The Earl's Runaway Governess, page 22
Well, she should not have lied to me! he thought. It is perfectly understandable for me to be cross with her.
The difficulty he had was that some part of him persisted in seeing her as Miss Anne Bolton, innocent governess, even now. And there was still the possibility that Grant had taken her by force.
The sick feeling in his stomach returned immediately. It simply did not bear thinking about—Marianne, frightened and hurt, being overpowered by an evil man.
Even if she was a courtesan, he wanted to know how she had come to be so. Recalling Cronin’s defence of her, he could not help but agree with the steward that Marianne was good-hearted.
The carriage lurched forward another few yards and Ash glanced outside. Finally he was nearly at Lady Annesley’s house, and finally the rain had ceased.
He rapped on the roof of the carriage with his cane. ‘I shall walk from here, Tully!’
‘But, my lord! The mud!’
Ash sighed and relented. ‘Very well.’
Tully had the right of it. The road was a veritable mire. Best to be patient a little longer and use the wooden slats laid down by Lady Annesley’s servants.
He just wanted this ball out of the way, so that he could speak to Marianne on the morrow. Tonight patience was not his strong suit, it seemed.
* * *
The disagreeable housemaid, despite her hostile demeanour, had done an excellent job of preparing Marianne for the ball. She had spent an age bathing her, soothing her bruises and dressing her—and all with barely a word.
It had suited Marianne perfectly, giving her time to think about what she had learned today, what she had discovered in Henry’s locked drawer and what she might do about it all. As a woman, she had limited choices. All around her were men believing they knew her, making decisions for her and controlling her. Tonight it would all come to a head, and she had absolutely no clue as to her best course of action.
Finally the housemaid was dressing Marianne’s hair. She created two small plaits and integrated them into Marianne’s curls, sweeping her hair up into an elegant topknot. She then softened the style by ensuring that Marianne’s glossy brown side curls perfectly framed her face.
Marianne’s ball gown had arrived today, just after nuncheon, and in other circumstances Marianne would have been delighted with it. The gown was blue silk over a pale blue satin underdress, and flowed like a wave over Marianne’s form, clinging in all the right places and covering her bruises. The bodice, hem and sleeves were trimmed with pale blue embroidery, and there were three lines of pin tucks along the flounce.
It was beautiful.
Marianne had looked in the mirror and saw that she looked beautiful, but the thought made her slightly sick. It suited Henry for her to be attractive. Tonight she wished to be the most unattractive, unmarriageable hag possible. She was to be paraded before her suitors like a prize heifer, her future up for the highest bidder.
Henry had forced her to preside over the dinner earlier, with both Marianne’s suitors in attendance, along with Henry’s favourite widows to make up the numbers. Whatever Henry had said to the men had worked. They were falling over each other to pay her extravagant compliments, beg for her hand at tonight’s dancing and generally compete with each other to bid for the prize.
Henry had sat back, an amused half-smile on his lips, and contented himself with listening to the widows’ prattle, while Marianne had winced and tried to pretend she was elsewhere. Promoting competitiveness between Eldon and Hawkins was an inspired tactic on Henry’s part. If either man had reservations about his choice of bride they had been lost in the desire to best his rival.
As the ladies had left the room Henry had reminded Marianne of his expectations, and of the fact that marriage—any marriage—should be preferable to being any man’s mistress, and that their family name would be exposed to shame if he were to be declared a bankrupt.
He had done all this in a hurried, low-voiced rant, his grip painfully tight on Marianne’s glove-covered left arm, before straightening, smiling and declaring that he and the other gentlemen would join them very shortly, for Lady Annesley’s ball promised to be the event of the season.
And so it proved.
They’d spent quite half an hour in the line of carriages before finally descending, and were now taking their place in the queue of people waiting to mount the stairs to greet their hostess.
Marianne was reflecting on Henry’s hissed words to her earlier. Was it really true that marriage would be preferable to being Ash’s mistress? Oh, she knew that as an unmarried lady to be known as the chère-amie of a gentleman would be her ruination. But the thought of marriage to Hawkins or Eldon filled her with horror.
