The Madcap (14 page)

Alasdair checked his watch yet another time. Three
o’clock. His friends and Marianne should be arriving at
any time. He’d been thinking that since noon. He paced
the length of his study, too impatient to work. He’d come
down early in the week with his mother to oversee the
general readiness for the house party, and he’d missed
Marianne terribly, far more than he’d anticipated.

He was tempted to ride out and see if he could meet
the carriages but that would only add fuel to his mother’s
growing resentment toward Marianne. They’d fought
twice, in regard to his affections for Marianne, within
the past seven days-once at dinner the first night, and
then later when he’d informed his mother that he’d
called on Sarah Stewart and told her in no uncertain
terms that there would not be a proposal from him.

It had been a difficult week. There had been the
house to prepare, and wings to open, and there’d been
relationships to prepare as well. Alasdair wanted everything perfect for Marianne as much as he wanted everything ready for his friend the prince. He’d felt it was
important that he clear up his situation with Sarah before Marianne arrived.

The conversation with Sarah had gone well. He had
discussed nullifying the arrangement with her. She was
not surprised, and even seemed a bit relieved that at last
she could put an end to the waiting and wondering.
He’d also told her about Marianne. It was an unlookedfor boon that Sarah had become the one person he
could talk to about Marianne that week. Alasdair knew
he could count on her to help buffer Marianne from his
mother’s acerbic comments.

All that remained was for Marianne to arrive. Alasdair idly fiddled with an inkwell on the wide cherrywood desk. As much as he missed her, as much as he’d
waited all week for her to join him at Highborough, the
family seat, he was anxious now that the hour of her arrival was drawing near. What would she think of Highborough? Would she think, as he did, that Highborough
was an empty tomb of a house, all cold stone and high
walls?

Alasdair detested the family seat. All of its elegance,
all of its portraits and expensive collections could not
bring warmth to its cavernous halls. A family would do
all that -a real family with children who yelled and ran through the house flying kites, who tried to slide down
bannisters and filch biscuits from the kitchens.

Alasdair sighed. The potential had always been
there to make Highborough something more than it
was. Would Marianne see it? Or would she see a majestic house, a showplace, that was starting to age, its
expensive carpets starting to fade and fray after generations, its furniture having a slightly careworn quality
to its upholstery, and its roof tending to leak during a
heavy rain? He very much feared she’d take one look
at Highborough and see a house that needed her fortune to maintain itself.

That wasn’t what he wanted her to see. He wanted
her to see the potential for something more. He wanted
her to share his dream of putting a lively family in these
halls and making it a true home. He’d waited a long
time for a woman who could share that dream. He
thought he’d found that woman in Marianne. Alasdair
flipped open his watch again and stared ruefully at the
time. They should have been here by now.

Four carriages made a grand procession down the
Devonshire country road that led to the parklands preceding the Pennington family seat. It had taken four
days to make the journey from London to the Pennington estate. Good weather and the general merriment
of the group had broken up the tedium of travel. The
carriages often stopped at sights of interest to show off the striking landscape for Marianne’s benefit. The afternoons were marked by picnics that allowed the travelers a chance to walk and stretch their legs. The
journey could have been accomplished in three days,
but the group had chosen to enjoy the travel rather than
to make a misery of it.

For her part, Marianne was glad for the respite. In
the weeks since the papers had mentioned her outspoken remark at Mrs. Mackay’s tea, no further issues had
cropped up. Brantley’s threats seemed to have been
effectively managed by Alasdair’s visit to the unfortunate journalist, although there had been a bit of a stir
once others got wind of the story.

The stir-up hadn’t lasted long. Another bit of gossip
about a girl who had eloped quickly took precedent.
Marianne was more than happy to relinquish the spotlight to another unfortunate. As a result, the weeks had
been filled with nothing but the social whir of the Season. Even Roberta Farnwick had stepped to the fringes
of her social circle, which made the busyness of the
Season much more palatable; Marianne was certain
she had Audrey to thank for that. Roberta Famwick
and her mother did not dare to move in the exalted circles frequented by Camberly and Pennington.

The only item that would have made the last few
weeks more enjoyable would have been a chance to
see more of Alasdair. By no means had he abandoned
her, but the ensuing house party for the prince had taken up a considerable amount of his time. He’d left
Town last week to see to the final preparations.

Marianne was eager to see him again. Although Audrey and Stella had kept her too busy to dwell on Alasdair’s absence, the parties and routs had seemed duller
without Alasdair’s quick wit and easy smile beside her.

Her eagerness to see Alasdair competed with her
nerves over attending her first-ever house party. The
prince would be there. So would Alasdair’s mother
and, Marianne assumed, the woman Alasdair was expected to marry, Sarah Stewart. No one had said as
much to her. Marianne expected Audrey and Stella
were trying to be polite in omitting such a reference.
But it only made sense that the woman would be there.
She was a neighbor, after all, and a longtime family
friend. Marianne thought it would be the worst type of
snub to simply ignore her and not extend an invitation.
Alasdair would not be small-minded enough to behave in such a manner.

The carriage rounded a corner and Audrey leaned
toward her, excitement in her voice. “Alasdair’s home
is beautiful. You should be able to see it come into view
any moment now. There it is. Do you see it through the
trees?”

Marianne adjusted her seat for a better view. “Oh,”
she gasped. Even the little bit she could glimpse was
astounding. By the time the whole house came into
view, she was mesmerized.

