Beauty in Black Page 8

  “Because I know you will enjoy it all, too,” Louisa told her after listing enough excursions to fill the next half year.

  “No doubt,” Marianne agreed, trying not to smile. They discussed which of Louisa’s suggestions they should pursue first, but in the end, they did not even get so far as heading upstairs for their wraps before a knock sounded at the front door.

  “Oh, who is it?” Louisa looked up eagerly.

  “Someone come to call, perhaps.” Marianne kept her tone level, but her curiosity jumped, too. Unless it was only more flowers for Louisa; Marianne had duly admired the large bouquet sent by the marquess. The sight of the flowers, again, drew a curious mixture of emotions. She certainly did not begrudge Louisa her suitors, but the marquess did not, perchance, appear to be the best-suited husband for a girl so young and lighthearted.

  They both sat quietly and sipped their tea, and Marianne knew that Louisa listened eagerly for the sound of a male voice in the hallway. Sure enough, a deep mellow voice spoke quietly to the footman, so it was no surprise when the servant came to the door, pausing to announce with a suitably impassive face, “The marquess of Gillingham, madam.”

  They both stood and curtsied as the marquess made his bow.

  “Please sit down,” Marianne said, keeping her voice cool. If her pulse jumped when this man entered the room, it would be foolish indeed to show it. And she was only concerned for her ward’s sake, Marianne tried to tell herself. It was not that she had any personal interest in the man!

  At least, unlike some chaperones, she did not have to worry about her ward being tongue-tied with shyness. Louisa smiled sweetly toward their caller and spoke at once. “Are you enjoying your London stay, my lord? You are up betimes this morning.”

  He looked taken aback. “I hope I did not call too early?”

  “Oh, no,” Louisa assured him. “My uncle is always about his business while the day is fresh—I am accustomed to it.”

  For some reason, the marquess glanced at Marianne. “Your uncle puts aside his own pleasures very promptly—some men might be tempted to linger at home. But as long as I am not upsetting the household—”

  “Your calls could not be too early for me, my lord.” Louisa smiled.

  Her brow raised, Marianne glanced at the younger girl. Avoiding coyness was one thing, being unsuitably forward was another.

  As if realizing that she might have gone too far, Louisa colored slightly. Regrettably, it only made her look more appealing.

  “I only meant that I woke early, myself. The sun was shining into my window, and it is such a lovely day it seemed a shame not to be up and about.”

  “That is true—I was hoping that you might enjoy a stroll in the park?” he suggested.

  “That would be most pleasant,” Louisa said, only a shade too quickly. She kept her tone prim this time, but her sparkling eyes betrayed her.

  No, no one would ever accuse Louisa of being too retiring, Marianne told herself. She pressed her lips firmly together. She, on the other hand, was no blushing ingenue, so she could certainly not afford to appear obsequious, no matter how high the caller’s rank and consequence.

  Fortunately, he had no inkling of her thoughts. He added, “If you and Mrs. Hughes would join me, we could drive to Hyde Park and take a stroll?”

  Louisa jumped to her feet. “Oh, that would be delightful. I shall get my wrap.” She hurried out of the room almost before he had finished his sentence.

  Raising his brow, he watched her sweep out of the room. “Miss Crookshank is a lady of decision.”

  Marianne felt a regrettable impulse to laugh, but she controlled it, keeping her expression—she hoped—suitably bland. She would not suggest to the formidable marquess that she favored his suit; it was much too early to decide if he merited her approval.

  “That is true,” she agreed. Too true; her main worry right now was that Louisa would rush into a precipitous engagement with this man before taking time to find out more about his character or his habits.

  Since she was the girl’s sponsor, she must do some delicate probing of her own, Marianne decided. Besides, they had to talk about something! The man who sat across from her, his gaze on the patterned paper on the wall and his thoughts seemingly far away, seemed remarkably devoid of small talk.

