The Youngest Dowager_A Regency romance Page 13

  ‘Why have you come, Marissa?’ he asked calmly, leaning back in his chair. ‘Not that is not always a pleasure to see you.’

  Marissa realised she did not know. She had left the Dower House because she could not bear to stay still any longer. She was confused, almost angry, but she did not rightly know with whom. She wanted to be near him, yet his very closeness frightened her. She needed to be in his arms, yet was terrified of what that might lead to.

  ‘Marissa?’ Marcus prompted.

  ‘I cannot come to London,’ she blurted out finally.

  ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘Um…’ It had only just occurred to her how impossible it would be. How could she live under Marcus’s roof for months, seeing him every day, watching him as he set about the task of finding a wife when she had fallen in love with him herself? She muttered, ‘After last night… It is impossible. You must see that.’

  ‘I do not see that it is impossible, far from it. You are naturally agitated that I allowed my passions to run away with me last night and I have to apologise for both that and the way I spoke afterwards.’

  ‘There is no need. Please do not mention it again.’

  He inclined his head. ‘You are very good. We will be married, of course, it is an eminently suitable solution for both of us. You are the perfect mistress for Southwood Hall and, for my part, I can offer you the style of living to which you have been accustomed. If you wish a longer period to elapse before we announce our betrothal, then I accept that, naturally.’

  Marcus leaned back in his chair and smiled at her. An unexpected flash of anger overcame her embarrassment: here was another man dictating her life, dressing up his offer as the perfect solution for her when in reality it was the perfect solution for him.

  ‘No. I will not marry you. Last night… We must forget last night. It was a mistake. And there is certainly no need for you to marry me because of it. I do not wish to remarry. Not now, not ever.’

  ‘But you must marry.’ Marcus leaned forward, fixing her with his blue gaze. ‘You are young, and beautiful and eligible. You must want children – ’ He broke off as she felt herself go pale. ‘I am sorry if what I am saying is painful, Marissa, but life moves on. Charles will never leave you, you will never forget what you shared together, but it will become part of your memories as you live your new life.’

  Marissa gave a choked sob and jumped up, knocking over her cup. ‘No. No, you are wrong.’ How could he tell her that she would never forget when her whole happiness depended on her being able to do that very thing, to push those awful years into a locked cupboard in her mind so she could start living afresh?

  Marcus stood, but did not approach her. ‘I am sorry, it is obviously too soon to speak of these things. But why will you not come to London? You need a change of scene and you would enjoy the balls, the theatre, the shops. You have been confined in the country too long and need diversion.’ Marcus picked up his cup and saucer and strolled to the window, looking out over the rolling parkland. He added lightly, ‘And besides, Nicci needs you as her chaperone.’

  ‘Miss Venables would enjoy the role, and perform it far better than I,’ Marissa said stubbornly. She wanted so much to go to London, but she did not want to be with Marcus. Close to him, under the same roof, how could she disguise her feelings for him?

  The underlying unhappiness in her voice must have reached him. He put down the cup, crossed the room to put one arm around her shoulders, drawing her against his warmth and strength.

  ‘Marissa, do not be so stubborn, please do not let us fall out over this. Can’t you see you are cutting off your nose to spite your face? I want you to come to London, Nicci wants you to come to London… Damn it, you want to come to London.’

  Marissa let her body relax against his for one self-indulgent moment, then common sense reasserted itself. She pushed hard at his chest and wriggled free. ‘No. How dare you touch me after what passed between us last night? Sir, you are no gentleman!'

  ‘But you, Marissa, judging by your responses on the beach, are all woman.’

  She lifted her hand to slap him hard, but he caught her wrist in one hand and pulled her against his chest. His other hand cupped her chin as though he was about to kiss her mouth.

  Marissa set her lips tight and twisted her face away, fighting the temptation to reach for him, cover him in kisses.

  There was the sound of the double doors opening and of raised voices outside. Marcus dropped Marissa’s hand and took a step backwards. Marissa sank onto the window seat and remarked coolly, ‘The park is looking quite lovely in the sunshine, my lord, do you not think so?’

