to the village for her,’ Marianne said. ‘She needs a particular shade of green for her embroidery and she says that I have a good eye for colour. I am happy to go, for it will be a pleasant walk, Mama.’
‘Of course you must oblige your aunt,’ Mrs Horne said and nodded her approval. ‘As you know, we are to go to Bath in a day or so. I think Jo and your Aunt Wainwright may come down the following week, and we shall stay there for perhaps three weeks in all—after that, we shall return here.’
‘Yes, I knew that was Aunt Bertha’s intention,’ Marianne said. ‘I think she had considered living in Bath, but that was before she thought of asking you and my sisters to live here. This is a big house and much of it was not being used before you came. I believe she feels very much happier now, and I dare say she would prefer to live here most of the time.’
‘I believe it might suit us all,’ Mrs Horne said. ‘If we stay, I shall send for Lily to join us, because she has been very loyal and we shall need extra help in the house if it is to be opened up as it ought.’
‘Yes, Aunt Bertha spoke of needing another girl to help Bessie.’
‘She tells me that she would like to spend some time in London next spring. Neither of us have been to London for years, and it would be a chance for you and Jo—unless you have both found husbands before then.’ Mrs Horne looked at her speculatively. ‘Was there anything you wished to tell me, dearest?’
‘No, Mama—should there be?’
‘Only you can say. Your great-aunt hinted that you might quite like Lord Marlbeck?’
‘Yes, I do like him,’ Marianne agreed. ‘But I do not expect him to make me a proposal of marriage, Mama.’
‘No? Then your aunt is mistaken. I thought it unlikely, for the gap is too wide, Marianne. You are very pretty, dearest, and I am sure you will meet a great many gentlemen who are aware of that—but the marquis must look higher than a vicar’s daughter for his wife. It would be foolish to expect it.’
‘I know that,’ Marianne said, fighting the urge to break down and weep in her mother’s soft arms. ‘He…likes me, but he must have commitments to his family.’
‘I do not think he has a great deal of family,’ Mrs Horne said. ‘But he does have the honour of his name to consider. I think he mixes with a rare set in London, quite above our touch—or even your Uncle Wainwright’s circle, I imagine. For my part, I should be happy to see you settled with a nice gentleman, someone more like your father…’ She hesitated, then, ‘Dr Barton has asked if he may call on us when we are in Bath. I saw you talking to him at the wedding, Marianne.’
‘He is a dedicated man and his conversation was interesting, Mama. I do not think I had realised how much poverty there is in the world. We were so fortunate while Papa lived.’
‘Your papa was a good man,’ Mrs Horne said. ‘Agatha has told me several times that I should marry again, and I have thought of it because it would have been hard to continue as we were. Lord Wainwright is kind, but my sister…’ She shook her head. ‘However, that is behind me—I have made up my mind to accept your great-aunt’s offer to live with her. We get on very well, and she was lonely before we came. If I live here, she will not need a companion so I shall save her that expense, and I believe we shall be content together after all my girls have gone.’
‘I do not think that will be just yet, Mama. Lucy is too young to think of marriage, and Jo says she does not wish to—though she may change her mind if she meets someone she truly likes.’
‘And what of you, my love?’
‘I am happy enough for the moment, Mama.’
Mrs Horne smiled. ‘Then we shall let things take their course. It will be pleasant to amuse ourselves in Bath and you never know who we may meet there.’
Marianne agreed and they parted. Her mother went to consult with Cook concerning the day’s menus and what should be done with the leftovers from the wedding, for she had heard of some deserving cases in the village from Mr Pembroke and it was better to pass on any unwanted food than to waste it. Marianne went out, leaving by the French windows at the back of the house. She did not know if she would be back by the time Lord Marlbeck came to visit, but it did not matter—they could have nothing to say to one another. After all, had he particularly wanted to speak to her, he would have told her of his intention to visit, and not her sister.
She had not walked down to the village for some time and she would enjoy the exercise.
Drew frowned as he left Sawlebridge House later that morning. He had spent twenty minutes visiting with Mrs Horne and Lucy, but there had been no sign of Marianne, and Lady Edgeworthy was of course still in her room, for it was not yet noon.
