The Redemption of Julian Price (15 page)

"I am so very sorry, child!" Her ladyship gazed down at the damage, looking painfully contrite. "I suppose there's naught to be done but to change your gown."

"But, my lady!" Mariah said. "All of my gowns are packed."

"Then we shall ask Marguerite, my abigail, to repair the petticoat. She is a veritable magician with a needle."

"But, Mama," Marcus interjected, "we are late to depart already. I can't afford another delay."

"We shan't be more than an hour," Lady Russell reassured him.

"I positively cannot wait," Marcus insisted. "I mustn't give Edward Montagu any more advantage over me than he already has. I must leave at once."

"I suppose you are right," Lady Russell agreed. "Arriving late would be terribly bad form. There is only one answer. You and Mr. Needham will precede us in the chaise. Mariah, Lydia, and I will follow anon in the coach."

"That will not do, Mama. I could never allow three ladies to travel unprotected. The roads are quite perilous these days, with brigands lurking in the most unlikely of places. Nicolas will stay behind to accompany you."

"But there is not room enough for all four of us in my coach. Someone
must
go with you, Marcus." Lady Russell peek her head inside the coach. "Lydia, my dear, I must ask you to go with Marcus."

"Me?" Lydia looked aghast. "But I hardly think it would be proper to travel
alone
with Lord Marcus."

"'Tis a perfectly decorous arrangement for a ride of only a few hours. Sally will ride along with you to satisfy propriety," Lady Russell said.

"But how? There is only room for two passengers in Lord Marcus's vehicle," Lydia protested.

"Easily remedied, child," Lady Russell declared. "Marcus's baggage will travel with us." At a wave of her hand, a footman removed Marcus's trunks from the rear of his post chaise to place them upon the back of Lady Russell's coach. Lady Russell then inclined her head in a nod of approval. "There now. All is settled. We will see you in a few hours at Woburn Abbey."

Lydia regarded Mariah with a beseeching look that Mariah could only answer with a helpless shrug. Lady Russell had quite literally set the wheels in motion. It was all too clear that Marcus's mother had orchestrated this entire farce to throw Lydia and Lord Marcus together. Lydia would surely be seething at the subterfuge, but Mariah feared there was naught for her cousin to do now but accept her fate as the future Lady Russell.

***

W
ith boots crunching on gravel, Nick impatiently paced the gardens of Russell House. He examined his timepiece with a glower. He'd been cooling his heels for considerably longer than the promised hour. He wondered why the devil it was taking so long to repair a gown. Then again, unlike Marcus, who'd had a number of mistresses, Nick had little understanding of women or their attire. What he did understand was the importance of attending the dinner party, not just for Marcus's sake, but for his own.

His sole chance for advancement was tied to Marcus. He'd prayed his best friend would abandon his plan to seduce Miss Trent and spend more time in preparation for the peace congress, but that prayer had obviously gone unanswered. Why the devil had Marcus put him in this situation when he had important work to do? Now he feared he'd get nothing done. He hoped he wouldn't be forced to endure prosaic pleasantries for the entire journey. He despised meaningless conversations. Once more, he cursed Marcus's impetuosity.

Although she was undeniably lovely, he couldn't comprehend Marcus's sudden obsession with a woman he'd hardly spared a thought for in the past six years. Then again, Marcus had always been given to caprice. It was one of myriad differences in their respective characters. While Marcus was charming and charismatic, the type to command any room, Nicolas was far more reserved and circumspect. He despised the kind of attention that Marcus seemed to crave. Nevertheless, they'd been the best of chums since boyhood, when they'd met at Westminster School.

"Mr. Needham?" A soft feminine voice drew his attention toward the terrace door. He glanced up to find Lady Mariah poised on the steps leading into the garden. "Lady Russell asked me to inform you that we are prepared to depart." She took a tentative step toward him. "I'm so very sorry to have kept you waiting so long."

"Pray don't trouble yourself," Nicolas reassured her, forgetting his displeasure the moment his gaze fixed on her face. "I trust all is now in good repair?"

"Yes. It is as good as new. See?" She spun around to show the repair to the rent gown, looking over her shoulder with eyes sparkling and a hint of roses coloring her cheeks. "Lady Russell's abigail is miraculous with a needle."