She shuddered. To have Hawkins’s wet lips on hers—or, worse still, Eldon’s clammy hands—was repugnant. Ash—handsome, lean, and muscular as he was—was infinitely preferable.
Despite this, when Ash had kissed her in the hallway—kissed her as a man who intended to make her his mistress might—she had not responded. And she knew exactly why. Ash was handsome, and no doubt skilled in these matters, and his nearness did strange things to her senses. Yet even as her body had been responding to him her heart had cried out in pain.
For she wanted more than kisses. She needed his regard, his good opinion. His love. To become his mistress would be a delight—but in the end it would destroy her. Of that she had no doubt.
Yet the thought of simply staying with Henry was horrific in a different way. No matter which way she stepped, no matter which choice she made, she would be the loser.
‘Lady Annesley! So delighted!’
Marianne came back to the present with a start. Henry was playing his part to perfection.
‘May I present my sister, Miss Grant?’
Marianne curtseyed to the older lady.
‘Why, Mr Grant, I had only recently become aware that your sister was finally visiting town. But you are delightful!’ This she directed at Marianne, with a kind smile. ‘A beauty! You shall have all the young gentlemen falling over themselves to dance with you tonight!’
‘I have already secured the first two dances, Lady Annesley,’ Mr Eldon interjected smoothly from over Marianne’s shoulder.
Marianne’s smile—which had been a genuine response to Lady Annesley’s warmth—became a fixed grin.
‘And I the following two,’ added Mr Hawkins, not to be outdone.
‘I see,’ said Lady Annesley, her gaze flicking briefly to Marianne.
She greeted Eldon and Hawkins, and the two widows—both of whom, surprisingly, were clearly welcome in polite society—before turning back to Marianne.
‘Well, as hostess, I shall come and find you after that, Miss Grant, as is my duty.’
‘I shall look forward to it,’ said Marianne, with rather more enthusiasm than was appropriate. ‘I mean—I am so looking forward to the ball!’
It sounded forced, even to her own ears.
‘Lady Annesley, if you do not mind my asking...’ It was Henry, his cultured, easy, ‘public’ mask firmly in place. ‘How did you hear of my sister being in town? For apart from my closest friends—’ he indicated the two gentlemen behind him ‘—I have not talked of Marianne to many people, and this is her first time attending a London ball.’
He smiled. Marianne saw his charm. It sickened her.
‘I had hoped to cause something of a stir by bringing her here tonight.’
‘Oh, I cannot recall, exactly,’ replied Lady Annesley airily, ‘though I believe you are right and her presence is not widely known. My dear—’ this was directed at Marianne ‘—I do hope you enjoy the ball.’
‘Thank you.’
Marianne could not help smiling warmly at Lady Annesley. The older woman’s kindness, charm and warmth reminded her of Mama. A sudden lump came into her throat, and her eyes shone with unshed tears.
A slight frown appeared on Lady Annesley’s brow.
‘I hope that my sister makes the most of the occasion,’ added Henry quickly, diverting his hostess’s attention to himself, ‘for she is likely to be returning to our family home in the country tomorrow.’
‘Oh, what a shame!’ Lady Annesley seemed genuinely put out. ‘I had hoped to get to know you a little, Miss Grant.’
‘Perhaps next time,’ murmured Marianne, knowing that unless she agreed to marry one of the two ghastly gentlemen behind her on the stairs Henry would indeed banish her.
In truth, she would welcome it. He was becoming more volatile by the day, and she lived in constant fear of triggering his temper. If she could be sure he would leave her alone at their family home she would be perfectly content. It might even be worth signing that document and letting him have Mama’s jewels, if he would then leave her in peace. But, given that he saw her as a means to access funds from her future husband, she knew that he would not rest until he had achieved it.
