Candice Hern (12 page)

At the interval, Adam rose with the other gentlemen in the box and offered to procure refreshments for the ladies. He was pleased to see Marianne gather the younger women — Lady Somerfield's niece, Miss Thirkill, and her friend Miss Billingsley — around Clarissa. She would likely be more at ease with girls nearer her own age. He sent Marianne a message of thanks with his eyes, and she smiled in acknowledgment.

Just as he turned toward the door of the box, Adam caught a glimpse of Hopwood placing a hand on Marianne's bare back while he leaned down to speak to her. Images of the fellow touching her more intimately caused a knot to twist in Adam's stomach.

He really must get hold of himself. Marianne's private affairs were none of his business. He did not know why this whole question about her taking a lover got under his skin, but it was driving him to distraction.

You're in love with the woman. Always have been.

Rochdale's accusation rang in his head. It was not true, of course. Adam admired her. He respected her. He cared about her a great deal. But Marianne was his best friend's wife. He would never have betrayed David by falling in love with her.

He was, however, willing to admit that he was attracted to her. He might even concede that he'd
always
harbored a glimmer of attraction for her, but for the sake of his friend had buried it so deep it had virtually disappeared over the years. Now, however, as he watched other men look at her with admiration, even lust, that long-buried attraction had inconveniently risen to the surface once again. And because his engagement to Clarissa meant he could not act on it, he was driven to do stupid things to insure that none of those other men did, either. He was fairly certain, in fact, that he was about to do one more stupid thing.

He turned away and left the box with Tolliver. Hopwood followed close behind.

"I say, Hopwood," Adam said as they made their way along the crowded corridor, "you have an estate in Suffolk, do you not?"

* * *

"I am so pleased to see you out ... and about." Evelina Woodall, who'd left her own box to call upon a few others, darted a glance in the direction of Lord Hopwood's empty chair. "You look stunning tonight, and have the attentions of a very attractive man. I'm proud of you, my dear."

"Are you? You don't think I'm being ... disloyal?"

"To David? Nonsense. He would want you to enjoy yourself. I have no doubt he would approve. And so do I."

Marianne took her sister-in-law's hand and squeezed it. "Thank you, Evelina. It pleases me to know that at least some members of David's family do not think me heartless."

"None of us think that of you, my dear."

"Not even your mother?"

Evelina lifted a shoulder. "She will come around one day. Give her time."

Marianne did not believe David's mother would ever come around, but she kept quiet. Evelina spoke briefly of the opera, then said her farewells as she left to visit other boxes. Marianne went to stand beside Beatrice and Penelope.

"So?" Penelope whispered. "Is it to be Lord Hopwood?"

"Hush," Marianne said, and glanced toward Clarissa and the other two young women standing nearby. "The girls might overhear."

"They are much too busy discussing bonnets and lace trimmings," Beatrice said, looking over her shoulder at the trio. "They are not the least interested in what we older women have to say. They are bound to assume three dried up widows have nothing more interesting to discuss than tisane recipes or the best way to relieve the pain in our aching joints."

"If they only knew," Penelope said with a laugh, then glanced at the girls. "I confess I am surprised that Cazenove offered for the Leighton-Blair chit. What a shame to waste all that glorious masculinity on such a ninny of a girl. That giggle!"

The infamous titter rose up, as if on cue. Marianne stifled a groan.

"I confess I feel the same," she said. "But Adam seems to be infatuated with her. She is very sweet. And very shy, I think."

Penelope shrugged. "Still, it seems a shame. But I want to hear all about Lord Hopwood before he comes back. So tell us, Marianne."

"There is nothing to tell." Marianne kept her voice low so that the other two women had to lean in very close to hear. "Lord Hopwood has been very attentive. But other than a brief drive in the park, this is the first time we have spent much time together. I do like him, though."

"He is extremely attractive," Beatrice said.

"I think he will do very nicely," Penelope said. "Has he kissed you yet?"

"No."

"Then you might wait until he does," Penelope said, "before you decide if you want to pursue it further. At least, that is what I would do. I think a man should be a good kisser, don't you?"