‘I am afraid that Mr Hambleto
n, as Lady Edgeworthy knew him—though he has several aliases, I understand—is still at liberty,’ Drew told them in answer to their anxious questions. ‘He is being searched for and I am sure it will not be long before he is brought to book, but for the moment it is still best to take care.’
‘That is worrying,’ Mrs Horne said. ‘I wonder if I should have prevented Marianne from leaving earlier? She went out for a walk and I saw no reason to stop her. I do hope she is safe! She has been gone for more than an hour, though that in itself is no cause for alarm. My daughter has always enjoyed long walks.’
‘So I believe,’ Drew said. ‘I understand that we are neighbours. You live in the Vicarage, which is quite close to my estate, do you not?’
‘We did, but no longer,’ Mrs Horne told him. ‘My husband died just over a year ago and we moved to the Lodge on my brother-in-law’s estate, but it was not as comfortable as it might have been and we are all to live here in the future. We go to Bath in…three days from now. Yes, it is but three days. How time flies, to be sure. It is for a visit of some three weeks, and then we shall return here—though we may go to London in the spring.’
‘I had not realised that you had come for more than a stay of some weeks’ duration,’ Drew said and frowned. ‘I had hoped to call on you when you returned…but no matter. I believe the wedding went very well yesterday?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Mrs Horne said and looked thoughtful. ‘Jane was overwhelmed with all the kindness she received, but it is always so at weddings, do you not think so, sir? Are you planning a long stay here yourself, my lord?’
‘I am not sure,’ Drew said. ‘My plans are uncertain. I might be called away at any time. I have duties to the estate, which I may have neglected of late—and there is this business of that rogue Hambleton. I should like to see that finished.’
‘I believe we should all feel better if he were behind bars.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ Drew agreed. ‘We must hope that it will happen soon. I think I must take up no more of your time. Please tell Miss Marianne I was disappointed not to have seen her.’
‘I am sorry you missed her. She went out on an errand, but that might have waited until later. I am sure she would have been here had she known you meant to call, sir.’
‘Oh, but she did, Mama,’ Lucy said, ‘for I told her.’
‘Lucy…’ her mother reproved. ‘I am sure she did not perfectly understand what you said, my dear. She would not have been rude for the world.’
‘It does not matter,’ Drew said. ‘No doubt we shall see each other one of these days, for we both like to walk.’
He took his leave of them. It seemed clear to him that Marianne had gone out rather than stay and greet him, and perhaps he could not blame her. Perhaps it was for the best that this thing should end here. A part of him was tempted to linger in the gardens and accost her on her return; that part of him wanted to hold her and kiss her until she melted into his body as she had done on another occasion. He knew that no other woman had ever made him feel this urgent need, and yet it seemed that it was an ill-fated affair, doomed to failure. For he was not worthy of her and knew that in the end his restless spirit would bring her down. To hell with it! He knew that he could not simply walk away without at least seeing her once more.
He was about to set out for the cliff house, where he was staying once more, but then something made him change course without his consciously intending it and he found that he was heading in the direction of the rhododendron valley.
Marianne saw Drew coming towards her. She hugged her shawl tightly about her shoulders, for she had started to shiver, and she did not want him to think that it was on his account. She had delayed her return to the house, because she needed time alone to think, but she made no attempt to avoid him now. If they must say the things that needed to be said, let it be here, away from her family’s loving eyes so that she need not pretend for their sakes. Yes, it would be good to have it out, and know finally what his intentions were.
‘Your mother told me you had gone to the village, but I thought I might find you here.’ He gave her an accusing look. ‘Why did you go out when you knew I meant to call?’
‘I had an errand for my aunt,’ Marianne said, though she knew that she could have put it off had she wished. ‘Mama and Lucy were there to receive you. I did not think you had anything in particular to say to me, sir—surely, if you had, you would have said as much at the wedding?’ Her eyes threw a challenge at him, daring him to speak.
Drew felt a surge of frustration, wanting to take her by the shoulders and shake her. She must know what she meant to him! And yet how could she when he was not certain of his own intentions? Even now, despite his burning need to draw her down with him and know her intimately, he hesitated to speak.
‘I should have liked to talk to you.’
‘You have found me. I shall listen if you have anything you feel you need to say…such as an apology?’ She was proud, determined not to let him see how close to tears she actually felt inside.