  Jackson entered with Nicci hard on his heels. There was colour in the butler’s cheeks and Nicci had an unmistakable air of triumph about her. ‘Jackson said you were busy and were not to be disturbed, but I told him that was nonsense, you were only having breakfast, and even if you were grumpy I need to talk to you… Oh, good morning, Marissa, I had not realised you were here. Honestly, Jackson, you are impossible – I would have come down directly if I had known Marissa had come.’

  Jackson cast Marcus a look of resignation and departed as Nicci chattered on. ‘Well, I am really glad you have come because I need to talk to you about jewellery – Marcus is being incredibly stuffy about it. He will only let me take pearls and not Mama’s diamonds or the emerald set.’

  ‘He is quite correct, Nicci,’ Marissa said, somehow controlling her breathing. She was relieved that the girl seemed not to have noticed anything amiss. ‘You must not be disappointed, but gemstones are not considered suitable young lady in her first Season. Pearls will be lovely and there is no reason why you cannot wear amber or rose quartz beads.’

  ‘Oh, if you are going to be stuffy too, there is no point in arguing, I suppose. I am so excited. Is it really only two days until we set off? Are you packed and ready? I am sure I will never be.’

  ‘I was just saying to your brother that I am not coming with you to London after all. But I am sure Miss Venables will be a splendid companion for you.’

  With a wail of disappointment Nicci ran across the room and threw herself down on the seat next to Marissa. ‘Marissa, say you are teasing! Why, can’t you come to London?’

  Marissa, struggled to find an acceptable answer and realised that her gaze had strayed to Marcus’s sardonic face.

  Nicci caught the look and swivelled round immediately. ‘So that is it! It is Marcus’s fault, as usual – I suppose he has upset you in some way and now he is going to ruin my come-out.’

  ‘No, no, Nicci, please do not blame your brother. It is entirely my decision. I just felt, er, it was too much. It is too soon. I mean…’ Marissa’s words trailed away lamely. She had not even convinced herself, let alone Nicci.

  ‘Now, Marissa,’ Marcus interjected smoothly. ‘You are being unfair on yourself. Tell my sister the real reason why you do not wish to accompany us to London.’

  Marissa stared at him in horror. Surely he would not even hint at what had passed between them last night or what had been said this morning? Her mouth opened, she sought for the right words but nothing emerged.

  ‘Very well, I see I shall have to be brutally honest. Nicci, I am afraid that Marissa feels that you will be too much of a handful for her. Now, I know she wanted to spare your feelings, but you will have to accept that she is going to sacrifice her own pleasure on the altar of your wilfulness,’ Marcus said solemnly.

  Nicci promptly burst into tears. Marissa, with one harassed glance at the girl, left her and marched over to where Marcus was standing, one booted foot on the fender, arms crossed – and obviously thoroughly enjoying himself. ‘Marcus, how could you say anything so untrue and unkind to your sister? See how upset she is.’

  He smiled down into her furious face. ‘Yes. I realise it is not very gentlemanly of me, but it had to be said for her own good.’ If he had hoped to goad her by flinging her accusation that he had not behaved as a gentleman back in her face, he had succeeded.


  With a frustrated stamp of her foot Marissa turned back to Nicci who was drooping miserably on the window seat, sniffing into a lawn handkerchief. ‘It is not true, Nicci dearest. Marcus is teasing you – and me. I simply said that I was feeling very tired. I think the arrangements, and the hot weather, have sapped my energy. But do not mind it. I will be better directly. Of course I will go to London with you.’

  ‘If you are sure? A change of scenery and occupation will soon chase away these megrims,’ Marcus said smoothly. ‘Although I am certain you will miss the invigorating sea breezes.’ He smiled wolfishly, his teeth very white in the lean, tanned face.

  ‘I know what you are about, Marcus,’ Nicci accused suddenly. ‘You are teasing Marissa about something and it is very unfair of you.’ She stood, mustering her dignity, and extended her hand to Marissa. ‘Come along, Marissa, we will go upstairs and leave him to his beastly breakfast. I need you to tell me if any of my hats are fit to be seen in London.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Despite her conviction that she would need an entirely new wardrobe for London, Nicci still managed to pack enough valises to almost fill a travelling coach and Marcus was forced to add two more to the train of carriages that set out from Southwood Hall on a brilliantly sunny day.