"She is indeed," he replied absently. "I can find no remaining sign of the damage." Not that he'd really looked. His attention was suddenly on the woman wearing the gown rather than the garment itself.

If asked the day before, he would have sworn her eyes were gray, but here in the garden, they seemed to have taken on the hue of the surrounding greenery. Likewise, the morning sun revealed distinct streaks of gold in what he had formerly considered nondescript brown hair. He had not previously thought Lady Mariah particularly remarkable. Compared to the statuesque Athena that was her cousin, the diminutive and delicate Mariah had seemed a bit colorless, but seen out of doors in the sunlit garden, she was altogether lovely, like some misplaced wood nymph. He shrugged off the fanciful thought and came toward her, offering his arm. "If you are ready?"

***

M
ariah stood back as Mr. Needham handed Lady Russell into the carriage. It took several minutes before she managed to settle her ridiculously voluminous skirts that took up nearly all of the forward-facing seat. "My dear Mariah, I fear you must needs take the seat opposite. Otherwise, you will be swallowed up in my silks."

"Of course, my lady," Mariah replied, wondering why Lady Russell had worn such enormous hoops for traveling. She wondered if this was also part of the master plan. Perhaps Lady Russell had intentionally worn them so Lydia would be forced to ride with Lord Marcus. Mariah was filled with equal parts shock and admiration for the lady's sheer audacity. She'd played them all like a master puppeteer.

Reclining back against the red velvet squabs, Lady Russell retrieved a small green bottle from her traveling satchel. "Laudanum," she explained. "I am an exceedingly poor traveler. I find the incessant rocking of the coach wreaks havoc with my constitution. Thus, I prefer to sleep." She uncorked the bottle, wrinkled her nose, and took several delicate sips. "There now." She replaced the bottle with a smile. "Let us be off to Bedfordshire. Mr. Needham!" she called out the window. "I am ready to depart."

Mariah exhaled a sigh of relief that Mr. Needham had decided to ride with the coachman, only to suck in a breath as the door opened. She held it as he climbed inside, filling the small space beside her with his very large presence. He looked to the rear-facing seat with an expression of confusion. "My dear Needham," Lady Russell said, "I count on you to keep our guest entertained while I lose myself in the arms of Morpheus."

"It will be my pleasure and honor to do so," he replied with a gallant smile as he took his place beside Mariah. He then rapped sharply on the roof three times, which jolted the coach into motion.

The moment he sat beside her, Mariah felt a constricting sensation in her chest that had nothing to do with her stays. She was already far too aware of him for her peace of mind, and now their thighs were nearly touching, for heaven's sake! She pressed her body closer to the window in an effort to create more space.

While Lady Russell reclined against the squabs, Mariah peeked discreetly through the curtained coach window, hoping to distract herself with the sights and sounds of the bustling city. Traffic was heavy as they navigated the streets. Everywhere she looked there was noise and movement—vendors hawking wares from their barrows, burly footmen carrying elegant sedan chairs, and bellowing drivers cursing the pedestrians who darted dangerously through the two lanes of traffic. The air was also vaguely tainted with the mixed smells of horse droppings, refuse, and soot. Yet even under this sensory assault, Mariah remained almost painfully aware of the gentleman beside her.

"This must be your first visit to London, Lady Mariah?" Mr. Needham asked.

She released the velvet curtain as if it had scorched her. "Have I given myself away with my gawking?" Feeling her cheeks suffuse with fire, she dropped her gaze to her lap. "How gauche I must appear."

"Not at all," he chuckled warmly. "Your curiosity is delightful. After spending so much time in the city, it's all too easy for one to forget its many charms. How do you find London?"

"I find it utterly fascinating," she gushed. "It is so lively compared to the countryside."

"It is indeed," he agreed. "While there are many more beautiful cities on the Continent, and certainly much cleaner ones, London is quite unique in its character."

"I wish I had time to see more of it," she said wistfully. "But I promised to return home within a fortnight."

"Do you plan to come back to town for the season?" he asked.

"No. I cannot. I was supposed to have done so the year before last, but my father was struck ill and never fully recovered."