As she moved with the rest of the party towards the ballroom, where a country dance was already in full swing, she noticed a grand clock standing there, its perfectly balanced swinging weights and polished wood case testament to the care and attention involved in its creation.
It was just after nine o’clock.
Lady Annesley excused herself from a conversation among a group of chattering matrons on the shocking cost of furniture. Having a beautifully furnished, comfortable home, and no intention of purchasing new furniture any time soon, she had no interest in such matters.
She made her way out to the hallway where, after a very few moments, she found Forbes, her butler.
‘Forbes! There you are!’
‘My lady.’ Ever conscious of his duties, he bowed graciously. ‘I can report that all is well from my perspective. There is plenty of wine and ratafia, and although the gentlemen in the card room are consuming rather more port and brandy then I had anticipated, I have had two footmen fetch more supplies and place them upstairs.’
‘Very good, Forbes. Now, I have an unusual request.’
‘My lady?’
‘Do you remember the person who called yesterday, seeking me out? You placed him in the small parlour.’
‘Indeed, my lady. I do hope,’ he added with a touch of anxiety, ‘that I did right? He seemed to be a respectable person—I thought him to be perhaps a banker or a lawyer. Not a tradesperson who should be directed to your secretary or to Cook.’
‘You did right, Forbes, never fear. At the time I had no idea that there was even a sister, so of course I could not help. But now...’ She paused. ‘Yes, I shall have to meddle. That poor girl!’
‘My lady?’ Forbes, who knew his mistress of old, prompted her gently to come to the point.
‘He left me his card. Name is Mason, I think. I put it on the mantel in the small parlour.’ She paused for further reflection.
If Forbes wondered why Lady Annesley was focusing on this in the middle of her grand ball—an event which she had been planning with an obsessive attention to detail for at least two months—he gave no sign.
After a long moment, she seemed to come to a decision. ‘Forbes!’
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘There is nothing else for it! She might be whisked away tomorrow to goodness knows where. It will have to be tonight.’
‘Tonight?’
‘Yes. Direct someone to find Mr Mason and bring him here. Put him somewhere private and send for me once he is here. Tell him it relates to the...to the business we talked of when he called.’
‘Yes, my lady.’ Forbes bowed and left.
If his mind was filled with speculation regarding his mistress’s sudden request he gave no sign of it.
* * *
Eleven o’clock. Hearing the distant chimes, Ash yawned, stretched, and rose from the card table. ‘I shall return shortly,’ he told his friends. ‘If I stay here much longer I shall fall asleep at the table, so I shall take a look in on the dancing.’
It was true. Having reached his bed well after dawn, he had spent the morning in fitful sleep, anticipating seeing Marianne again. The lack of rest was now catching up with him, and the brandy at his elbow was having a soporific effect.
‘I shall come with you,’ said Barny, heaving himself out of his chair.
Together they walked along Lady Annesley’s sumptuous hallway to the ballroom.
‘Lord, what a crush!’
‘Lady Annesley will be delighted,’ Ash replied.
The dance floor was filled with couples moving through the intricacies of a waltz, while all around the edges of the room dowagers, wallflowers and young men watched proceedings.
Ash spied Henry Grant at a table along the left side of the room, deep in conversation with some of his cronies—the entire group looked decidedly foxed. He grimaced. Unsurprisingly, Grant had stayed away from the card room tonight.
His gaze travelled on. The dancers were taking turns to move up the set in pairs, and he espied Mr Hawkins cutting a comic figure as he moved his ample figure through the steps. His partner, who had her back to Ash, was gently trying to guide Mr Hawkins, with limited success. Then she half turned, and Ash went completely still with shock.
Marianne! If he had thought she looked beautiful earlier, nothing had prepared him for the vision of beauty that she presented tonight. Her gown was in various shades of blue, and it shimmered as she moved elegantly through the figures. The low-cut bodice—traditional for a ball gown—gave him ample opportunity to appreciate her white bosom, and pearls glowed around her neck. Her hair was dressed in an elaborate style, complete with a diamond pin, and a delicate painted fan dangled from her wrist.