  The journey was smooth and uneventful, but none the less Marissa was pleased to see Matthews’s smiling face as he stood at the head of the staff gathered to welcome them to the Grosvenor Square house. She had been afraid that he would resent Jackson’s arrival to usurp his position, but it soon became clear that the inexperienced young man welcomed direction in managing the Town house now the family were in residence.

  The hall was soon full of servants and luggage and Marissa let Gyp out into the garden at the rear, then slipped away to the morning room which overlooked the garden at the rear of the house. She stood by the windows, reflecting how different their arrival had used to be when she was married to Charles. He had hated commotion and disorder so the luggage had always been sent well ahead to ensure that everything would be in its place by the time the Earl and Countess drew up at the front door.

  The Grosvenor Square house was decorated to Charles’s exacting taste yet, although it was as cold and impersonal as Southwood Hall, the memories it held were not as painful. Marissa had known that whenever they went up to London she would hardly see her husband from one day to the other. Charles had left her to her own devices. In fact he would hardly speak to her. He’d had his own circle, his own interests, and had spent much of his time at his clubs. After his initial courtship he had rarely accompanied her to Almack’s or the numerous soirées to which they received invitations, leaving his wife to seek the escort of friends.

  Marissa had spent many lonely days in London, but at least she had been free of Charles’s dominating presence. And, curiously, here she had never been summoned to his bed-chamber as she had in Norfolk.

  Matthews’s discreet cough behind her recalled her to the present. ‘My lady, I was not certain which chamber you would wish to occupy.’

  ‘Her ladyship will, naturally, have her usual suite of rooms,’ Marcus said before she could reply.

  ‘No, surely Lady Nicole should occupy those rooms,’ she protested, turning to find them both in the doorway.

  ‘I insist. Matthews, see her ladyship’s luggage is taken up before any of the rest.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘And Matthews, order some tea to be sent up: her ladyship is fatigued.’

  She waited until the door closed behind the under-butler before she snapped, ‘Thank you so much for your concern, Marcus, but I am quite capable of ordering my own tea.’

  ‘You are as pale as linen, Marissa. I am sorry, I appreciate this must be painful for you.’ Marcus came and took her hand, led her to a chair and urged her into it. ‘I should have realised you would have an attachment to this house and will find it difficult to see it occupied by others.’

  ‘No, not really.’ Marissa was startled into honesty. ‘I never cared much for it. It is not that I dislike it, simply that it has no character, no warmth. My lord ordered it decorated in the Classical taste but I can’t help feeling that it is not so successful in a house of this scale as it is at Southwood Hall.’

  ‘Very true,’ Marcus agreed drily, his expression critical as he looked around the morning room. The walls were ice-blue with white mouldings. The curtains, again in chilly blue, were draped with almost rigid perfection around the long casements and two marble nymphs flanked the empty grate. It made Marissa cold just to look at it.

  ‘Now I’ve seen it I have it in mind to redecorate throughout,’ he said. ‘But I would not want to do anything you would dislike.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I hope you do redecorate. I have always felt that this could be made into a real family home. The house has beautiful proportions, but it is not served well by my lord’s taste.’

  Marcus’s eyebrows rose. ‘So, my impeccable late cousin had at least one failing, then?’

  She felt the animation drain from her. Marissa lowered her gaze to where her hands had tightened in her lap. ‘As have we all, my lord.’

  Marcus dropped to one knee beside her chair and covered her entwined fingers with his. ‘Marissa…’

  She glanced up and found he was looking at her with such compassion that her heart knotted within her. If he would only take her in his arms now, hold her, tell her that her marriage had been a bad dream, that it would not be like that with him…

  ‘Your chamber is prepared, my lady, and I have had the tea tray sent up,’ Matthews said from the doorway. He left as silently as he had appeared, but the spell was broken.