"I do agree with that," Beatrice said. "There's more to physical intimacy than just ... the act. When he wasn't making me want to wring his neck, Somerfield could make my knees weak with his kisses."

"Tolliver is an excellent kisser," Penelope said with a smug grin. "He has a very agile tongue."

"So you are lovers already?" Marianne asked.

"Since the night of our first ball. He measures up quite nicely to my young Scotsman."

"Congratulations," Beatrice said.

"I don’t think I could move into an affair that quickly," Marianne said. "I need to know a gentleman a bit more before I could become intimate with him."

"I couldn't agree more," Beatrice said. "Even if the physical pleasure was extraordinary, it would not be worth it to me if I discovered I could not like the gentleman."

"Bosh," Penelope said. "You are both too fussy. Remember, we are not looking for husbands. Only a bit of fun."

"True," Beatrice said. "But I'd prefer to know a man longer than a few weeks, I think."

"As for me," Marianne said, "I will continue to be fussy, if you don't mind. I have already been disappointed in several of the gentleman I had considered."

"How so?" Beatrice asked. "What happened?"

"Well, first there was Trevor Fitzwilliam."

"Ah, the poet," Penelope said with a wistful sigh. "Perfectly gorgeous man."

"That may be," Marianne said, "but I cannot think much of a man who does not pay the least attention to anything I say. The blackguard sent me a huge bouquet of gardenias after I had specifically mentioned that lilies are my favorite flower."

"To give him the benefit of the doubt," Beatrice said, "he may have decided that every other man would send you lilies and he only meant to be original."

"After I had said that gardenias make me sneeze?"

Penelope chuckled. "Oh, dear."

"I think he ignored everything I said when we spoke about flowers, just so he could send me one of his sonnets comparing my skin to the petals of a gardenia."

"That sounds rather charming to me," Beatrice said.

"The point is he was more interested in his poem than in doing something that would truly please me. How could he have ignored the fact that the damned flowers make me ill? No, I cannot be bothered with a man more interested in himself than he is in me."

"A wise decision," Penelope said. "A man like that is likely to ignore your needs altogether and simply race to his own finish."

All three of them laughed, and a few heads turned their way, so they huddled together more closely.

"And then there was Sir Arthur Denney," Marianne said.

"What happened with him?" Penelope asked.

"He took me driving in the park, and spent the entire time telling me about a cockfight he'd attended the day before."

"Ew." Beatrice's face puckered up in distaste.

"Every spur and thrust was related to me. Every ounce of spilled blood and torn feathers was described in excruciating detail. I thought I was going to be sick."

"How perfectly horrid," Penelope said.

"It does not say much for the man's sensitivity," Beatrice said.

"Indeed it does not. You would think he'd have noticed I had turned pale. Or worse. I felt decidedly green around the edges. But that did not stop him. Even when I asked him to change the subject, he laughed and became even more gruesome. I have never jumped down from a carriage so fast in all my life. I could not wait to get away from him."

"I wonder how a man like that treats a woman in bed?" Penelope asked.

"I trust," Marianne said, "that none of us shall ever know."

"And so it is down to Lord Hopwood," Beatrice said.

"There are still a few others I am considering," Marianne said. "Sidney Gilchrist and Lord Julian Sherwood, for example, have done nothing yet to disgust me. I had thought Lord Aldershot had shown an interest, but he seems to be avoiding me lately."

"If things do not work out with Lord Hopwood," Penelope said, "I would recommend Lord Julian. He is certainly the most handsome, and he fills out his breeches very nicely."

"Penelope!"

"Oh, bosh. Do not tell me you haven't noticed. Ah, here is Tolliver." She got up and walked to the doorway of the box, where Eustace Tolliver stood chatting with two other gentlemen.

"I hope Lord Hopwood does not disappoint you, too," Beatrice said.

"So do I." Marianne glanced over at the three younger women, who were chattering together amicably, and nodded her head in their direction. "They seem to be getting along famously."