  “Why have you come to London so seldom?” Marianne asked, then, afraid she herself had been too blunt, added, “I mean, most of the Ton come to town for the Season every year. Do you not enjoy parties and theater outings, balls and galas?”

  John felt his heart sink. How could he keep up this charade? He already felt like a total impostor; simply conversing with ladies of good breeding was taxing his limited social skills. He considered telling this lovely, if somewhat cool-mannered, lady that he would give a thousand pounds to be back on his own estate right now, strolling through the grounds that surrounded his home, checking a field of ripening grain or watching a bird spooked by Runt or one of the other dogs soar up into the blue sky. With an inner sigh he put away that vision of solitary peace and pulled his mind back to the rigors of a London drawing room.

  “I am a plain countryman,” he said, hearing the stiffness in his tone. “I lack those easy manners with which to please people I do not know, and also—I fear—the patience to accommodate the stares and curious whispers of strangers. Not that I care about such things, of course.”

  Despite his disclaimer, he feared he had said too much. The cool gaze of the woman sitting across from him had warmed into a look of sympathy and—something more. He did not wish for pity! But when she bent and touched his arm lightly with her hand, he felt a spark from the slight contact that reverberated through his whole being.

  God, she was tempting, and the curve of her breasts as she leaned forward made his stomach go hollow with unbidden desire. Her eyes seemed bluer today, like a deep smoky sky in autumn, and he wished he could read the thoughts she guarded so carefully. No, he must not think these things—except he suddenly ached with wanting to reach for her, pull her closer . . .

  John blinked and gave himself a mental shake.

  Sensing his retreat, Marianne drew back. Had she offended him? She had not meant to seem patronizing—nor pitying—she could sense his fierce independence of spirit and knew he would abhor such treatment. But she had suddenly realized that his scarred face must be a trial for him. He did care, no matter what he said, that people found his pockmarks disconcerting. Yet, only an ignorant lout would stare at such small imperfections; they were overall a trivial part of his appearance, did he not realize that? His well-shaped brown eyes, with their arching dark brows, his strong nose and firm chin with the hint of a cleft, all gave him a look of such vigor, such decision, that no one who looked closely could fail to grasp his strength of will.

  The question was, how did he use that inner strength? How would he treat a wife as young and untried as Louisa? It was vital that Marianne discover his private tendencies before she allowed this courtship to go too far.

  Now Louisa floated back into the room, a wispy shawl tucked around her shoulders, and smiled at the marquess. “I am ready!”

  Standing, he had the manners to look at Marianne before offering Louisa his arm. “Do you not wish to also don something against the wind?”

  “I’m fine,” she said and motioned for them to go ahead. But he waited for her to preceed them down the narrow staircase and outside, where his groom handed the ladies up into a dark carriage, to Louisa’s ill-concealed disappointment. Marianne mentally scheduled another lecture on the proper conduct of a lady—not that all her earlier ones had made much dent in Louisa’s boundless naivete, but as a proper guardian, Marianne had to try—and took her seat inside the carriage.

  It was of good quality, but perhaps somewhat out of date. Her thoughts too obvious, Louisa gazed about at the leather cushions and wood paneling. Marianne hoped the marquess could not read her ward as easily as she herself did, but when he took his seat, he remarked, his tone mild, “It has e
xcellent springs and rides well, though it may not display the most current fashion.”

  Marianne said quickly, before Louisa could speak, “We do not expect gentlemen to follow the latest fads like the ladies sometimes enjoy doing, my lord.”

  This was not precisely correct, of course. Many men of style were quite as interested in fashion’s trends as were their wives and sweethearts. But she did not wish to embarrass him.

  The marquess raised one brow. “Only to keep their footing?”

  She was almost surprised into a laugh. While Louisa gazed at them both in surprise, Marianne conquered her sometimes irreverent sense of humor. “Of course.”

