The Earl Next Door (7 page)

‘I will not be dancing any time soon,’ shrugged Henri. ‘But you and I, Luke, we ’ave suffered worse. We ’ave ’elped many people escape from the Revolution.’ He hesitated, then said, ‘You ’ave ’eard no news of your cousin?’

‘Nicole? No. But her betrothed is still in
France
and will not rest until he knows her fate. Meanwhile, we have other things to do. Keep an eye on Marianne, Henri, and if she needs any help then send me word. I will do everything I can to lighten her load.'

Henri looked at him with a twinkle in his eye. ‘She is delightful, Marianne, is she not?’

‘She is,’ said Luke with a twinkle of his own. ‘But she is also Kit’s sister, and I never mix business with pleasure.’

Henri shrugged his shoulders in a typically Gallic gesture. ‘It is a pity, all the same. That hair, those eyes . . . they make the task of ’elping ’er a treat,
non
?’

Luke gave a wolfish smile. ‘Too much of a treat.’

And with that he threw his leg over his horse and rode away.

To her surprise, Marianne found herself looking forward to the Cosgroves’ ball. Usually she disliked going out on winter evenings, but this evening it seemed foolish to worry about icy roads and draughty carriages. Not that it had anything to do with Lord Ravensford, she told herself. No matter how interesting she found him she could never think of marriage; not with all her responsibilities to the estate; and  –

She stopped, startled. Marriage indeed! What was she thinking of? She must indeed be in need of more company, as Trudie was fond of telling her, if her thoughts were leaping to marriage simply because a bachelor had moved into the neighbourhood.

‘It’s a good thing you’re a slender nymph,’ said Trudie, recalling her thoughts to the present as she helped Marianne into her silk ballgown. It was of soft cream, perfectly suiting Marianne’s complexion and setting off  the colour of her bright blue eyes. ‘When I used to help your mama dress it was always panniers and wigs and goodness knows what. Now the fashions are any old how, and it’s do as you will and come as you please.’ She gave a snort, not attempting to hide her opinion on the modern fashions, which in her opinion were not a patch on the opulent styles of yesteryear.

The line of Marianne’s gown was simple. Its close-fitting bodice, ornamented with three small ribbon bows one above the other, showed off her trim waist, and the full skirt, with the merest hint of a bustle, was decorated with a large bow at the back. A slight train flowed becomingly behind her.

‘And now for your pearls,’ said Trudie, fastening the simple necklace round Marianne’s neck.

Marianne surveyed herself in the cheval glass. Her dark hair, brushed until it shone, had been arranged into a mass of ringlets that surrounded her face and fell halfway down her back. It was decorated with an ivory plume that picked up the colour of the lace which edged her scooped neckline and spilled from her three-quarter-length sleeves.

She turned to see herself from the back. As she did so the full skirt swirled around her ankles, making a delightful swishing sound, reminding Marianne that it was an age since she had last dressed up and attended a ball.

‘Well, I say it as shouldn’t,’ said Trudie mistily, ‘you look as pretty as a picture. Your mama’d be proud.’

‘You spoil me,’ smiled Marianne.

‘Someone has to,’ returned Trudie. ‘You’ve grown too serious of late, Miss Marianne. You need a bit of fun. But mind, you be home by
midnight
.’

‘Or the carriage will turn into a pumpkin,’ Marianne teased.

‘It better not,’ said Trudie with relish, ‘or Henri will make it into soup.’

‘I must just go in and see Papa before I go,’ said Marianne,  picking up her fan and gloves.

Trudie stood aside and Marianne made her way to her father’s bedroom. She knocked on the door and went in.

The room was sombre, with heavy oak furniture adding to the air of gloom. Dark red drapes round the four poster bed matched dark red drapes at the windows. She thought again how much she would like to change them. But her papa, knocked first of all by the death of his wife and then by the disgrace of his son, had retreated into his own little world and would not now hear of any change.

‘I have come to say goodnight, Papa,’ she said brightly, going over to the man who sat slumped in his chair by the window.

‘Is it bed time already?’ he asked querulously, clutching at the blanket that covered his knees.

‘No, Papa,’ she said, kissing him on the forehead. ‘But I won’t be home until late. I am going to the Cosgroves’ ball, and I know you will not like to be disturbed when I get in.’

‘A ball, you say, my dear?’ he asked tremulously. ‘Are you sure that’s wise?’

‘Quite sure, Papa.’ She spoke briskly, to try and counteract the air of stagnation that hung about the room.

‘Miss Marianne looks beautiful tonight, does she not, my lord?’ prompted Lowe, her father’s valet, as her father made no comment on her appearance.

‘Marianne always looks very well,’ he said, without, however, taking any notice of her dress. ‘But you had better not go, Marianne. The roads are treacherous and there may be robbers and –’

‘I will be quite all right, Papa. I will have Tom to look after me. And tomorrow I will come and tell you all about it,’ said Marianne, cutting across his fretful protests. Then, giving him a last kiss, she made her way down to the hall and, donning her long gloves and travelling cloak, went out to the waiting carriage.

Once she was comfortably settled, Tom took up the reins of the carriage, which had been specially polished for the occasion, and called to the horses, ‘Walk on.’