The Georgian facade of the house stretched into two long wings flanking the marble-columned entrance
and the curved stairs leading from the drive to the
enormous front door. The driveway ended in a loop so
that carriages could drop off passengers and head toward the stables without needing to back up. The center of that loop was graced with a mini-version of a
meticulously kept Alpine garden complete with mountain rocks strategically placed among the profusion of
white and violet wildflowers and spindly pine.

“The house is spectacular,” Marianne whispered in
awe. Alasdair had once referred to his home as the
“old pile.” From his reference, she’d envisioned something of a more ramshackle nature. “I can see why the
prince wanted to come here. I’d never leave this place”

Audrey laughed and leaned forward to impart a
confidence. “I agree, but the English will tell you that
life in the countryside is too dull for them”

Their carriage pulled to a halt behind the one carrying Lionel and Stella. Camberly jumped down and
helped Marianne and Audrey out. The third carriage,
carrying her parents, pulled up behind them. By the
time they’d reached the top of the stairs, Alasdair was
there to meet them. Marianne hung back, letting Lionel and Camberly greet their friend.

She had not seen Alasdair in over a week, and now,
watching him with his friends in his own personal
venue, she felt like she was seeing him for the first time.
Certainly he was still the same handsome, dark-haired,
dark-eyed man with the broad shoulders she loved to hold while dancing; physically, he looked the same as
always. But there was an undeniable change. In London, Marianne had often forgotten he was the Viscount
Pennington. There, it had been easy to think of him as
merely a gentleman. Now, she could see it more clearly.
Here, in the countryside, at his family seat, the mantle
of being the viscount sat squarely and almost tangibly
upon those broad shoulders of his.

Marianne was struck at once by the reservation in
his manner, the stiff formality he exuded even when
greeting his friends. She’d thought that, once in the
country, away from the standards of the ton, he’d be
even more relaxed than he usually appeared. She could
see immediately that she was wrong about that.

The little group parted and Alasdair strode toward
her. “Miss Addison, welcome to Highborough, family
seat to four generations of Penningtons.” He bowed
over her hand and greeted her parents with the same polite enthusiasm. This was not the sort of reunion she’d
imagined. A frightening thought swept her: Had Alasdair changed his mind? Had he come home and imagined her in this elegant, traditional setting and failed to
see her fitting in? Worse, had he come home and seen
Sarah Stewart? Perhaps, in that case, absence had made
the heart grow fonder.

These thoughts plagued her to distraction as she
oversaw the unpacking of her trunk. By the time the
dinner hour neared, Marianne’s apprehensions were
mounting. No matter how often she told herself that it was ridiculous to let her speculations unnerve her, the
butterflies in her stomach continued to flutter. She was
thankful that they’d all been able to arrive in advance of
the other guests. The rest of the party guests wouldn’t
arrive for another four days, giving Stella and Audrey
time to help Alasdair with last-minute preparations.

There was a knock on her door and Marianne was
glad to see her mother there, instead of one of the many
maids who’d been parading in and out of her chambers,
whisking dresses off to be pressed. There seemed to be
an enormous amount of maids assigned singly to see to
her needs.

“You seem relieved to see me” Her mother offered
a gentle smile, sitting down on the corner of Marianne’s bed. She was already dressed for dinner in a
tasteful gown of dark blue silk trimmed in cream lace.
She looked elegant and confident. Marianne wished
she could feel at least half that collected.

“I am,” Marianne confessed. She pulled the small
white chair from the dressing table near the bed.
“There are so many people to help me with everything
imaginable. It’s quite overwhelming. I am perfectly capable of brushing my own hair and picking out my own
dresses”

Elizabeth Addison laughed softly. “England is a
different world, isn’t it? Is it all you’d hoped?”

“It’s more than I’d hoped,” Marianne replied,
realizing the truth of it for the first time. “I never
anticipated lifestyles on this grand scale or the opportunity to meet the prince. I had no idea the size
of estates was so large.” She’d planned carefully before their departure from San Francisco. There had
been the appointments with Worth, the tutoring from a
reputable Englishwoman living in Paris about the
mind-boggling assortment of appropriate forms of address, and a crash course in English life and culture.
But none of it met up with the realities of seeing the
English peerage in action up close. Marianne had
planned her campaign with immense attention to detail and still it hadn’t been enough.

Her mother reached for her hand to squeeze in reassurance. “I think you’re doing very well. We all are.
Your father has made some good business contacts
through Camberly and Lionel. He’s looking forward
to the racing at Cowes immensely. And I’ve enjoyed
seeing a different part of the world, despite how overwhelming it can be at times.”

“Doing well?” Marianne countered. “I’m unsure of
that. I’ve teetered on the brink of scandal since my arrival.”

“I’m not convinced it is so much the brink of scandal
as it is a natural consequence of popularity, Marianne.
You didn’t ask to be the center of attention, but it happened anyway” Marianne had confided all of Alasdair’s details to her mother. Elizabeth was well aware of
Brantley’s shenanigans. But to her credit, she’d brushed
it aside.

“Besides, Marianne, we know you’ve done nothing wrong. The English have a decidedly different outlook
on what constitutes a scandal than we do. In fact, they
have quite a different outlook on many things. I think
they like to see our fortunes and conveniently forget
how they were acquired, even if it was through honest
hard work.”

She paused and then added, “Your father and I laugh
over the improbability of our situation. It’s a fabulous
dream to think that a baker’s son and his wife, the
daughter of a New England college professor, are dining among the aristocracy, soon to meet the future king
of England.”

Marianne smiled at that. Theirs was indeed quite an
American tale, made of the stuff of dreams. Then her
smile faded. Would Alasdair laugh at such fantasy?
He’d been raised to dine with dukes and monarchs his
entire life. What could he possibly want with a baker’s
granddaughter?