Anything but a Gentleman (22 page)

She was just about to give way to an impetuous urge to call out to him, when she saw the door of the library open . . .

* * * *

Luke was sitting in the library, waiting for Marianne. He was impatient to see her. Ever since he had seen the Frenchman level a pistol at her; ever since he had flung himself between her and a bullet without even having to think about it, he had known that he was in love with her. He had found something he had thought he would never find: a woman he loved with a deepness and a sincerity he had never known existed. A woman he loved so much he would gladly risk his life for her. He smiled as he thought of Marianne. She was the most bewitching creature in every way. He could not wait to ask her to be his wife.

But he would have to wait, he thought ruefully as he glanced at the clock. He still had some ten minutes to wait before she was due to arrive. He could not pass the time in activity as, although almost recovered from his injury, he still needed to be careful, and so he took out a book of maps.

The door opened. But before he could turn his head he heard a familiar and much-loved voice calling his name: ‘Luke!’

He looked up in astonishment. But no, his ears had not deceived him. It was . . . yes, it really was . . . it was his beautiful young cousin who stood there, exactly as he had last seen her in revolutionary France. The same dark hair and velvety eyes; the same air and carriage, both being decidedly French; her head held high on her graceful neck, and her gown, a simple yet elegant affair, revealing the only difference he could see in her - a sadly-thinned body. But she was his Nicole for all that, his beloved cousin; the cousin he had thought he had lost to the guillotine. And she was safe.

He sprang out of his chair and strode across the room, taking her in his arms and joyfully crushing her to him, his arms wrapped tightly round her and his head buried in her hair. ‘Nicole! Oh, what a joyous day this is, indeed!’

* * * *

Outside the window, Marianne could not move. She had seen the young woman enter the room, seen Luke spring out of his chair and take the young woman in his arms. She had heard Luke’s impassioned cry of ‘Nicole!’ And it had left her devastated. She could not move; could not think; could only watch, as if mesmerised. Watch as Luke pulled away from Nicole, still holding her hands, and look her up and down. Watch as an unmistakeable look of love spread over his face.

‘Ah! What a beautiful sight,
n’est-ce-pas
?’ came a voice at Marianne’s shoulder.

Unbeknownst to her, Henri had handed the horses over to one of Luke’s grooms and had joined her, standing just behind her.

‘Young love; it is a beautiful thing,’ sighed Henri. ‘You ’ave feelings for Luke, Miss Marianne, I know, but you are too generous to grudge ’im this ’appiness. ’e thought ’e ’ad lost Nicole to the
guillotine
.’

Marianne could not reply. She could only stand there, frozen, watching Luke’s love pour out over Nicole.

But then the thought of Miss Stock arriving stirred her.

She could not face an afternoon’s tea with Luke. To make polite conversation, to congratulate him, perhaps . . . She shuddered. No, it was something she could not do. But she knew that if she did not act quickly she would be forced into it.

 She scarcely knew how she managed to speak; nor how her voice managed to remain so calm. But somehow she managed it.

‘As Lord Ravensford has other company, I think perhaps we should postpone our visit, and come back at another time.’

‘
Mais oui
.’ Henri, completely deceived by her manner, was quick to agree. ‘I will go after the stable lad and retrieve the ’orses, and I will give ’im a message to send in to the ’ouse, that we are unable to keep the appointment. We will give Luke this time alone with Nicole.’

He disappeared, only to reappear a minute or two later with his own horse and Marianne’s mare, and together they walked the horses down through the gardens.

‘Miss Marianne . . . . ’ said Henri thoughtfully. ‘If we tell Miss Stock the truth, it will be all round the neighbourhood before you know it, and Luke, ’e may not wish it to be known. It is a private matter, at least for now, so if you ’ave no objections, I will say Milord Ravensford sends ’is regrets, but ’e ’as some urgent business to attend to and cannot entertain visitors to tea.’

‘Yes. Yes, Henri, whatever you think best.’

Marianne was not able to think clearly, and could do no more than listen with half an ear to the things Henri said. She was prepared to let him say whatever he thought best. Indeed, she could not have stopped him even if she had wanted to, because she was too stunned with what she had just seen.

