An Exquisite Marriage (7 page)

Marcus sighed, suddenly tired in the extreme. But all the old guilt followed quickly behind. She had every right to be angry, and every right to hate him, and certainly his father. But he'd already done everything he could, except the last thing, and nothing else seemed to be enough.

“I do not have time to go over this argument with you again, Bernadette,” he said. “I will talk to Marius, and I will let you know what is decided. That will have to do for now.”

“If you say so.” She wiped at her eyes with her crumpled handkerchief. “Then I must accept it.”

“I'm afraid you must.”

“Well, I suppose I'd better sneak out the side entrance so as not to disturb your breakfast with your family.” She bit the last word off.

Marcus rang for Shepherd to show Bernadette out and told him to order the carriage brought round. The man probably knew who she really was, and who she'd been to the old duke. Probably most of the household servants knew. He wondered sometimes how much Aunt Kearsely knew.

His mother surely had known quite a bit. Marcus faced the window and folded his hands behind himself. The former Duchess of Windford had been a tiny, plump, dignified woman. She'd run her house like clockwork, entertained faultlessly, and every year had seemed just a little sadder and a little more tired. She'd always held Marcus and his sisters at arm's length, but that hadn't seemed unusual to him. Most of his peers were raised by nannies and tutors until the boys were sent off to school and the girls entrusted to governesses. It was the way things were done.

But when he found the letters, he began to wonder if Mother hadn't deliberately been keeping her children at a distance. Perhaps she'd been shielding them from her own troubles, and their father's actions.

Perhaps she'd been trying to hide from them the fact that her managing and concealing and enduring was driving her to an early grave.

A soft knock sounded on the door, and Marcus turned, expecting it to be Shepherd to tell him that the carriage was ready. But it wasn't. It was Adele.

“Marcus? Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” he said. He even managed a smile. “Everything is fine. There's nothing for you to worry about.”

Just a year ago, that would have been enough for Adele. She would have gone away without asking any questions. But Adele had been changing, and most dramatically since New Year's. Since she'd taken up with Lady Helene, in fact. She not only looked different, but she spoke with more spirit and confidence. Mostly, he approved of the changes, even when it did mean more wrangling with Patience and Aunt Kearsely at the table. But such increased confidence had its inconvenient sides as well.

“That was Mrs. Darington that Shepherd was showing out, wasn't it? Your foreman's widow?”

“Yes,” said Marcus briefly. He'd told Adele and Patience that Mrs. Darington was the widow of one of the board members for a steam mill he owned in Manchester. Manufactories were dangerous places. Marcus had created a pension fund for the widows and orphans of the workers. As far as his family knew, Mrs. Darington was in charge of making sure those funds were distributed. That was, he explained, why she might, on occasion, be seen at the house. “I'm going to have to go out for a bit, Adele,” he said. “Tell Aunt Kearsely, will you?”

“Of course,” Adele said, but she didn't move from her spot beside the door. “Marcus, did Helene tell you anything about what happened between her and Broadheathe at Mrs. Wrexford's ball?”

“No. Why would she?”

“No reason,” said Adele. “Only she never talks about him to anybody. But she's so strong-willed and sensible, she can't have been that surprised to see him. Not surprised enough to faint.”

“Well, she's hardly likely to confide in me. I don't know her. I've only met her once.”

“Twice, actually,” breathed Adele.

“What are you talking about?”

“You met her at New Year's. I believe you even spent some time alone with her.”

“What would you know about that?”

“Nothing at all,” she replied primly. “It wasn't as if I was there at the time. But you were, and you were there again at the ball just when Helene needed you. I thought maybe . . .”

“You are thinking nonsense,” he said curtly. He also tried to ignore the relief he felt as Shepherd glided up behind his sister. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I must get ready to leave.”

The previous Lord Windford had never acknowledged any of his outside children. This fact had not prevented Bernadette from raising her son, Marius, as much like a gentleman as she could, under the circumstances. And like most young men of his age and class, Marius Darington kept rooms in St. James. When Marcus strode in, he found the boy sitting on a silk-covered sofa with two other youths, presumably friends. He was sporting a healthy black eye and a sour expression that only grew worse when he saw, with his fully open eye, who barged into his rooms.

“My Lord Windford,” Marius muttered, struggling to his feet. The other youths leapt to theirs.

“Marius,” replied Marcus curtly. “What's happened?”

“Nothing's happened.” Marius groaned and fell back onto the sofa, his eyes, or rather, eye rolled toward the ceiling. The boy looked as he usually did: an expensive mess. His perfectly cut coat was rumpled, and his breeches were stained with dirt and what was probably wine. “A boring argument.”

Marcus looked at the other youths. They were both thin and expensively dressed and looked much the worse for drink and worry. “Perhaps your friends would excuse us?”

Marius nodded and gestured, and the others took their leave, murmuring platitudes about how Marius should buck up and that they'd be sure to see him tonight. When the door was shut, Marcus drew up a chair beside the sofa. He tried to muster some patience. When he was Marius's age, he'd just inherited his title. He hadn't had time for the idleness many of the scions of nobility indulged in. But if he had, who knew what he would have gotten up to, given is father's encouragement and example?