‘Perhaps it should be you who apologises,’ Drew said, a glint in his eye. ‘You were to have sent word when Hambleton left Sawlebridge House—and you were not supposed to go looking for the entrance to that tunnel yourself! Supposing they had discovered you?’
‘Well, it has been blocked up now and no real harm was done,’ Marianne said, lifting her head proudly. ‘I was on my way to warn you but you were not at the house.’
‘I was crouching further down the cliff, keeping watch for the boat to land. I saw you, but there was nothing I could do—had I tried to attract your attention, it would have ruined everything.’
‘Your French spy did not come that way. He must have put into shore further up the coast. As I tried to tell you before, he was to have met Mr Hambleton and they missed each other. I think when he realised that something had gone wrong, he came to the house on the cliffs because he had stayed there before. Mr Hambleton was most annoyed when he learned it had been rented to you.’
‘Yes, I dare say. I wonder…’
‘What?’ She raised her brows at him.
‘Whether Mr Hambleton deliberately avoided the meeting. He might have discovered that we were waiting for the smugglers…’
‘Yes, perhaps,’ Marianne said. ‘He has not been caught yet?’
‘Unfortunately not, but I believe it may happen soon—though it is possible that he is holed up here somewhere, too frightened to move.’
‘Is that why you are here?’
‘It was a part of my reason for coming down, yes. I had other reasons…the wedding, for one.’
‘Jane looked lovely, did she not?’ Marianne avoided looking at him.
‘Yes, as brides do, so they tell me.’ His voice was ironic. ‘I have not attended many weddings, and those I did were hasty affairs when we were campaigning. We did not have the benefit of a church or flowers then.’
‘Perhaps the bride was just as lovely?’
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘I did not notice. I have never been interested in such things. My parents died when I was young. I was sent away to school and I learned some hard lessons there. Love…softness…marriage—’ He broke off for he could see that her eyes were bright with what might be tears. ‘I have never known these things. I am not sure that I know how to love or even what it means.’
‘I see…’ Marianne swallowed hard. ‘It is quite easy if one has experienced it,’ she said, managing to hold her head high and keep her voice steady. She would not beg for his love! ‘But I understand that it might be harder for…someone who has never known love.’
‘I suppose I fear it.’ Drew made the admission with difficulty. ‘I fear to hurt and be hurt.’
‘Yes, of course. I believe you have made yourself plain,’ she said, her throat tight with emotion. ‘For myself, I do not look for marriage in the near future. My great-aunt is no longer alone, but Lucy was very ill recently and she broke her heart for me. I shall not think of leaving her until she is more he
rself again. Now, if you will excuse me, Lord Marlbeck, I must go home before my family begins to worry—and it is getting chilly.’
She pulled her shawl tighter about her and walked past him, her head high. Tears were pricking behind her eyes, but she was too proud to let them fall. It was clear that his feelings for her had been merely that of a man tempted by a pretty girl. He had never intended more than a flirtation.
Drew turned his head and watched her go. He was a wretched fool! He wanted to catch her up, take her into his arms and kiss her until neither of them could stop what must happen then, for he would be committed and there would be no drawing back. Yet something held him. He was once again the lonely boy watching from inside school windows as other boys went running to their mothers’ arms. He had built this wall around his heart brick by brick and it was damnably painful tearing it down!
How could he promise to love her for ever when he did not know how?
Marianne brushed her tears away impatiently with the back of her hand. She must not cry. It would be so foolish. Weeping and breaking her heart would do no good. Drew did not love her. He had told her that he was afraid to love, but she did not understand him. One either loved or one did not—it was as natural as breathing to her.
She had always loved her mother and sisters—and particularly Papa. The memory of being held in her father’s arms one particular day when she was a small child, swept over her, bringing the tears she had fought so hard to hold back. She had tripped and fallen, cutting her knee. Her father had caught her up in his arms, comforting her, bathing her knee and kissing it better before giving her into her mother’s care.
‘Oh, Papa,’ she whispered, ‘what shall I do? I do love him so much—and he does not love me…’
Had her father been alive she knew that she could have asked him how to accept her pain, but she did not wish to distress her mother or sister. She must somehow find the strength to deal with it herself.
‘This came for you while you were out, Captain,’ Robbie said, handing him a sealed letter as he entered the house an hour or so later. ‘The lad who delivered it said it was urgent and the gentleman wanted an answer, but I had no way of knowing when you would return.’