It took a good half an hour to reach the Cosgroves’ house, but with a stone hot water bottle for her feet and a little silver flask for her hands, to say nothing of her cloak and muff, Marianne hardly felt the cold. She was enjoying being Miss Travis for once, and resolved that for this evening at least she would put all her duties out of her mind.

When they were nearly there the carriage took a slight detour. Miss Stock, the rector’s sister, was to accompany Marianne as her chaperon. Having collected Miss Stock, they went on, finally pulling up in front of Mr and Mrs Cosgrove’s house. The house was ablaze with light. Flambeaux flickered outside, whilst chandeliers sparkled from within. As Marianne walked up the stone steps that led to the front door, followed by the good Miss Stock, she could hear the sound of chatter drifting into the night. She felt a wave of excitement. It was months since she had been to a ball, and she was looking forward to it.

‘Miss Travis! And Miss Stock.’

The Cosgroves gave both ladies a warm welcome, and Marianne was soon at home. Having lived in the neighbourhood all her life she knew most of the people present, and was quickly introduced to everyone else.

‘Let me introduce you to Mr and Mrs Hurst,’ said Jennifer.

Jennifer was Mr and Mrs Cosgrove’s bouncing sixteen-year-old daughter, who was delighting in the fact that her parents had finally allowed her to attend a ball.

Mr and Mrs Hurst were charming.

‘And over there is Mr Windham,’ said Jennifer, as Mr and Mrs Hurst engaged Miss Stock in conversation. She gave an awed giggle. ‘Isn’t he divine?’

Mr Windham looked over in their direction at that moment and Marianne could see why Jennifer was so impressed. Mr Windham was just the sort of gentleman to provoke a girlish fancy. His features were regular and his face was handsome, if bland.

‘But tell me, have you met Lord Ravensford yet?’ asked Jennifer, as Mr Windham turned his attention back to his own party.

‘Yes.’ Marianne was amused at the excitement in Jennifer’s voice.

‘Is he as wildly attractive as everyone says he is?’

‘Everyone?’ asked Marianne, using a teasing tone to cover up the fact that she was uncomfortable talking about Lord Ravensford. She was not sure what her feelings were towards him, and she was unwilling to talk about him until she had decided. On the one hand he had been very rude to her at their first meeting but on the other, he had seen to the matter of the mantraps, and he had taken care, whilst in her own home, to be polite; although even at his politest there was something distinctly unsettling about him.

‘Well, the Lenton girls, at least,’ said Jennifer, blissfully unaware of Marianne’s thoughts. ‘I’m just glad they aren’t here tonight, otherwise they would be simpering and flirting in the most dreadful way.’

Then, remembering her duties as a hostess, Jennifer led Marianne over to a long table covered in a snowy white cloth and offered her a glass of fruit punch.

‘But is he?’ asked Jennifer, returning to her earlier theme. ‘Lord Ravensford. Is he as handsome as Mr Windham?’

Marianne glanced at Mr Windham again, and was disconcerted to find he was looking at her. But he quickly looked away.

‘His features are not so perfect,’ said Marianne. ‘But I don’t think it would be possible to grow tired of looking at Lord Ravensford’s face, in the way it would be with Mr Windham’s.’

‘Oh, here
is
Lord Ravensford!’ exclaimed Jennifer, going bright red as he crossed the room towards them. She gave a long sigh. ‘Oh! He looks like a dream.’

Marianne felt her heart begin to beat more quickly, for he did indeed look like a dream. His wild dark hair was pulled back from his face, accentuating the masculine line of his cheek and jaw, before being tied in a black ribbon bow at the nape of his neck. His dark green tailcoat, cut away to reveal a heavily embroidered gold waistcoat, clung effortlessly to his broad shoulders, and his knee breeches fit his long legs like a second skin. White silk stockings revealed the firmness of his lower leg and then disappeared into black pumps.

Marianne opened her fan and began to waft it to and fro, creating a cooling breeze, for not only was her heart beating more quickly at the sight of Lord Ravensford, but she could feel herself growing hot. She did not know why, but Lord Ravensford seemed to have this effect on her. She was not sure whether she liked the feeling. It was unsettling; disturbing; but she felt that, before she had experienced it, she had only been half alive.

His eyes met hers with amusement, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking, and she found herself blushing. Really! She was behaving like a
débutante
, instead of a twenty-three-year-old who ran a country estate.

Giving a sardonic smile, as though satisfied with the effect he had had on her, he turned his attention to Jennifer.

‘Miss Cosgrove,’ he said politely.

‘Lord Ravensford!’ Jennifer gave a long sigh.

He smiled, but there was no mockery in the smile, Marianne was pleased to see; no double edge, as there was when he smiled at her. It was a kindly smile; the sort of smile a brother might bestow on a younger sister.

‘Miss Travis,’ he said, turning to her once more. ‘I have come to remind you of your promise. You owe me the first dance.’

Marianne accepted his hand, feeling her skin tingle through her glove, and as the musicians struck up the chords for one of her favourite country dances, they took their places on the floor.

The Cosgroves’ house was lacking a ballroom, but the double doors between the dining-room and drawing-room had been thrown open to make a tolerably large room and the dancing began.