The Madcap (15 page)

“You’re thinking about the viscount,” her mother divined. “Do you like him?”

Marianne gave a nervous laugh. “I’ve enjoyed his
company very much in London. But here, he appears
different. Today on the steps, I felt that I was meeting
him for the first time and I realized exactly how dissimilar our backgrounds are”

“It must be a grave undertaking to host the prince,
my dear. The viscount is no doubt under a large strain.”

“What if he’s decided that he likes Sarah Stewart
better than me?” Marianne blurted out.

“Then you’ll both be infinitely happier in the long
run, my dear.” Elizabeth smiled. “You could never be
happy with a man who thought he loved another. You
deserve better than that” She paused, assessing Marianne with a gaze that made her daughter fidget. Marianne loved her mother, but sometimes she saw too
much. “I know you came here motivated in large part
by what happened in New York,” said her mother. “I
think it was the right decision to come to London. If
you fall off a horse, you have to get right back up.
Maybe, you even thought to grab yourself a title. However, I don’t think you thought about everything attendant with accomplishing that goal, such as the husband
that would go with the title.”

Marianne gave a wry smile of admission. It sounded
a bit on the petty side when her mother explained it
like that, but at least her mother understood her initial
motivations and understood that something stronger
than pettiness had motivated her actions. She’d wanted
more than girlish revenge when she’d set out on this
path. She’d wanted redemption, and perhaps even a
type of justice for the cruel prank that had been pulled
on her with such severe repercussions.

“Have you and Alasdair reached any kind of understanding I should know about?” Elizabeth inquired
politely, rising from the bed to search through Marianne’s wardrobe.

Although Marianne had shared Brantley’s schemes
with her mother, she had not shared all the details of her association with Alasdair. For all that her mother
had seen from the outside looking in was a man who’d
escorted Marianne to several social functions as part
of a group. He’d always acted with decorum. His behavior, while befitting a suitor, was also the impeccable behavior of a polite family friend wishing only to
include Marianne and her family in his circle of acquaintances. Truly, if the newspapers hadn’t lent a torrid edge to their association, no one would have thought
Alasdair’s interest was motivated by anything other
than politeness. Marianne herself might have believed
it too if it hadn’t been for those two kisses.

Marianne blushed. “He said in London that he
wished to court me. He said we deserved a chance to
see if we suited one another.”

Her mother nodded approvingly. “He’s a smart man,
then, who knows the value of a good marriage and
that the value isn’t necessarily calculated in financial
wealth.”

“Perhaps. Maybe he wants to see if I fit, if I can be
a countess,” Marianne remarked ruefully.

Her mother turned from her perusal of the wardrobe,
a warning in her tone. “You do not have to remake
yourself for any man, Marianne. You can be a countess,
perhaps just a different type of countess than what
they’re used to seeing over here. Audrey St. ClairMaddox has done an admirable job from what I can
tell. Of course, I don’t know her all that well, but she
seems well adjusted. More importantly, she seems happy, as does Camberly-although I doubt she’s the
countess he thought he’d have. She runs a music school
for girls and continues her own career as a pianist.”

Marianne nodded. She understood what her mother
was saying and it made sense to keep herself intact. A
man who wanted the outer shell of who she was, but
who didn’t want the inner layers that went with it-all
her opinions and beliefs-was not a man to be desired.
But it wasn’t that simple in reality. She was falling in
love with Alasdair Braden and she desperately wanted
him to love her in return.

“How about the ivory gown?” Her mother held up
a dress exquisitely embroidered around the hem with
seed pearls. It was one of Marianne’s favorites for
its simple yet graceful design. But tonight she wanted
to stand out, to remind Alasdair that she was in the
room no matter who else was there. Marianne shook
her head. “I had thought to wear the royal blue silk.”

Her mother nodded sagely. “Save it for the house
party. The ivory gown will accomplish what you wish.”

In the end, Marianne knew her mother was right.
She surveyed the effect of the gown in the long looking
glass in her room. Worth’s gifted tailoring fit the gown
perfectly to the trim line of her waist and emphasized
her long legs with the sweep of the skirt that swished
softly as she walked. The bodice showed off the feminine slope of her shoulders. The wrap Worth had created from antique lace, to go especially with the gown, completed the ensemble perfectly. Marianne was glad
now to have bowed to his finer judgment in that regard.
She’d secretly thought the lace wrap no more than a
scrap of material to be toted around. Now, as she saw
the final image, she was happy to have kept that
thought to herself.

The woman who wore this gown was more than a
debutante in a standard pale-colored dress. This woman
was loveliness itself, existing in that precarious balance between naive innocence and worldliness. In any
case, neither of those attributes suited Marianne. No
one growing up in San Francisco as she’d done could
ever compete with the total ingenuousness of the English schoolroom miss who’d seen nothing of life; neither could she claim, although well educated, to be a
scholar of the world and its many vices. Which was as
it should be.

Marianne’s confidence was restored as she followed
her parents down to the drawing room to meet the others for dinner. Audrey greeted them warmly, drawing
them into the conversation with effortless skill, while
Camberly inquired about the latest update on her father’s yacht.

From the corner of her eye, Marianne spotted Alasdair by the long window talking with an older gentleman. He said something to the man and began making
his way toward her, the smile she had enjoyed so much
in London on his lips. Perhaps it had been the strain of the party, after all, that had caused him to look so stern
earlier. He seemed perfectly fine now. Marianne
couldn’t help but smile back, so great was her relief.

“You look beautiful,” he said, bowing over her
gloved hand. “I’ve come to steal her away, Lady Camberly,” he said to Audrey, catching Marianne by surprise. Whenever Alasdair had been en famille with his
close friends, he’d always called Lady Camberly “Audrey.” Marianne had to think for a moment about who
he was referring to, so foreign was the reference.

