A Pledge of Passion (The Rules of Engagement #2)(3)

Mariah stepped back to examine the damage and found a long gape in the skirt of her best day gown.

"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.

***

With 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?"