The Earl's Runaway Governess, page 23
Despite her fear of Henry, Marianne had not been able to bring herself to co-operate with either suitor. She had been rescued from Mr Eldon by Mr Hawkins, coming to claim her for ‘his’ dances, and now Lady Annesley had rescued her in turn from Mr Hawkins. But at what cost?
Heaven knows what Ash will say to me now! she thought abstractedly.
She stole a glance at him. His expression was inscrutable.
The musicians played the first few bars—it was the cotillion known as La Vandreuil—and they moved into position without speaking, one of a quartet of couples forming the four sides of a square. The silence grew thick between them as the pressure of expectation built and grew.
The music began properly and they completed the introduction and honours with a bow and a curtsey. Marianne’s heart was pounding with a strange mix of excitement and fear, but some part of her mind was urging her to enjoy every moment of this brief time with Ash.
They moved into the first figure, all eight dancers joining hands in a great round. They circled with the other couples, looking only into the circle, though Marianne was supremely conscious of his hand in hers.
The next step was for her and Ash and the other top couple to move towards each other. Marianne took the hand of the gentleman opposite while Ash did the same with the gentleman’s partner. After skipping with the gentleman towards the side couple, and looping around the side gentleman, Marianne re-joined Ash and they whirled round in a right-hand star, en moulinet, finally going back into place.
She stole a glance at him. He looked preoccupied, but not angry. Not the way he had looked earlier. Her heart ran faster. Should she say something? Tell him the truth? She might not ever have another opportunity.
‘Can I tell you something?’
Suddenly she had his full attention. His gaze bored into hers like shards of midsummer sunlight penetrating a dark forest.
‘Will it be the truth this time?’
Almost she reacted angrily, but she held herself back. This was important. ‘Yes.’
‘I am listening.’
He was. She could see it.
They moved into the next pattern, separating to vis-à-vis at the corner with the side couples, then came back to their places to stand while the side couples led in, performing the same pattern from the beginning.
She took a breath. ‘My name is Marianne Grant and I am no man’s mistress.’
‘Grant?’ His eyes widened. ‘You are married to that idiot?’
‘No! But his father married my mother.’
He frowned, considering this as the dance briefly took them apart. When they came back together, he nodded grimly. ‘Go on.’
‘My true father was Charles Bolton. He died when I was a baby. Papa—George Grant—was like a true father to me.’
‘Then Henry Grant is your stepbrother?’ His jaw set. ‘I begin to understand.’
‘After Mama and Papa died Henry was appointed my guardian.’
They clasped hands in the dance.
‘I cannot imagine he took his duties very seriously. I am sorry to say that I find him one of the most feckless, dissolute men of my acquaintance.’
She spun away, curtseyed to another gentleman, clasped hands with him as they moved around each other, then came back to Ash. They joined hands again and moved around each other, first with their right hands joined, then with their left.
‘On the contrary, he took a great deal of interest in me. Unwelcome interest.’
His grip on her hand tightened as her meaning became clear to him. ‘He what?’ He looked thunderous.
‘Hush! People will stare!’ She pasted a smile on her face, trying to present an impression that all was well and that she was not, in fact, sharing her deepest secrets with her partner on a dance floor.
‘Is that, then, why you became a governess?’
She nodded. ‘It was the only thing I could think of. I had to leave home with great urgency. I had no recommendation, but I had always worked hard at my studies and I had taught Jane—my personal maid.’
‘Mrs Bailey’s daughter. It all becomes clear now.’
Again the dance required them to part briefly. She smiled politely at her temporary partner, then glanced at Ash. His brow was creased in thought as his mind worked furiously to put it all together.
Next time they came together he had his questions ready. ‘Why did Grant not tell me your true identity?’ he asked. ‘Why did Mrs Bailey and Jane leave? And why—’ he gazed at her intently ‘—did you not trust me with the truth?’
Her heart sank. She might have known he would get to the heart of things quickly.
She answered the easiest question first. ‘Henry tried to interfere with Jane, too. Mrs Bailey believed that if she stayed Jane would be in danger.’
‘Was she correct to hold that belief?’
‘Without doubt. My stepbrother has no sense of morality. He lives only to please himself and has no concept of other people having feelings of their own.’
Ash’s grip tightened on her hand. ‘Once we are somewhere less public I wish to know how much you have suffered at his hands.’
She looked up at him, hardly daring to hope. ‘Then—you believe me?’
‘Of course I believe you, you foolish woman! You should have told me this long ago!’
He looked as forbidding as ever, but this time it did not frighten her. This time she knew he was not angry with her. Instead he was angry on her behalf. It scarcely seemed possible!
Although she was dancing around Lady Annesley’s ballroom, it suddenly seemed to Marianne that she was, in fact, floating on some sort of cloud.
He believes me!
* * *
Ash had been on board a ship fewer than ten times in his life, yet each time he had found the movement of the deck beneath his feet most disconcerting. Everything had looked the same, yet his feet would not move properly, his balance was lost, and he found himself gripping nearby objects in a most undignified way.