“Come, there are people I want you to meet,” Alasdair said, taking Marianne by the elbow. He guided
her to where the man still stood at the window, looking out over the vast parkland of the estate.

“Mr. Stewart, I would like for you to meet Miss
Marianne Addison of San Francisco,” Alasdair began
formally. He turned slightly and Marianne noticed for
the first time that someone else was sitting in the chair
by the long curtains that framed the window. The
woman in the chair was youngish, in her midtwenties,
and might have been passably attractive if she hadn’t
worn a gown that blended so ideally with the deep forest green of the draperies. The gown contained almost
nothing in the way of trimmings that might have set it
apart from the curtains. Her brown hair was styled in a
simple chignon that was held in a net, and her very demeanor was quiet and withdrawn, making it easy to
overlook her presence. Marianne knew who this
woman was before Alasdair told her, but it still came as a shock to hear the words come his lips. “Miss Addison, I’d also like to introduce his daughter, Miss Sarah
Stewart.”

Marianne greeted Sarah Stewart in as polite and
as friendly a manner as she could. All the while, her
thoughts ran riot. This was the woman his mother
wanted him to marry? Marianne couldn’t imagine a
more unlikely pairing. Did the woman not know her
son at all? Alasdair was a vibrant man, full of life and
energy. The woman in the chair was an expert at making herself invisible.

Miss Stewart smiled and said warmly, “So this is the
girl you’ve talked about so much, Pennington.” She
turned back to Marianne. “I am so pleased to meet you,
Miss Addison. He’s talked of nothing but you since he
arrived last week and now I can see why. You’re here at
last, and we can be friends.” She rose from her chair
and looped her arm through Marianne’s. “I want to hear
all about San Francisco. I would love to travel, myself,
but my responsibilities don’t permit me to go very far
for very long”

“She’s a good girl, my Sarah is,” Mr. Stewart said
with gruff affection. “She knows her father can’t get
on without her. She runs my house with an efficiency I
can’t match”

“Come stroll with me. We have at least fifteen
minutes before the dinner bell sounds. You can tell me
about the hills and how the trolley cars manage on
them.”

Marianne had not expected to like Sarah Stewart,
but as they talked she found it nearly impossible not
to like the young woman whose interest seemed sincere and entirely unlike the superficial friendliness
offered by Roberta Farnwick. Their conversation was
progressing well when Alasdair joined them, an older
woman on his arm.

“Miss Addison, I am sorry to interrupt, but there’s
another introduction I’d like to make. Miss Addison,
I’d like for you to meet my mother, the dowager
countess Pennington.”

Marianne could tell immediately that this was not
going to turn out to be a pleasant surprise as meeting
Miss Stewart had been. Alasdair’s mother glared at
her with a narrow gaze, effectively communicating
precisely what the woman thought of her: that she
was an American nobody far beneath her notice and
certainly too far beneath her son to warrant the attentions he paid her.

Marianne greeted her with all the respect due the
woman’s station, a bit shocked at the woman’s openly
intense dislike. She’d been prepared to meet a woman
who tried to meddle in her grown son’s life, but she
hadn’t been prepared for the extreme loathing the
woman displayed. Marianne tried to ignore Lady
Pennington’s behavior. “Your son has been the most dedicated of escorts in London. He’s gone out of his
way to see to our comfort”

“Quite so” The woman returned with a supercilious
coldness. Sarah, standing next to her, blushed and Alasdair’s jaw tightened, as though both were mortified by
the countess’ poor manners.

In her peripheral vision, Marianne caught a glimpse
of her father talking with his usual enthusiasm to a
group gathered about him as all nodded their heads.
Seeing him reminded her of something he’d once
said. She understood perfectly now. Alasdair’s mother
didn’t detest her as much as the woman feared her. Her
father had once told her that people often hated whatever threatened them. Hatred followed closely on the
heels of fear. For whatever reason, Alasdair’s mother
feared her.

The notion of this formidable dowager fearing a
young woman from San Francisco struck Marianne as
oddly hilarious, not to mention ridiculous. Marianne
couldn’t imagine any reason for the woman to feel
threatened by her. Nonetheless, she did.

The group was saved from any further need to converse by the announcement for dinner, which brought
Camberly over to the group, bowing suavely to Alasdair’s mother, ready to take her into dinner.

“Ladies, please excuse me,” Alasdair made a quick
nod and departed. It took Marianne a moment to realize why he’d left them. She’d initially thought it odd
when there were two ladies waiting to go into dinner standing right there with him. Then she remembered
the importance the English put on the seating precedence. Of course, Alasdair was off to escort Audrey
into dinner as the next-highest-ranking woman in the
room, followed by Stella giving her arm to Sarah’s father, and Lionel coming over to escort Sarah.

As the line began to form, it became obvious that
there was an odd number of men. As the lowest-ranking
female in the room, Marianne would be left out. She
refused to let it upset her and prepared to take her father’s other arm when she saw Audrey whisper something to Alasdair, causing him to smile. He left Audrey
and strode to Marianne’s side. “Miss Addison, please
join us” was all he said, but Marianne saw a twinkle
in his eye that suggested he was quite pleased about
thwarting his mother’s subtle intentions.

Marianne gave him a brave smile and gladly took
his arm while he rejoined Audrey, second in line. The
three of them went in to dinner together.

But Alasdair’s mother wasn’t bested yet. Once soup
was served, she asked, “How does dinner seating in
America compare to seating here?”

Marianne opted for the high road and replied
sweetly, “The guest of honor sits at the host’s right
hand, Lady Pennington. Other than that, for the most
part, we sit where we’d like, within reason of course”