  ‘Excuse me, I will go up now.’

  Marcus rose silently from his knees, keeping his hand over hers. Marissa stood, releasing his light grasp the moment she was on her feet. The moment of intimacy had passed, yet the pressure of his fingers still remained as though imprinted on her skin.

  Her chamber was tidy, but it seemed very full. Mary was shaking out and hanging up her gowns, a pile of trunks was stacked in the corner and Nicci, obviously too excited to sit, was pacing the room, chattering non-stop to the stoical maid.

  ‘Marissa, there you are. Oh, do not bother with tea – can’t we go out to the shops now, or for a drive in the park? Surely it is the fashionable hour to be seen?’

  ‘Nicci, please sit down. You are badly in poor Mary’s way and I declare you are positively giving me a headache with your pacing. Sit down and have a cup of tea, then we must finish our unpacking, have a rest and a quiet family dinner. Tomorrow we will go shopping, I promise you.’

  ‘But I need so much – I cannot be seen in these clothes. And there is a pile of invitations and cards downstairs already. If I do not have the right gowns I will miss all the parties.’

  Marissa regarded her over the rim of her cup. ‘This is the start of the Season. There will be time, and parties, enough for you to go to. You know your brother will deny you nothing in the way of gowns.’ Nicci was looking mutinous, so she added cunningly, ‘You would not wish to appear to be a provincial by scrambling to attend every event you are invited to, surely? We will be selective and you must not appear over-eager.’

  ‘Very well. I expect you are right as usual, Marissa. Tell me about your own come-out. Was it very wonderful? Did you have lots of lovely gowns and admirers?’ She took her cup and sank down in a flurry of muslin skirts, ready for a good gossip.

  Marissa looked at the girl’s eager face and chose her words with care. ‘My lord proposed to me within a month of my come-out. And of course thereafter I always attended functions with him. But, yes, I had many lovely gowns.’ And indeed she had. Her father, who had ignored her as an inconvenient expense throughout her childhood, had proved unexpectedly generous when it had come to her first Season. He had gambled away most of her late mother’s jewels, but from somewhere he had found the resources to dress her in the very latest and most flattering fashions when she had made her debut
.

  Almost paralysed with nerves at her first dance, Marissa had not realised she was under the scrutiny of the eligible, uncatchable, Earl of Longminster until he had asked for a dance. He had appeared to admire her for her looks, for the dignity of her demeanour so unusual, he said, in a girl of just eighteen years. She had rapidly discovered, although her nervousness had diminished and she had soon felt at ease in Society, that her lord preferred her to retain an air of control and distance.

  Innocent and sheltered, Marissa had not realised until much later how unusual Charles Southwood’s courtship had been. He had never expressed affection, or even partiality. He had never touched her, except to take her hand in the dance or to assist her from the carriage. He had appeared to admire her, but almost as though she were an object, to be selected and purchased, not a woman with feelings and emotions to be engaged.

  And if she had been taken aback by her father’s urgency that she accept this very first proposal and that the marriage should swiftly follow, then her puzzlement had been swept aside in the hectic preparations for marriage.

  ‘Marissa?’ Nicci's voice broke through the memories. Marissa smiled at her. ‘I am sorry, Nicci. I was just reflecting that I am quite jealous of your freedom. I was engaged within weeks of my come-out, so I never really had the opportunity to enjoy myself as a single girl for long.’ She leaned across and took Nicci’s hand. ‘Nicci, take your time. Do not feel you have to hasten into marriage. Enjoy yourself while you can.’

  The girl's expression was first puzzled, then she laughed. ‘You sound just like Miss Venables. Do not worry, Marissa, I do not intend to find myself entangled.’

  ‘Especially as your heart has still not recovered from Mr Ashforde,’ Marissa replied slyly as the door opened and the footman let Gyp in to the room.

  After dinner the ladies left Marcus to his brandy and retired to the drawing room where the conversation turned to plans for the next day. Nicci demanded to know the names of all the most fashionable modistes and insisted that Marissa and Miss Venables accompany her to all of them as early as possible the next morning.