He could not have named the elements of her dress, nor said exactly why she looked so well. He only felt the force of it.
But why was she here? Had Grant the audacity to bring a courtesan to a ton party, expecting to get away with it? He reflected for a moment. No, even he would not be so bold. She must, then, be eligible to be here through family connections or status. Not a courtesan—or at least not only a courtesan. Yet she was not a governess either.
Although she was dressed in the pale colours of an unmarried woman, she might possibly be a widow. Was that it? Had she been married, lost her husband, and been forced to take work as a governess? But no—for that would have been perfectly respectable. No need to lie to him.
What, then?
His mind was working furiously, trying to find the answer to the riddle, when the music ceased and Mr Hawkins began leading Marianne off the dance floor.
Swiftly, and without a word to the disconcerted Barny, Ash moved to intercept them. They were ahead, and Hawkins was lightly stroking Marianne’s arm as he whispered something in her ear. She visibly shuddered and shook his hand away. Ash smiled grimly. So Mr Hawkins was not to be favoured, then?
Just how many men does Marianne have dangling after her?
An instant before Ash reached them Lady Annesley stepped in front of them both, smiling broadly. Whatever she said elicited a protest from Hawkins, and Ash caught the word ‘terrace’. So he’d hoped to take Marianne outside, had he? Away from the people and the lights.
‘And here he is!’
Lady Annesley had noticed Ash, and now reached for his arm, propelling him with force into the conversation.
‘I am afraid, Mr Hawkins, that your delightful partner is promised to Lord Kingswood for the next dance!’
Hawkins, his face set, could not openly challenge his hostess, so he bowed, muttered something about finding his acquaintances, and left.
Marianne, stony-faced, did not even look Ash’s way.
‘Ash,’ continued Lady Annesley, unperturbed, ‘might I present—?’
‘We’ve met,’ interrupted Marianne shortly, adding a belated half-smile to make her utterance more acceptable.
‘Oh, you have? How wonderful!’ Lady Annesley smiled broadly. ‘I shall leave you in Ash’s capable hands, then. But...’ She lowered her head to speak to Marianne directly. ‘I wish to speak to you in private later. There is something I must discuss with you.’
Marianne nodded, looking somewhat bemused. She had gone rather pale, Ash noted.
Ha! She might well do so!
He had question after question tumbling over each other, and he intended to get some answers.
Lady Annesley was not yet done. Standing on her tiptoes, she whispered in Ash’s ear, ‘I saw you looking at her during the dancing. A diamond, is she not?’
She patted Ash’s arm, winked at him, and turned away just as the musicians struck up a chord to call the couples to the floor for the next dance—a cotillion.
‘Shall we?’ he said urbanely, offering Marianne his arm.
She hesitated, then her shoulders slumped in what looked like defeat.
‘Very well.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
This is all it needed, thought Marianne as she walked towards the dance floor, her gloved hand tucked into Ash’s strong arm.
At a glance, she had taken in his effortless elegance. He was attired in the traditional evening dress of knee breeches and an evening coat of dark blue superfine. Yet somehow he outshone every gentleman there. His snowy cravat seemed whiter, his coat a more perfect fit, his easy gait the epitome of unforced masculinity. Not that she was prejudiced in any way.
Appreciating his physical and sartorial splendour did not, however, reduce her anxiety about having to interact with him. They were in a public place. She had deceived him. He was angry with her. Oh, and he intended to make her his mistress and would ‘collect’ her in a few hours. So, yes, she was angry with him too.
Still, after enduring dances with her two suitors dancing with Ash could hardly be worse.
Mr Eldon, predictably, had used the dance to leer at her, throwing lingering glances towards her bosom, while Mr Hawkins had clearly been uncomfortable, capering through the dance with a look of pained endurance on his round red face. Both had tried to persuade her to accompany them out onto the terrace for fresh air—though their real intent might have been to propose marriage.