At this moment he was conscious of a similar loss of equilibrium as his assumptions vanished like mist, to be replaced by blinding new truths.
He moved through the remaining figures of the dance without consciousness, his entire mind focused on Marianne’s revelations.
That was why she had gone away with Henry Grant! A wave of guilt washed over him as he recognised his own part in her departure from Ledbury House that day. And that was why she had lied about her identity. He frowned as he thought about what it must be like for Marianne, to be under the control of a man like Henry Grant. His stomach clenched as he considered the attack or attacks upon her person that had caused her to run from her childhood home.
He had to know the whole truth.
‘Marianne—’ His voice cracked.
She looked up at him, and her face creased at what she read in his eyes. ‘He did not...succeed...in violating me.’
Her voice was low, but he heard her words. Relief coursed through him.
Confound it! When would this dance end? He had a hundred more questions, but felt too overcome with emotion to make sense of his own thoughts. He was simply overwhelmed by notions of what Marianne must have endured.
If Henry Grant was in front of me right now, he thought, I cannot say what I might do.
Fast on the heels of anger came pride. He watched her move serenely around the dance floor, her head held high. What a woman! She was simply magnificent!
Finally the music ended. He claimed her hand and led her off the floor, searching for somewhere they might speak with a modicum of privacy.
‘Shall we go to the terrace?’
She raised an ironic eyebrow. ‘You are the third gentleman to invite me to the terrace tonight. Mr Eldon and Mr Hawkins both made it clear that they had the intention of taking me there and making me an offer of marriage.’
Marriage? He was momentarily stunned. ‘So you’d have the means to escape permanently from your brother?’ Fear coursed through him at the thought that he might lose her again.
‘My stepbrother,’ she corrected. ‘And, no, I do not favour either gentleman—not even to escape.’
On reflection, he saw the wisdom of this. Neither Eldon nor Hawkins would make a good husband for Marianne.
And then he was suddenly certain that she must marry no one but him.
‘Does your stepbrother encourage you to marry?’
‘Yes. He has told me that I must accept one of them tonight as his debts are most pressing. If I do not he will punish me.’
They had reached the terrace doors, and he stood back to allow her to precede him.
‘Punish you how?’
‘Either by giving me to you, and ruining me—’
‘Oh, Marianne! I apologise for my foolishness—my flawed assumptions. I should have questioned the lies he told me.’
He took her hand and she felt his warmth through her thin evening glove.
‘I should have known that my hot-headed notions were wrong. I who had the chance to know who you truly are. Our time together at Ledbury House was truly the happiest I have ever known. I—’
‘There you are!’
It was Lady Annesley, bustling and fluttering up to them.
‘Ash, I must steal her from you. Please come with me, Miss Grant. There is someone I should like you to meet.’
Ash, on the verge of declaring himself, could not have been less pleased to see his hostess. Why must Lady Annesley appear at such an inopportune moment?
Marianne squeezed his hand in a clear signal. She, too, wished to continue their conversation.
‘I am afraid that I was about to speak to Miss Grant on a most pressing manner. Can you give us a few moments?’ he asked.
Lady Annesley’s eyes widened, and then she smiled broadly. ‘Sits the wind in that quarter?’ She peered at Marianne, and nodded, as if satisfied. ‘Well, you two shall make a fine match!’ She tilted her head to one side and thought for a moment. ‘No! It is better to—Yes, I believe it can only help.’
She took Marianne by the elbow.
‘I regret it cannot wait. There is someone here to see you. But Ash can accompany us, if that is your wish?’
Marianne nodded, clearly as mystified as Ash himself.
‘I have put him in the small parlour downstairs,’ Lady Annesley continued cryptically. ‘Follow me!’
As she led them through the ballroom Ash automatically turned his head towards the table where he had earlier seen Henry Grant. Through a brief gap in the crowd he spotted him, still with the same group of inebriated young men. As if sensing his gaze, Grant looked up. He took in the strange procession—Lady Annesley, Marianne and Ash—and frowned.
The seething host of revellers swarmed again, and Ash could no longer see him.
Rage boiled within him at Grant’s treatment of his stepsister. How dared he treat any woman with such callousness? The fact that he had also importuned Jane added to the sense that this was a pattern with Grant. Ash recalled Barny’s words—it seemed to be a habit with that entire group of dissolute young men.
His hand closed into a fist. Oh, but there will be a reckoning between us!
Marianne followed Lady Annesley in something of a daze. She had no idea whom she was about to meet, and frankly she cared little. Her heart was singing at her reconciliation with Ash.
He believed her!
But it was more than that. Her senses were tingling and her insides were churning delightfully at his manner towards her. The warmth in his tone, the heat in his eyes... Could she possibly hope that he felt something for her?
Lady Annesley had assumed that Ash was about to make her an offer of marriage. But Lady Annesley knew nothing of what had actually passed between them. Ash had genuinely wished to speak to her on a pressing matter, but naturally Lady Annesley would come to the most logical conclusion—in this case inaccurate.