“Your mother said there were accusations of cheating,” Marcus said calmly to the boy on the sofa.

Marius winced but otherwise showed no sign of surprise that Mrs. Darington had shared his particular troubles. “Well, there weren't. Some consideration of payment, yes. Cheating, no.”

“Payment on your side?”

“Would my mother have made a fuss at you if it wasn't?” said Marius, mostly to the ceiling. “After all, I'm a
gentleman
, just like you. I must live as a gentleman lives! I must drink, I must gamble and ride and do the rest of it. Otherwise . . . what am I?” He flung out one arm.

“Are those your words or your mother's?” asked Marcus softly.

“Believe what you like,” muttered Marius. “It makes no difference in the end, does it?”

Suspicion stole over Marcus's usual exasperation. “Have you and your mother quarreled?”

“I do not quarrel with my mother,” Marius said dully. “I do my duty, as I must.”

Marcus sighed. “Marius, it is time for you to take up the reins of your own life. I've told you I will help you to any profession you like . . .”

Marius laughed harshly, but at least he sat up. “Like what?” He spread his hands wide. “I believe you've been told I've no head for schooling, and that my health is not suited for the law. I avoid church like the plague, and as I'm not to be allowed an estate to manage, what else is there for the gentleman and the son of a gentleman? What future could you possibly offer me that would be worth two pins?”

“You're still half foxed.”

Marius paused, considering. “Yes. At least half.”

Marcus sighed and got up to ring the bell. “I'll order your man to make some coffee.”

“There's no need. It should be here in a minute.” Marius buried his head in both hands.

“Marius . . .” began Marcus.

“Spare me, please,” the boy muttered without raising his head. “You and mother settle up. I've somewhere to be this afternoon.”

“Your club?”

“If you must know, it's an auction. I'm allowed to collect things, I believe. That is a gentleman's pursuit. Even if he's collecting books.”

Marcus looked at the boy and his disheveled appearance, and at the room, which showed all the aspirations, and all the wear, of the dandy bachelor. He also looked at the bookcase. He'd not noticed it before. It was different from the rest of the room. The shelves were free of all dust and clutter. They were also packed with leather-bound volumes—folios and quartos, and even a few small pamphlets stacked carefully in their own section. It was the first thing of Marius's Windford had seen the boy bother to take care of.

“I believe you were leaving, Your Grace?” said Marius. “I need to change and, as you so discreetly pointed out, sober up.”

“We will continue this discussion later,” Windford said.

“I have no doubt.”

Once downstairs, Marcus climbed into his carriage and knocked on the roof to signal the man to drive on. He sat back and stared glumly out the window. He had to do something about Bernadette and Marius. But what? The boy seemed determined to demonstrate the worst characteristics of a “gentleman's” dissipation, and as for Bernadette . . . there was only one thing that would satisfy her, and it was the one thing Marcus could not give her.

So what could he do? He'd been trying for years to come up with some solution. Thus far, none had presented itself, and so the problem not only remained, it festered.

This question was still revolving slowly in his mind as the carriage turned into King's Street. All at once, Marcus sat up straighter. There, on the sidewalk, just in front of the surprisingly drab facade that belonged to Almack's Assembly Rooms, stood Lady Helene Fitzgerald.

***

“Good morning, Lady Helene!”

The sound of a man's voice startled Helene out of her reverie. A carriage sporting the Windford crest pulled up on the street. For a moment, she thought it must be Adele, but it was Lord Windford, and as far as she could tell, he was alone.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” she said with a small nod as Marcus leaned out the carriage window so he could tip his hat properly.

“What brings you out at this hour, and . . .” He glanced about curiously. “Alone?”

“I had an early call to make, and the air was so refreshing, I thought I would walk.” That was not true, of course. It was still early in the year, and therefore abominably cold, but Helene could not afford to hire a carriage, and both Adele and Madelene had errands this morning and so could not lend her theirs.

“You decided to walk past Almack's and into clubland?” Marcus said, feigning shock. “Surely not, Lady Helene.” No respectable woman would be seen promenading down that street lined with the exclusive clubs, where men were known to sit at the bow windows and amuse one another by seeing who could make the most cutting, clever, and deprecating remarks on the passersby.

“Surely not,” she agreed. “If the dandies need to sharpen their wits, they can find another whetstone.”

“Are you aspiring to a voucher to Almack's then?” Marcus gestured toward the assembly rooms. “I didn't think those assemblies would appeal to you.”

“Not being eligible for the marriage market, do you mean?”

“Not being a glutton for punishment, or brown bread and butter.”

Which made her smile, drat the man.

“I don't suppose you'd accept a ride?” He looked toward the sky and its heavy layer of clouds. “It's foul and about to get worse.”

“It would not be proper.”

“You're a friend of my sister's. No one could take that the wrong way.”

Helene shot him one of her sharper looks, and he winced. He looked terribly boyish when he did that.
I must stop noticing such things.

“No, you're right,” he said. “Everyone would absolutely take it the wrong way.”

