The Madcap (16 page)

Lady Pennington looked ready to sniff in disdain at
the anarchy Marianne had suggested. Marianne was
willing to let the woman’s implied insult rest but Audrey wasn’t. “For more formal occasions we decide
seating precedent based on money. The richest people
at the table sit above the salt and the poorer sit below.
Of course, that’s all quite relative since Wall Street
fortunes fluctuate on regular occasion.”

Marianne took a sip of wine from her glass to cover
her amusement. Lady Pennington looked aghast at
Audrey’s casual comment about money. It was clear
that having such public knowledge of such an intimate
subject was positively abhorrent.

Audrey wasn’t finished. “It’s much simpler, and
frankly, it makes more sense. The rules here are positively ridiculous. A husband and wife are less likely to
walk into together than a father and his daughter. No
young girl relishes the idea of walking with her father
when there’s a handsome eligible peer in the room.
Why, it’s a matchmaking opportunity gone to waste.”
Audrey reached for her glass and eyed the other guests,
waiting for their reaction.

“Here, here,” Lionel tapped on his crystal goblet
with a spoon. “There are nearly as many Americans
at this table as there are Brits,” he said, making it clear
that Lady Pennington had managed to insult not just
Marianne, but half of the other dinner guests as well.
“In honor of the five of us at the table, I propose a
toast to America and its simplicity. May it never be so
difficult to sit down to table as it is in England.”

Everyone laughed, most of them good-naturedly.
Lady Pennington participated only grudgingly. With admirable skill, Sarah Stewart picked up the conversation after the toast, leading the discussion into travels
and faraway places.

Alasdair was immeasurably grateful for Lionel’s
toast. The rest of dinner progressed smoothly. The
Stewarts were pleasant dinner guests and responded
with interest to the stories Marianne’s father told about
the baking industry in San Francisco. The others knew
each other and conversation flowed easily. He would
have enjoyed the meal completely if it hadn’t been for
his mother’s dark mood at the foot of the table, hovering around the meal like a threatening shadow. Her
behavior had been purposely rude to Marianne and he
would not tolerate it. He’d itched to defend Marianne
when his mother had all but cut her dead upon introduction. Her perfunctory words, “Quite so,” had been
worse than a direct snubbing.

But Marianne had been more than up to the task of
coping with his mother. Alasdair had been pleased to
see Marianne make the most of the awkward introduction. In fact, he’d been pleased with her all night,
although he doubted anything about her could be disappointing. She’d traveled to a home she’d never seen,
met people she didn’t know except through reputation,
knowing that everything she did or said would be
looked upon askance and with suspicion simply because she wasn’t English. Worse than not being English, she was the competition.

Alasdair watched with regret as the women departed the dining room. He didn’t want to imagine
what his mother might say or imply in the privacy of
the drawing room, out from under his watchful eye.
But Marianne was surrounded by friends. Even Sarah
had graciously offered her friendship. Audrey would
not let his mother run roughshod over Marianne. Audrey would step in if needed, although Marianne was
more than capable of fighting her own battles with her
own resourceful wit and insight.

Thankfully, the men decided to cut short the masculine pleasure of cigars and brandy after dinner and
rejoined the women in the drawing room after only
twenty minutes. The scene that met Alasdair’s eyes
was placid enough to suit him, his eye immediately
going to Marianne who sat with Sarah at one cluster
of chairs looking at slides through a stereoscope. At a
larger cluster containing a gold-and-white-striped
sofa, his mother sat with Audrey, Stella, and Elizabeth
Addison.

Audrey rose upon seeing the men enter and took
charge of the evening’s quiet activities. With quick efficiency, she divided the group up for cards, conveniently leaving Alasdair and Marianne on their own.
Alasdair could not have orchestrated such a feat if
he’d tried. He shot Audrey a thankful grin.

