The Madcap (10 page)

“Are you having a good time?” Alasdair inquired,
slowing their pace a bit to drop behind the group.

Marianne looked up at him from under the brim of
her hat. “I’m having a lovely time. Do you doubt it?”

“No, I can see it in your face, dear Marianne. That’s
one of the things I love about you-all the things you
feel are written clearly there. There’s no artifice.” The
last was said with such seriousness that Marianne almost stopped walking altogether. There was too much
embedded in that statement to let it pass unaddressed.
She supposed she could ignore the somber undertones
of the message and offer a flirtatious reply, such as
`What else do you love about me?’ but Marianne opted
for plain speaking. Now, she did stop walking.

She fixed Alasdair with her strong blue gaze, letting
him see that this was no flirtatious rejoinder. “Alasdair, what are you doing?”

To his immense credit, he understood precisely what
she meant. He lifted one of her hands to his lips and
pressed a kiss on it, his eyes unwaveringly holding her
gaze until Marianne feared she’d be the one to look
away first from the intensity of the moment. No moment in her life to date had ever been this intimate, this
powerful. “Why, Marianne, I thought it was abundantly
clear,” Alasdair replied in a quiet voice intended for her
ears only. “I am courting you”

Two days ago, Marianne would have accepted his
statement with equanimity and with gratitude that the
mystery of Alasdair’s intentions was resolved. Now,
the burden of Roberta’s gossip and the knowledge that
Alasdair had an understanding with another marred
the straightforward reaction she might otherwise have
had. How was she to respond?

Marianne let Alasdair hand her into the rowboat.
The others were already launched into the current of the
man-made stream. Marianne was thankful for the privacy their absence afforded them and for Alasdair’s silence. He plied the oars in quiet, giving her time to
think.

“Have I been too precipitous?” Alasdair asked casu ally, laying the oars in their locks and letting the current gently take the boat. He leaned forward, elbows
on his knees, the breeze blowing his hair in a boyish
fashion that lent him an earnest quality.

“You do me a great honor with your attentions,” Marianne began, surprised to see Alasdair start to laugh.

“Stop right there. That’s what girls say when they’re
about to reject a suitor.”

Marianne arched her eyebrows in query. “You’ve
been rejected a lot then?” She laughed too. Her words
were entirely too inane by half. They deserved no less
than the laughter with which Alasdair was responding
to them. She shrugged helplessly. “In my defense, it’s
what they teach young ladies to say when they don’t
know what to say.”

Alasdair stopped laughing. “Why is that, Marianne?
I thought we were becoming good friends-more than
friends, I hoped”

It was Marianne’s turn to sober. No would-be suitor
had ever been so frank with her. Alasdair deserved
complete honesty in return. She met his gaze with a
businesslike look. “I’ve been told that you’re promised
to another.” She held her breath. Would he deny it? She
stripped off her glove and trailed her hand in the water,
trying to pretend his answer didn’t matter when in reality it seemed everything hinged on it. Perhaps everything did. His reply would answer much about his
character and his intentions. No man of honor, from the basest San Francisco wharf worker to a highborn
aristocrat, would court one woman while committed to
another.

Alasdair nodded slowly. “So you’ve heard the rumors. They’re true as far as rumors go” They’d drifted
toward the park side of the stream. He set himself to
the oars again, steering them back to the middle of the
stream.

Marianne’s world slowed. She was overconscious
of the play of his muscles beneath his shirt while he
rowed, all too aware of his dark eyes watching her,
gauging her reaction. She would have to let him go.
There was no choice. Perhaps she’d been wrong all
along. Men and women could not be friends. She saw
in startling clarity how she could not tolerate merely
being Alasdair’s friend, standing aside while he paid
romantic homage to another. Alasdair was speaking
again, his voice forcing its way into her bleak thoughts.

“My mother has hopes that I’ll offer for a neighbor’s daughter. She’s made those hopes fairly public,
but those hopes have no claim on me. There is nothing
more that binds me to Miss Stewart-no legal contract,
no betrothal ceremony. I have informed my mother that
I have no intentions of marrying Miss Stewart”

“And your intentions toward me?” Marianne pressed
warily.

“I like you, Marianne, a great deal,” Alasdair said
solemnly. “I think you like me too. It makes sense that we should follow that premise to its logical conclusion
and discover if we suit one another.”

All the objections Marianne had sorted through in
the garden that morning came roaring back. “What
would that logical conclusion be? You can’t really believe I’d be an adequate countess”

The boat rounded a quiet bend in the stream out of
view of the shoreline. Alasdair leaned on the oars, putting himself just inches from her. “Don’t you think we
deserve a chance to find out? I’m a man who believes
the future takes care of itself as long as we get our
jobs done in the present. Right now, I just want to kiss
you,” he whispered, and he closed the small gap between them and did precisely that.

The kiss was chaste as kisses went, the pressure of
his lips lasting no more than fleeting seconds. Nonetheless, the kiss spoke of promises implied, and Marianne
knew that she would savor this kiss always, regardless
of the outcome. She’d been kissed a few times beforemistletoe games at Christmas parties and once in an encounter with the son from a rich San Francisco family
who desired an alliance with the Addison baking industry. None of those kisses equaled Alasdair’s in intent or
intensity. This was her first real kiss, a kiss that meant
something.

Alasdair leaned back, putting distance between
them. The boat had sailed into view of the shoreline.
Soon, they’d be caught up with the others.

“You still haven’t answered my question, Marianne.”

She smiled impishly, more certain of her response
now that certain issues that been settled between them.
“I don’t recall that it was precisely a question,” she bantered. “I believe you stated unequivocally that you were
courting me.”

“Does that meet with your approval?” Alasdair rejoined.