  When they reached Hyde Park, the coachman pulled up, and the three of them stepped out and strolled through the walkways. At this early hour of the day, the park was lightly peopled, mostly with nursemaids or governesses shepherding small children or sitting on benches and watching their charges at play. As she watched Louisa flutter her long lashes toward the gentleman who gallantly offered her his arm, Marianne thought the neatly uniformed women had the lighter responsibility. Too bad she couldn’t trade places with one of the serving girls! That small girl toddling about dragging her doll behind her would be much easier to mind than a rash and impulsive young lady. . . . No, that was nonsense. Marianne had no wish to be a servant, and chaperoning Louisa was not so onerous.

  Avoiding one young lad who rolled his hoop down the walk, Marianne tried to hang back just a little, but the marquess slowed to wait for her. He seemed determined to include her in the group, and the three of them chatted about the flowers, the pale blue sky overhead, and similar matters of high import.

  The man seemed to be trying very hard, Marianne thought. While she knew she should approve, in a way it seemed a poor use of his time. His big frame, broad shoulders, and towering height seemed suited to bigger venues. Of course, at least out in the open air, there was no furniture for him to upset.

  “Have you ever gone abroad, my lord?” she asked suddenly. Louisa had paused to examine a particularly pretty clump of daffodils, and Marianne and the marquess waited a few steps farther on.

  He shook his head. “No, when I was younger, the war prevented it, and then—since then I have not had the inclination.”

  With all the wealth and time at his disposal, she thought it a pity. He must have read something of her disapproval, because he lifted his brows.

  “And you?”

  Marianne grimaced. “My husband would call travel a waste of good money, and, as you said, the peace that would allow it came only recently.”

  She paused, but her thoughts continued wistfully as she recalled old dreams long deferred. It was, of course, more difficult for single ladies to journey alone. Wealthy women could do it, with a suitable female companion and lots of male servants to protect them, but she did not have the requisite funds. But she would never speak of her comparative penury. Marianne was thankful for the small income she did have, and if she minded her budget, it had always sufficed to keep her comfortable.

  “But you have considered it?” To her surprise, he seemed interested enough to pursue the topic.

  She glanced down at the tulips lining the path, not ready to expose so much of her inner self. “I heard a lecture recently by a sojourner just back from Egypt,” she said. “It was a fascinating talk, all about pyramids and deserts and whirling dervishes.”

  “And the great Sphinx,” he suggested. “With the body of a lion and the head of a man—ancient mysteries there, indeed.”

  “Oh yes,” she agreed, delighted to find a sympathetic spirit. So many of the Ton yawned if she spoke of faraway lands. “Only think of the wonders that await the traveler brave enough to venture so far.”

  But now his expression reverted to that familiar shuttered look; what had she said? While Marianne searched for her misstep, Louisa rejoined them in time to join in.

  “Aunt is right—only consider Paris, with its wealth of fashion! The Gothic beauties of Notre Dame, and Versailles, where queens once danced! A trip across the Channel would be divine. I should love a honeymoon on the Continent.”

  She paused, and, this time, the younger woman blushed for real. Marianne said, making her tone as repressive as any proper gray-haired chaperone, “Plenty of time to think of that, Louisa. Let’s walk a little farther this way, those beds of tulips look most pleasing.”

  Mercifully, Louisa confined her comments to the flowers for some time and barely even fluttered her lashes. The marquess murmured polite responses to her small talk.

  With Louisa temporarily abashed into propriety, Marianne tried to make out the puzzle of this guarded, rather withdrawn man, as enigmatic in his own way as some ancient monument. At least, he did not make fun of Louisa’s impulsive blunders, and so far, she did not sense the meanspiritedness or malicious impulses that had been her biggest fear. Perhaps he would turn out to be a suitable candidate for Louisa’s hand, after all.

  For some reason, this did not raise Marianne’s spirits. So it was a somewhat subdued party that rounded the curve of the walkway and paused when another couple blocked their way.

  Marianne, who had been lost in her own thoughts, glanced up and knew that her eyes widened. The young woman in the green pelisse and sprigged muslin gown smiled politely, but the young man’s expression appeared arrested. It was the gentleman from Vauxhall, Louisa’s onetime suitor, Sir Lucas Englewood.