This time she really did smile. “I thank you for your offer in any case,” she said. “Have you any message for Adele? I'm on my way to meet her at Miss Sewell's.”

“All the way to Wimpole Street?”

She shrugged. “I like to walk.” This at least was the truth. She got some of her best ideas on long walks, which was a good thing, because she had to take so many of them.

“What a coincidence. So do I.” Before she could move to stop him, Windford climbed out of the carriage, with an umbrella in his hands.

“There is no need,” Helene insisted. “I am perfectly capable of walking any distance. I do not need your escort.”

“Perhaps I need yours.”

“You have a carriage.”

Marcus turned to look at the conveyance as if surprised to find it there. Then he signaled to the driver, who touched his hat. And drove on.

Helene watched the carriage pull away in utter disbelief.

“You should not have done that!”

“I will not let you walk as far as Wimpole Street alone.”

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but I could choose to walk as far as Berlin, and it would still be none of your business.”

“You'd get your feet wet.”

“I will not laugh.”

“Yet,” he added.

Helene responded with one of her fiercest frowns. “You are supposed to be a horribly unbending and taciturn man.”

“Yes. I've heard. It's surprising to me as well. And so, are we agreed, Lady Helene?”

“About what?” she snapped.

“About the fact that you are not getting rid of me, so we may as well walk?”

Helene groaned and dropped her face into her hands. “What on earth is the matter with you?”

“We can discuss it while we walk if you like.”

“I did not ask you to accompany me!”

Marcus rested the umbrella on one shoulder. “I know. I wanted to, and if you stand here arguing, you'll make yourself late.”

He was not going to budge. And people passing by were beginning to turn their heads. She could not make a scene in the public street.

Drat the man.

“Very well, since you insist.” Helene gathered up her hems and set off.

Marcus had long legs and no trouble at all keeping up with her, even though Helene habitually walked at a very brisk pace.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked. How very fortunate that the slanting sides of her bonnet made it difficult to see him beside her. His handsome face and form would not now be able to disrupt her contemplation of his high-handed behavior.

“Perhaps I am in search of distraction. I had to do something unpleasant this morning.”

That made her peer at him from around the bonnet's edge. “Something unpleasant enough to drive you to walk out in the cold with unappealing company?”

“I will thank you not to speak that way about my company.”

Helene found she had no retort for that. She was reduced to walking on in silence for a ways.
How provoking
.

“Are you going to tell me why you were gazing so fondly at Almack's on a Friday afternoon? The assemblies are on Wednesday.”

“It was hardly fond gazing.”

“Do you aspire to a ticket to a ball? I'm sure Adele could ask my aunt to apply . . .”

Helene laughed, a low and bitter sound. “Do you honestly believe any of the lady patronesses would allow me within their holy sanctum of respectability?”

“I'm sorry,” he said softly. “That was tactless.”

“It was, but I'll forgive you.”

“I'll assume you feel you have grounds for your generosity.”

She smiled softly. Hopefully her bonnet would block the wistful expression. “The grounds are that you forgot I'm not a stainless sample of gentility.”

She expected a chuckle, or another retort, but Marcus's answer was surprisingly serious. “None of us are stainless, Lady Helene. Some of are just better at washing away the evidence.”

“You are an unusual man.”

“I shall take that as a compliment.”

“You should.” She paused. “If you must know, I was considering whether we, that is your sister and Miss Valmeyer and I, could aspire to holding a private assembly at Almack's.”

“You were?”

She nodded. “Now that we have made—call it our second entrance into society, we need to build on our success. If we gave a grand entertainment of some sort, that would turn the trick.”

“And would require a grand setting. What better than Almack's?”

“It's not possible, of course,” said Helene. “Even if we could afford it, we would need the approval of the patronesses, and as I said, that is hardly likely to be forthcoming.”

“Surely there are other rooms.”

“Oh yes, at least a dozen. I was just . . .” The words trailed away. “Nothing. Foolishness.”

“Ah. Yes. Because Lady Helene couldn't, of course, have been dreaming just a little about setting society's collective nose out of joint by an Almack's appearance?”

His eyes were undoubtedly sparkling as he said this. She must not look. Instead, Helene lifted her chin. “No, of course not. That would be entirely petty.”

“Entirely. And I'm sure you wouldn't ever mention it to Adele, so she could imagine the look on Patience's face.”

“I would never engage in such schoolgirl conversation.”

“I knew that about you.”

“You are a very perceptive man.”

“Another compliment!” he exclaimed. “My head shall turn.”

“That, I suspect, would be very difficult to accomplish.”

“What makes you say so?”

Helene paused. “I don't know, yet.”

“A third compliment!”

“How so, sir?”

“Your use of the word ‘yet' implies I am worth further study.”

That stopped her and made her turn so he could see her face. “Lord Windford, are you
flirting
with me?”

Was there a flicker of hesitation before he answered. “No. I was merely hoping to provide you with entertaining conversation so you won't abandon me.”

“Good,” Helene replied firmly.
Good
, she repeated to herself and set off again, at speed. Maybe if she rendered him breathless, he'd stop talking, or at least not be quite so witty and challenging when he did speak.