“I think we should carry things to their logical conclusion and find out.”

Alasdair laughed. “How very scientific of you, my
dear”

The remainder of the afternoon was devoted to
Camberly and Lionel’s good-natured archery contest.
Alasdair stood with the two men, offering bits of advice and ribbing. From the comfort of the chaise
longues, where she sat with the other two women,
Marianne studied Alasdair with covert glances, marveling at his composure. Her insides were topsy-turvy,
her mind replaying each sentence and word of their
conversation, pausing at the kiss. She was realizing
the problem with kisses: one was hardly enough. She
wanted another. Would the next kiss be as wondrous
as the first or was that kiss the rarest of things, singular in its existence?

“Marianne, did you hear me?” Audrey asked politely, a knowing smile softly lighting her features.
“Stella, I think she’s quite infatuated with our Alasdair.”

Marianne blushed and stammered an incoherent apology that Audrey waved away with an elegant gesture. “There’s no need to apologize, my dear. We’ve
both felt that way before. Not with Alasdair, of course,”
she added hastily.

Stella shaded her eyes against the sun and gave Alasdair a considering look. “He’s handsome enough for a
dark-haired man. I prefer the blond ones myself” She
and Audrey laughed together over her joke. At the
archery butts, Lionel’s pale blond hair was a marked
contrast to the two dark-haired men with whom he
stood.

A thousand questions competed for attention in Marianne’s head. These two women were among Alasdair’s
acquaintances. Was it wrong to make inquiries about a
suitor among his friends? She had to admit that part of
her found something secretive and dishonest about
seeking information that way. Curiosity won out.
Surely if she limited her questions to the basics, there
would be no harm. “Have you known Alasdair long?”
That would definitely be a safe question.

Audrey took pity on her. The countess leaned forward and placed a hand on her arm. “I’ve only known
Alasdair since my marriage, but my husband swears
he’s the best of friends. Alasdair may be impulsive but
he’s not dishonorable.”
“

Stella broke in. “If you’re wondering if he’s a
proper suitor, you can lay your worries to rest”

11t’s just that it has all happened so quickly,” Marianne replied, leaning back on the cushions of her chaise longue. For all the questions she was tempted to ask,
she found herself quite loath to ask them aloud. The
ones that mattered most were the ones that politeness required they remain unasked. She could not
ask his friends if the size of her fortune hastened his
intentions.

It hardly mattered. From what she’d observed about
the unfailing politeness of the English, no one would
honestly answer that question. She could not bear the
idea that Alasdair’s affections could be bought or that
the kiss they’d shared on the boat had been an indicator of his appreciation for her money instead of his appreciation for her. Marianne also realized that she
might not have been so acutely aware of the issue if the
social columns had not singled out the topic as their justification for Alasdair’s attentions.

She needed to concentrate on keeping it all in perspective. But doubt was a hard enemy to fight, and
wasn’t she better off knowing about his needs for funds
from the first? She tried to convince herself that it
would be far worse to discover his financial situation
later, perhaps even at a point where there was no turning back, no choices. It would be beyond humiliating
to lose one’s heart to a man who loved nothing about
you but your dollars even though you’d fallen madly in
love with him.

She wasn’t madly in love with Alasdair yet, she
promised herself. But she could be all too easily. A
handsome man bound with muscles and manners was not easy to resist. If the feelings were mutual, why resist at all? If the feelings were one-sided and motivated
by greed on the other, it would be best to get out before
one was further engaged. In that scenario, there would
be no happily-ever-after, only misery for the one who’d
loved foolishly.

Marianne knew herself well enough to know that she
couldn’t tolerate an arrangement of such half-truths
and pretenses of affection. She lived out loud and she
highly suspected she would love that way, too, when
the time came.

The afternoon shadows lengthened and the archery
competition came to an end, bringing the men back into
the open pavilion, laughing. It was time to head home.
Around her, Marianne noticed servants discreetly packing the wagon with items no longer in use.

“We stayed longer than I thought,” Audrey said, rising from her chaise with a yawn. “Forgive us, Marianne. I hope you aren’t rushed with your evening
preparations. We still have the carriage trip home and
the streets will be crowded at this hour.”

“There’s no rush. We are dining at home tonight before attending the theater,” Marianne said.

“We’ll be there too,” Camberly put in, rolling down
his sleeves and shrugging into his jacket with Audrey’s
help. “Perhaps you’ll consider joining us in our box?
It will just be the five of us. There’s plenty of room for
you and your parents.”

Last night it had been front row seats at the musicale, today a private picnic in the park and box seats at the
opera. The thought fleetingly crossed Marianne’s mind
that all the benefits of what a life with Alasdair could
bring were on not-so-subtle display. Even a viscount
with financial concerns led an elite life. Then again, the
offer might be nothing more than Camberly’s kindness.
She preferred to think the latter was true.

Everyone piled into the carriages and they began
the slow drive back to Mayfair. Alasdair jumped down
and escorted her to the door, his hand resting lightly at
the small of her back, a wondrously intimate touch yet
publicly acceptable.

“Until tonight, Marianne.” Alasdair bowed over her
hand, brushing her gloved knuckles with his lips.

“I will look forward to it. You must thank Camberly
again for his invitation.” Marianne smiled, doing her best
to mask her thoughts. But as she slipped inside the house,
she couldn’t help contemplating the old adage: “When it
sounds too good to be true, then it probably is.”

The theater was filled to capacity and noise reached
the level of a thundering roar, but movement in the
Earl of Camberly’s box drew Brantley’s attention from
his seat in the stalls. He scanned the box with his opera
glasses. The usual suspects were there, including that
dratted Pennington and the American chit. It appeared
she’d even brought her parents along, a sure sign that
things were progressing in a serious direction.