“Miss Addison would probably enjoy a tour of the
gardens, Pennington,” Audrey said, sitting down to
cards across from Camberly. “The gardens are lovely in the evening with their lights on, Miss Addison. Pennington has arranged the most unique situation for
showing off his gardens, very modern”

Alasdair watched Marianne stifle a smile at the formality of Audrey’s comment. The cheeky girl was
laughing at them. Well, he couldn’t blame her. It did
seem unnecessarily stiff to be addressing everyone
formally when everyone here knew each other far better than that. But, for his mother’s sake, they tolerated
the tradition.

He offered Marianne his arm, hardly able to wait
until they were out of earshot to speak with her, really
speak with her. He had not spoken with her for over a
week and all he’d been able to do since her arrival was
treat her as he would any other guest, when all he truly
wanted to do was sweep her into his arms and declare
to the world that she was his. But such an action would
invoke all the scandal he’d tried so hard to avoid.

Her hand trembled slightly on his sleeve. Ah, she felt
it too, the need to escape the suffocating formality of
the evening. He would give anything to simply be Alasdair and Marianne, to laugh with her without worrying
who heard, to kiss her without worrying over who
might see them.

Alasdair turned the handle of the French doors
leading out onto the wide terrace, letting the evening
air cool his heated body. “We can breathe out here.”
Alasdair turned to Marianne, grateful to be alone with
her at last, although he was well aware that they were highly visible yet to those inside the drawing room.
Still, no one could hear them, and that was the best
privacy he was going to get.

“This is beautiful.” Marianne’s gaze was focused
on the gardens that spread beyond the terrace. “You’ve
lit the gardens with gaslights. How clever. It’s a wonder everyone isn’t doing it.” Every several yards, tall
wrought-iron posts rose along the gravel walkways
bearing a lantern with a gaslight, illuminating the path
so that the garden could be appreciated in the evening.

“The idea came to me when I was in London a couple years ago. I was admiring the street lamps and I
thought: Why not transport that idea to my gardens?”
Alasdair explained.

“So, you’re an inventor of sorts,” Marianne said,
sounding impressed as she turned her attention from
the gardens to him, making him the focus of her blue
gaze. The mental pictures of her that he’d carried
throughout the week had not done her justice. Her eyes
were bluer, her hair a brighter gold than he recalled.

“‘Inventor’ is a bit strong of a word. I didn’t create
anything. I only applied an idea to a new setting.” He
liked that she appreciated his efforts. “I confess that I
enjoy the new inventions this modern age brings us.
I appreciate wholeheartedly that I am lucky enough to
live in an age of accessible wonder.” He’d never spoken such sentiments publicly before. Most of his peers
had very little appreciation for the advancements being born around them.

Marianne smiled. “I like to think of this as an era of
efficiency. We’re able to travel so much farther in a
much quicker manner. To think it only took two weeks
to cross the Atlantic when it used to take months. And
we did it in luxury. We had every comfort aboard ship.
My father’s bakery was one of the first businesses in
San Francisco to deliver bread to people’s homes by
delivery wagon so that they didn’t have to walk to the
bakery. This way, there’s fresh bread on the table every
morning.” She paused suddenly, her eyes searching his
face.

“What is it?” Alasdair asked, unsure what had
caused her look of concern.

“I shouldn’t talk of my father’s business. I am sure
it is far too plebian for your tastes.”

“Hardly. I meant it when I said I admire all the new
inventions around us and I admire people like your father. Men like him are the new pioneers, the new aristocracy”

“Not everyone likes newness or change,” Marianne
observed.

“No, not everyone” He knew she was thinking about
his mother.

“Your mother doesn’t. She doesn’t like me. My
money is too new.” Marianne cut to the point, her eyes
fixing him with a stare that demanded full honesty from
him.

“I’d be foolish to deny that,” Alasdair replied, reaching for one of Marianne’s hands. He couldn’t bear to be this close to her and not touch her. He placed a light
kiss on her knuckles. “But I like you. I like you very
much, as I have mentioned on more than one occasion.” He led her now, moving down the wide, shallow
steps of the verandah and into the garden.

“I love the night sky in the country. It’s so wide and I
can see the stars. In London, I can’t see anything at
night. The sky is blocked out with all the pollution and
chimney smoke” Alasdair positioned himself behind
Marianne and pointed to a cluster of stars. “That’s Cassiopeia. Once you find that constellation, you can use
it as a reference point to find the other constellations.
Look, there’s Ursa Major and the North Star.” He
raised his arm and gestured with his hand as if drawing an invisible line that connected the stars.