Beatrice smiled. "Emily never stops talking. And my own two girls are at the chatterbox stage as well, wanting to hear every detail of every ball. I declare, the three of them quite wear me out sometimes." She paused and watched her niece and the others for a moment. "Miss Leighton-Blair must be three or four years older than Emily, but seems almost as young."

"Yes, she does seem awfully young for her age. I believe she is twenty or twenty-one. I confess, it is difficult to imagine her as Adam's wife."

Beatrice lifted her brows. "I believe you would feel that way about any woman he decided to marry. You have been close friends for too long to be objective."

"You are probably right. But I worry about this match. I find myself feeling angry with him for choosing such a girl, one who cannot possibly offer him more than her youth and beauty."

"Have a care, Marianne. You are making assumptions where you should not. You do not know how things are between them in private."

"But I know Adam, and I cannot imagine him finding contentment with a biddable young girl. Can you? Clarissa is not the sort who will stand up to him, argue with him, speak her own mind with him."

"Just because you behave that way with him does not mean he wants that in the woman he marries. Perhaps he wants a biddable wife. Most men do."

But Marianne did not think that was what Adam wanted. At least, she could not believe it was. He had seen how her marriage with David had been, how they had been equal partners, how they had much in common but could also disagree and argue, how they shared everything, knew each other inside out. That's the sort of marriage he would want. That was what she wanted for him. Yet, deep in her heart, she did not believe he would find that with Clarissa.

"Do you know, Beatrice, I think she is even a little afraid of him."

"What makes you say that?"

"I don't know. She just never seems quite at ease around him."

"In public. Her behavior with him in private may be a different matter altogether. It is with most of us, after all. Do not worry about them, Marianne. They will be fine. And so will you."

"You are right, of course. I am just feeling a bit sad that my long friendship with Adam will never be the same."

Beatrice touched her arm. "It may never be the same, but it doesn't have to end completely. It would do you good to befriend the girl. If you want to keep Adam in your life, you will need to accept Clarissa."

"I know. Perhaps I will go have a little chat with her now."

She rose and walked over to where the three younger women were gathered and pretending not to notice the shouts from young men below trying to get their attention. She moved to stand beside Clarissa.

"Young men never change," she said. "They were shouting from the pit in my day as well."

Clarissa turned to her and smiled. "They seem very silly to me."

"Oh, they are just full of high spirits. I think they are great fun. But you prefer older men, do you not? Like Mr. Cazenove?"

Clarissa blushed. "I prefer him. It doesn't matter that he's a bit older than me."

Marianne laughed. "A bit older? My dear girl, he is almost six years older than
me
."

"He is?"

"But that doesn't signify when you’re in love. He will make you a fine husband. And he is very lucky to have such a beautiful, young wife."

"Thank you. That is very kind of you to say."

Marianne gave a dismissive little wave of her hand. "Tell me, are you enjoying the Season so far?"

"Oh, yes. We've been to ever so many balls and parties, and Mr. Cazenove has taken me to galleries and museums and such. It has been great fun. And educational."

"Educational?" Marianne smiled. "Things have certainly changed since I was a girl. The last thing we wanted during the Season was something educational. But things are different now, are they not? In my day, girls were looking for younger men, and everyone wanted one with a title. No one would dream of entertaining the addresses of anyone lower than a baronet, unless he had buckets of money." She chuckled softly. "Of course, I was already betrothed when I came to town for my first Season, and didn't worry about such things. I believe modern girls like you don't worry about them either, do you? Mr. Cazenove is neither titled nor exceedingly wealthy."

Clarissa lifted her chin a notch. "No, I do not worry about Mr. Cazenove's lack of title, though his grandfather
was
an earl. And his fortune was sufficient to satisfy my father."

"Yes, of course. I did not mean to impugn Mr. Cazenove in any way. As you must know, he is one of my dearest friends. I only meant to compliment you on not being as obsessed with titles and fortunes as girls were during my Season, and still are, I daresay. There are plenty of other girls to vie for the attention of some of those young men in the pit. Lord Ushworth, for example. Or Sir George Lowestoft. Smile, my dear. They are both staring up at you with their opera glasses."