"You have my sympathies."

"You are very kind, Mr. Needham." She looked again to her lap. She didn't understand why she suddenly felt so awkward and self-conscious. Making polite conversation had never seemed such a burden. She wished she was more like Lydia, who was possessed of not only greater beauty, but a quicker wit and a clever tongue.

After a time, the traffic lessened. They had turned north out of the city, but the roads were ill repaired, and the jostling increased. Although she tried to maintain a decorous space between them, the rocking motion of the carriage kept throwing her smaller body against his larger one. Each time the coach jarred her into him, she got a whiff of his distinctive scent, a subtle musk hinting of bergamot.

Seeking distraction, she turned back to the window, but the next time she dropped the velvet curtain, she found Mr. Needham watching her most intently with his deep-set golden-brown eyes. Fighting the urge to fidget, Mariah forced a smile to her lips. "It appears we are leaving London. You mentioned visiting many other cities on the Continent. Have you traveled extensively, Mr. Needham?"

"Yes. Quite extensively. Marcus and I took our grand tour together, and then six years ago when he joined the Foreign Service, he asked me to become his secretary. We have lived abroad most of the time since."

"Which place is your favorite?" she asked.

"Italy," he answered without hesitation. "It is sunny and warm, as are the people. I particularly enjoyed Florence. My second favorite place would be the Dutch Republic. Probably because we spent the most time there."

"What were the people like?"

"I found the Dutch are quite similar to the English in their character."

"How do you mean?"

"Much like us, they are a pragmatic and industrious people who take great pride in their trade."

"Did you learn to speak their language?"

"I did. It behooves one to learn the local tongues. Marcus has a great command of Latin and French, the primary languages of diplomacy, while I have a respectable knowledge of German and Dutch, the tongues of our greatest allies. Speaking of which, would you be terribly offended if I reviewed some correspondence? I apologize for even asking you, but I've received some important letters for Marcus that require immediate translation. "

"I don't mind at all," Mariah replied, wondering if her colorless conversation had bored him. "Please feel free to attend to your duties."

"Thank you for your indulgence," he replied with a smile.

He then reached into the leather satchel he'd carried into the coach and retrieved several wax-sealed documents. With Lady Russell still softly snoring and Mr. Needham engaged in his correspondence, Mariah took advantage of the opportunity to study him.

Her attention was drawn first to his hands, large and well formed with long fingers stained at the tips with ink smudges. She wondered that she hadn't noticed before, but then again, he'd been wearing gloves. She'd earlier noted the dark shadows beneath his eyes. He must have been up very late working. She admired his discipline and respected his diligence.

Her gaze tracked next over his clothing. He wore a coat and breeches of navy broadcloth and an ivory damask waistcoat with gold buttons. His suit was plain but well fitted to him. He might even have been taken for an upper class tradesman but for the fine tailoring and the expensive Mechlin lace adorning his collar and cuffs, which clearly marked him as a gentleman. 

She liked that he wore his own hair, a lustrous shade of dark chestnut brown, rather than a powdered wig like so many gentlemen preferred. He combed it straight back from his forehead, secured in a queue. It was a severe style that drew the eye to the distinct widow's peak in the center of his forehead. With his angular features and longish nose, she decided that Nicolas Needham was not an uncommonly handsome man—until he suddenly glanced up at her. For the second time, he'd caught her watching him. There was something mesmerizing about his golden-brown eyes. His lips pursed and his brows lifted ever so slightly, suggesting that he read her thoughts. Although they weren't alone, the closed carriage suddenly seemed far too intimate.

"Have you finished with your correspondence?" she asked.

"For the nonce," he replied, folding the letters that covered his lap and stacking them neatly inside his case. "There is nothing else so pressing that I would deny myself the companionship of a charming lady."

"Are all London gentlemen so generous with their flattery?"

One dark brow slanted upward over his intelligent and expressive eyes. "I believe many are, but I am exceedingly frugal with mine."

"Oh?" She experienced another sudden flush of warmth. Unaccustomed to flirtation, Mariah found herself reverting back to the trite remarks that had compelled him to seek better entertainment only an hour ago. "Have you been to the duke's home before?"