They reached the edge of the gardens and Henri cupped his hands together so that Marianne could mount. She moved awkwardly, but luckily Henri put her stiffness down to the cold. Another minute and they were riding back through the orchards to meet Miss Stock.

‘Why, how unfortunate,’ she exclaimed sympathetically, as Henri told her that Lord Ravensford was unavoidably engaged. ‘But then, that is always the way with gentlemen. They have so many calls on their time. You are not too disappointed, I hope, my dear?’ asked Miss Stock, turning to Marianne.

‘No.’ Marianne managed a semblance of a smile.

‘Ah, well. It is a good thing your brother and future sister-in-law did not come after all.’

The ride back to Seaton Hall gave Marianne a chance to recover some of her composure. Miss Stock was not a natural horsewoman and made very little conversation whilst on horseback, a fact which allowed Marianne to restore herself to some semblance of calm. And calm was necessary. It was one thing to fool Henri and Miss Stock into thinking there was nothing wrong, but it would be quite another thing to try and fool Kit. Her brother had known her all her life, and was always able to tell when something was amiss. She would have to be extra vigilant during the rest of the afternoon and evening, to make sure he did not guess that she was disturbed. She did not want him to blame Luke for what had happened. Luke had done nothing wrong. No, all he had done was – what? What had he done?

Fallen in love with her? She had assumed so, but she had to acknowledge to herself that he had never said so.

Wanted to marry her? Again, she had assumed so, but he had never asked for her hand. She had thought he was going to declare himself the previous evening but she could not now even be sure of that. His important question could have been, “Will you wish me happy on my marriage to Nicole?”

It must be, she told herself in her miserable state, that she had misread his feelings entirely, imagining that he was in love with her because she herself was so deeply in love with him.

In love with him.

Oh, yes, she was in love with him. She had known it for some time.

He moved her in a way no other man had ever moved her. He matched her own unconventional nature with an unconventional nature of his own. He was anything but a gentleman, but then, she suspected she was anything but a lady. Oh, she was a lady in all the ways that truly mattered, she knew, but not in the superficial ways. She could not be meek or self-effacing. She could not stand by and pretend to be helpless when she was not. She could not flutter her eyelashes or pretend to be a simpleton. And Luke understood that.  More, he admired her for  it.

Or so she had thought.

But yes, she still thought it. He
did
admire her for her unconventional ways, she was sure of it. It was just that admiration and love were two very different things.

Why, then, if he had not loved her, had he kissed her? she wondered, as they crossed the boundary between Billingsdale and Travis land. And not once, but so often?

But why shouldn’t he? she thought, as she reminded herself again that he was anything but a gentleman. If he was not a gentleman, then how could she expect him to be governed by a gentleman’s standards of behaviour? She couldn’t. He was like the first Earl, he had openly admitted it. He saw what he wanted and he took it. And what he had wanted was her. Perhaps he had even thought he loved her . . . until Nicole had returned.

Dapple began to strain at the bit. The mare was nearing her stable and knew she was on the last leg of the ride. Marianne slackened the rein slightly, giving Dapple a little more freedom.

The one thing she was thankful for, she thought, as she clattered into the stable yard, was that she had told no one of her feelings, not even Kit – although she suspected he had guessed – and she still had her pride to sustain her, at least for the next few hours. After that, she could give way to her feelings. But not now. Not yet. Now, she must not think of it. For the rest of the day, however impossible it seemed, she must put it out of her mind.

And yet, how could she, when the image of him holding Nicole was playing itself endlessly before her? she wondered, as the stable lad helped her to dismount; alternating with the even more painful image of him looking at the Frenchwoman with an expression of pure love? Nicole, whom he must have known long before he had met Marianne; Nicole, whom he had thought he had lost to the
guillotine
.

It would have been a romantic story if it had not been so devastatingly painful, Marianne thought.

But she must not dwell on it. She must be able to offer Miss Stock a dish of tea when they went indoors as though nothing was wrong, and then listen to Kit and Adèle’s plans for their wedding with interest, so as not to spoil a happy occasion for two of the people she cared about most in the world.