  He bowed, looking down at the gravel path and not meeting their gaze. “Excuse me.”

  Louisa lifted her chin and took a firmer grip on the marquess’s arm. “Of course,” she said, her tone cold, and immediately broke into animated chatter directed pointedly at her companion. “Shall we return to your carriage, my lord? I believe the wind is becoming colder. I would not wish for my aunt to become chilled.”

  Very considerate, Marianne thought a bit sourly, trying not to watch the play of emotions that flashed across Sir Lucas’s face. If that was indeed Louisa’s only motive for wheeling the marquess about and marching smartly back toward his carriage, her fashionable bonnet turned resolutely away from the couple they had just encountered, she was being solicitous, indeed. But somehow, Marianne had her doubts.

  Five

  When they returned home, Lord Gillingham escorted them to the door. Louisa made her thanks with her usual guileless charm. “It was so good of you to favor us with your company. I hope we can do it again, my lord.”

  He nodded. “Of course. Tomorrow morning?”

  “Or perhaps in the afternoon, around five?” Louisa fluttered her lashes, and her smile would have melted butter.

  Had she already learned that this was the fashionable hour to be seen in the park? Marianne tried not to allow her cynical thought to color her expression.

  The marquess hesitated. “You don’t think the park will be unpleasantly crowded?”

  Marianne opened her mouth, about to argue for the morning, since he so obviously did not care to stroll with too many people about, people who might stare at his blemished face, but Louisa was too quick.

  “Oh, but my lord, I am so new to London, I enjoy seeing the lovely ladies and impressive gentlemen. Not that any man could be more splendid than you, of course.”

  Marianne stared at their escort’s unfashionable clothes and careless appearance and swallowed hard. Only Louisa could make this artless speech sound heartfelt.

  He hesitated again, then bowed. “As you wish.”

  He made his departure, and the ladies went into the house, pausing in the hall to take off their bonnets and gloves.

  “That was not very considerate, Louisa,” Marianne told her ward, annoyed with the girl’s usual determination to get her own way.

  “What? I am not allowed to see the same gentleman two days in a row?” Louisa opened her light blue eyes very wide.

  “You know what I mean!” Marianne restrained her irritation with effort, aware that Masters hovered nearby, listening to every word.

  “Luncheon is ready,
madam,” the footman said.

  “Thank you, we shall be there directly,” Marianne told him. He withdrew, and they proceeded to the dining room. When the ladies had both been seated and the first course served, the footman withdrew for a moment, and Marianne was able to proceed.

  “You know that the marquess does not enjoy crowds—he’s very conscious of the scars on his face.”

  “But I wish to help him overcome his excessive sensibility,” Louisa said, her tone earnest and her expression quite free of guilt. “I have no abhorrence of his appearance, and he must be made to see that any well-meaning person will not regard such minor imperfections.”

  This was hard to argue with, though Marianne still felt qualms. She was not sure that the marquess’s dread would be so easily assuaged. She sensed darker emotions beneath the man’s guarded demeanor, scars from a hurt deeper than those that lingered from his illness.

  “And you will enjoy seeing all the fashionable people, and being seen in the company of a man of such high rank?”

  “Of course.” Louisa’s smile was sunny.

  Marianne stabbed her fork into a piece of chicken, but though it was tender enough, she somehow found it hard to swallow.

  “After luncheon, may we go out to the shops?” Louisa asked. “I have in mind a new bonnet to go with the violet walking dress I ordered from the dressmaker last week.”

  “Perhaps later,” Marianne said. “I think you should have a short rest before we venture out again.”

  The picture of boundless energy, Louisa lifted her head. “Oh, do not worry, I’m not in the least tired.”

  “But I am,” Marianne said, trying to keep her tone even, but wishing she could shake her irrepressible charge. “And my head aches. Perhaps the sun was too bright.”