Marianne’s rational mind came back with a warning. Do not assume anything! Of course Ash would be feeling mortified, and regretful and possibly even a little guilty on discovering the truth. It did not necessarily follow that he would wish to pursue her in any way.
In fact, receiving kisses from him would be less likely now that he knew the truth. As a gentleman, he could not and would not renew his efforts to take her as his mistress.
She was not surprised to feel a pang of regret at the realisation. No lady could wish to be ruined, but if it were to happen then she would certainly choose for Ash to do the ruining.
She stifled a giggle. What on earth was wrong with her? She was living with an unpredictable, selfish guardian, and her options were still limited. Despite all that, she was enjoying a sense of elation.
Lady Annesley led them downstairs to the entrance floor, and into a pretty parlour with an elegant ormolu clock on the mantel. The time, Marianne noted, was ten minutes to midnight. Might that matter?
There was only one person in the room—a quite elderly gentleman, in neat, dark clothing that proclaimed him a man of business. He looked vaguely familiar.
Where have I seen him before? thought Marianne.
The man evidently recognised her. He rose, relief written clear on his face, and approached her.
‘Miss Grant—I am so glad to see you! You can have no notion of how long I have spent searching for you! Indeed, I had almost given up hope when I received word that a young lady had left Mr Grant’s townhouse to visit a certain dressmaker—a Mrs James of New Bridge Street. My sources confirmed the dressmaker was making a ball gown that was to be delivered to your guardian’s home by today.’
He joined his hands together with an air of satisfaction.
‘I knew I would not be permitted to speak to you there, so I took it upon myself to discover where tonight’s ball would take place and I boldly approached your gracious hostess.’ He bowed to Lady Annesley. ‘Thank you again, my lady.’
Lady Annesley dismissed his gratitude with a wave of her white hand. ‘Think nothing of it. I am happy to help.’
The man looked across to Ash. ‘Er... I do not believe we have met. I am Mr Mason.’
‘Kingswood.’ Ash’s tone was carefully neutral.
The lawyer’s eyes widened. ‘Lord Kingswood—forgive me—your acquaintance with Miss Grant is of recent duration?’
‘I stand as her friend,’ said Ash.
Marianne’s heart turned over in a rush of love and tears pricked her eyes. He had said it—he was once again her friend.
Mr Mason nodded, seemingly content. He turned to Marianne. ‘Miss Grant, I—’
‘What the deuce is going on here?’
It was Henry, erupting into the room with all the elegance of a bull.
Mr Mason jumped, clearly startled, and looked put out.
No one spoke. Marianne felt fear pool coldly in the pit of her stomach. Henry was enraged. This would not end well for her.
‘Marianne, we are leaving!’ Henry glared at her. ‘Now!’
Lord, he would probably begin berating her as soon as they got into the carriage, away from witnesses. He might even offer her violence once again.
Marianne was torn. She absolutely did not wish to go with him, but to disobey him would enrage him further. She looked at the clock. It lacked only five minutes to the hour.
‘Just a moment.’ Ash’s tone was one that commanded respect. Everyone looked at him. ‘I wish to hear what Mr Mason has to say—if Miss Grant permits?’
Marianne nodded. It took every ounce of courage she had to defy Henry so openly. She knew she would pay for it later. But at least if she stayed here there was a chance—albeit a small one—that the situation might improve. And she too was curious about Mr Mason, and why he had sought her so persistently.
‘Very well.’
Mr Mason remained standing, as they all did. To sit might trigger Henry’s insistence on leaving with Marianne. The tension in the air was palpable.
‘You may remember me, Miss Grant, from the day of your parents’ funeral. I was your father’s lawyer, and I am your trustee.’
So that was why he looked familiar! ‘I am sorry, Mr Mason,’ she said, her voice a little hoarse as she tried to force words through her tight throat. ‘That day is somewhat blurred in my memory.’
‘Perfectly understandable,’ he responded kindly. ‘I have tried to visit you on a number of occasions during the past year, but I have been prevented from doing so by your guardian—Mr Grant.’
Henry scowled but did not deny it.
‘In February I was informed that you no longer resided at your family home, yet no one could say where you were. I admit I feared the worst.’
‘But why did you wish to speak to me?’ Marianne asked, confused. ‘Papa’s will left everything to Henry, bar my mother’s jewels, and made him my guardian.’
‘Ah...’ said Mr Mason. ‘Perhaps I should have been clearer. I was not only your stepfather’s lawyer, but also your father’s. I worked for Charles Bolton many years ago. He left a substantial amount in trust for you, to come to you when you were of age.’
Suddenly many things became clear.
‘So, Henry, is that why you wanted me to sign a legal paper giving all my possessions to you? I thought you wished to take Mama’s jewels. I did not know there was more.’
Rage blazed in his eyes. ‘Have you been snooping among my personal papers?’ he snarled. ‘I did not ask you to sign any paper.’
‘But you had the document there, ready to use at the right moment, didn’t you? Once you had broken me. But I am not broken.’