She felt her anguish imperceptibly lessen as she led the way into the Hall, soothed by her familiar surrounding. She had lost the terrible numbness that had gripped her, and felt equal to at least pretending to be calm. She invited Miss Stock into the drawing-room, and soon afterwards they were joined by the Reverend Mr Stock, Mr Travis, Kit and Adèle.

‘Marianne. You’re back early,’ said Kit, giving her a quizzical look.

‘Yes, was it not a shame?’ asked Miss Stock, fortunately saving Marianne from the necessity of speaking. ‘Lord Ravensford had to attend to some urgent business, and our tea party had to be put off.’

‘A good thing you didn’t go, then,’ said Mr Travis to his son. ‘You’d have had a wasted journey, and so would the good Reverend.’ He turned to Miss Stock. ‘Your brother has been giving us the benefit of his wisdom in arranging the order of service and in choosing the hymns,’ he told her.

‘Oh, good, Sebastien. I’m so glad you’ve been of use.’

‘And then it’ll be your turn, eh, miss?’ said her father teasingly, turning to Marianne. ‘With that new ball gown Madame LaTour’s making for you, you’ll soon find a husband, eh, Marianne?’

Her father’s well-intentioned joviality could not have come at a worse time. She flushed, but fortunately her father took it for maidenly modesty and turned his attention back to the Reverend.

‘You’ll stay for dinner, Reverend?’ he asked. ‘And Miss Stock, of course,’ he said, making a courtly bow in Miss Stock’s direction.

‘Alas, no,’ said the Reverend Mr Stock with genuine regret: the smells emanating from the kitchen were already making his mouth water. ‘I’m afraid I am seeing Mr and Mrs Thwaite at seven and I mustn’t disappoint them.’

‘Another time, then,’ said Mr Travis courteously.

He went out into the hall with the Reverend and his sister, to see them on their way.

As soon as he had left the room, Kit went over to Marianne. ‘Is anything wrong, Mari?’ he asked.

She put a smile on her face. ‘No. Of course not. What could be wrong? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must change out of my riding habit. I would have done it sooner, but I did not like to abandon Miss Stock.’

And with that she left the room.

Kit, puzzled, looked after her.

‘What is it?’ asked Adèle, going over to him and taking his arm.

‘I don’t know. It’s just that, there seems to be something wrong with Marianne. I wonder if Luke was really out, or –’

‘You cannot solve a lover’s quarrel,’ she said gently. ‘If Marianne and Luke have indeed had a falling out, they must solve it on their own. You cannot do it for them, Kit, no matter how much you might wish it.’

Kit sighed, covering his hand with his own. ‘You’re right, my love. We have had our fair share of problems, and our love is stronger because of them. Marianne and Luke must find their own way, too.’

Chapter Twelve

Marianne found it very difficult to concentrate over the next, dragging, days. The time should have been enjoyable, consisting as it did of making preparations for the ball, and not just any ball, but a ball that was being held to celebrate her brother’s betrothal. But she could not prevent her thoughts returning again and again to Luke. If only she could have disliked him it would have made it so much easier, giving her a vent for her turbulent emotions. But even now she could not dislike him, because he had never lied to her. He had never told her he loved her. He had never deceived her.

Or if only she could have disliked Nicole. But how could she dislike a beautiful young woman who had never intentionally done her any harm, and who had not only endured the terrors of revolutionary France but had also narrowly escaped the
guillotine
?

No; even in her pain she could not be so unreasonable.

The one thing which made it easier for her was the fact that she did not have to see Luke and Nicole together. In fact, she did not even have to see Luke. Kit was too preoccupied with his own concerns to visit his friend, and as Luke himself did not come to call she was spared the painful necessity of congratulating him on his happiness whilst she was suffering inside. She had been half-expecting it to begin with, jumping every time she heard the sound of a carriage and steeling herself to face the coming ordeal with calm. But he never came.

The reason for that, however, was soon explained. Miss Stock, visiting with the Reverend Mr Stock, revealed that Lord Ravensford had gone to London.

‘Although what he can be doing there I’m sure I don’t know,’ said Miss Stock, who enjoyed a harmless gossip. ‘Perhaps it is connected with the business that compelled him to cancel our tea party.’