“I had no idea you were such a scientist, Alasdair.
First the gaslights and now the constellations.”

He laughed. “You seem unduly surprised.”

“You didn’t mention any of this in London.” Marianne turned to face him, her hand playfully resting on
the lapels of his evening coat. The gesture bespoke a
warming familiarity and was, of course, not the type of
gesture an English girl would use at all, for it was far
too intimate for English tastes. But not for his. “There’s
apparently a lot I don’t know about you, Alasdair, so
many layers. I’m intrigued about what else I might
learn”

The comment itself was far too flirtatious by English standards with its veiled invitation to seduction. Marianne clearly had not meant to imply that she was
open to any untoward overtures. Nonetheless, Alasdair was overwhelmed. He could not recall if there’d
ever been anyone, let alone a woman, who’d been interested enough to get to know him and his many “layers” as Marianne had put it.

The light atmosphere which had surrounded their
earlier conversation changed into something serious,
something tender. “No one has ever wanted to look that
deeply at me before, Marianne.” The world had slowed
for him, each minute detail becoming brilliantly apparent to his senses. He could smell the lemon-lavender
scent of her soap at this close distance, see the small
race of her pulse at the base of her neck.

Marianne’s brow furrowed slightly as if she could
not quite grasp the concept that someone wouldn’t
want to look deeper.

“The truth is, Marianne, almost everyone who knows
me sees only Viscount Pennington. My only worth is
in being the flesh-and-blood incarnation of the family
title. I’m nothing but a rich, well-educated, perhapspampered male whose only duty is to stand to stud and
continue the incarnation for future generations.” He
hadn’t meant to sound so utterly cynical, but once he’d
started, the words had poured out unedited and harsh.
Marianne blushed at the last but stood her ground, unabashed by his candor. He feared for a moment that he
might have earned her scorn, or even her pity. But
Marianne bit her lower lip thoughtfully, considering her words before replying. It was a great consolation
that he knew without equivocation her words would
be sincere and not a knee-jerk reaction of platitudes.

She shook her head in the moonlight, making her hair
appear like an ethereal halo. “It’s ironic, then, that I’ve
never seen you that way. You’ve never been `the viscount’ to me up until today when we arrived. It wasn’t
until I saw you standing on the front steps, surrounded
by the trappings of this house, that I realized it.”

“You have no idea how potent that concept is, the
notion of being looked upon as a man and nothing
more,” Alasdair whispered, his voice hoarse with
barely contained desire.

“It is all anyone wants,” Marianne replied softly,
her eyes never leaving his. “You no more want to be
cherished for your title than I want to be cherished for
my fortune.”

Was that a warning or a wish? Alasdair heard both
in her soft tones. She smiled fondly at him to indicate
she meant no malice with her words, and then she
stepped away from him, letting go of his lapels, moving out of reach. “Good night, Alasdair. Don’t stay out
too long.” The ivory silk of her gown had a luminosity
of its own as she moved over the yard and back to the
terrace like a floating angel, leaving Alasdair to ponder the thoughts she had shared with him.

The intuition that had drawn him to Marianne from
the first had proven to be right. He knew with the most
primal of instincts that Marianne was meant for him. His need for her had been revealed tonight with shocking clarity. It was quite simple and straightforward. He
cared for her and she was not indifferent to him in a
romantic sense. Beyond that, she’d displayed a level
of understanding that overwhelmed him. And yet, the
simple path that should be taken at this juncture was
full of twists and turns.

He had to ensure that Marianne knew that the depth
of his affection ran much deeper than her father’s fortune, that he cared for her precisely because of who
she was inside.

If it was up to him, he’d propose outright and marry
her as fast as he could. But that was far too precipitous, especially when she might decide that the burden
of his mother’s dislike was too much to bear in exchange for what he offered her. That was a question
worth pondering. What did he have to offer Marianne
Addison, a girl who had everything?