How to Marry a Marble Marquis(47)
It was lovely meeting you, and I do hope your time at the ball ends beneficially for all of us. I look forward to seeing you again very soon.
Affectionately yours,
Lady Maris Stride
She was speechless for several long moments. She had met Silas’s striking younger sister only once, but it had been enough to leave a strong impression. Maris Stride did not suffer fools, her brother included, that was evident.
She had been on her way to the moon temple the first and only time she had encountered Lady Maris, her arms full of his clothes. She was still furious with him. She was still angry and humiliated and hurt, and she reminded him of what would happen once she left the Monster’s Ball at every opportunity — all of his lessons would be applied to another man, and all of his tips on seduction and lovemaking would be used on someone else. She could see that it rankled him, and that soothed the ache in her heart . . . But beneath the ache, she was still in love with him. There was no denying that. He was a rake and a reprobate, and he had made it clear he was not interested in marriage, but she did not possess a hard enough heart to forget how soft he made her feel.
His chamber servants had been utterly perplexed by her request for his lordship’s clothes at first, but now they had them ready. It was an abominably improper way to behave, particularly in front of the servants who likely all had wagging tongues, but she didn’t care. In another few days, it wouldn’t matter. Dressing him was the most intimate thing she had ever done.
“I apologize for forgetting the powder. I hope your arse can survive the evening, my lord,” she had tittered, holding out his breeches as if he were a child who needed help stepping into them.
“Give me that,” he had huffed, snatching them from her. She had giggled the entire time he dressed, mumbling to himself over the lack of the looking glass. Fastening the snaps around his wings was the only thing he truly needed assistance with, and she did so, fastening his shirt and waistcoat and, finally, his jacket. She straightened his collar and pushed his hair into place with her fingers.
“Did you even bring any pomade? I’m certain my hair looks a fright.”
“Oh, your hair looks fine. Who are you trying to impress anyway?” As soon as the words were out, Eleanor nearly swallowed her tongue. She wondered if he had been trying to impress her all these weeks, or if the Marquis of Basingstone simply didn’t leave his perch without looking as if a team of servants had buffed and manicured every inch of him.
That evening she was hurrying up the stone pathway, later than she normally left, when she stopped short at the sight of the beautiful, ornately dressed woman. She could tell immediately it was his sister. Aside from the fact that she was a striking gargoyle of black marble, she was heavy with child. Her silvery white hair was thick and elaborately plaited around her head, and the dress she wore was mind-bogglingly opulent. Silas Stride had the bearing of an arrogant dandy, but his sister had the bearing of a queen.
“Good evening, dear. It’s a lovely night, isn’t it?
“It is, my lady. I apologize if I startled you.”
“Not at all dear. I’ve always been a bit of an early riser compared to my brother. I take it you are the guest I’ve heard about? Lord Ellingboe’s sponsor?”
“Yes, my lady. Eleanor Eastwick, I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance. You’re the marquis’s sister. May I say your dress is absolutely stunning? It looks like something from another age.”
Her laugh was as shimmering and icy as her brother’s. “Oh, my dear girl, flattery will get you absolutely everywhere, especially with a pregnant woman. Come, walk with me. Yes, I’m the infamous Lady Maris. I take it you are heading to the moon temple? Are those my brother’s clothes? Doesn’t he have a manservant to dress him?”
“Oh, I’m certain he has at least several of those. A servant to feed him, one to dress him, another to bathe him. Likely one to powder his arse, is what I told him.”
Maris Stride had the giddy laughter of a teenage girl, and it bounced off the arbor as they walked up the path. “No one has ever claimed that my darling brother was not a fop,” she laughed, linking her arm with Eleanor’s and wiping at her eyes with the other. “Mercy, I’m supposed to be avoiding stimulation. I’m going to be borrowing that line in the future, Miss Eastwick. So we know he is a fop, and we know he has a bevy of servants to attend to his every need, isolating him from ever truly needing to grow up.”
“Do men ever truly need to grow up, Lady Maris?”
“No. They do not. And isn’t that the point? We have to marry them to secure our futures. I understand you are seeking a husband, Miss Eastwick. Lord Ellingboe wrote to me some time ago. I hope that you have found what you’re looking for.”
She had turned then, uncertain of what his sister meant.
“Come now, Miss Eastwick. We’ve established that my brother is a spoiled child, and yet here you are, on your way to dress him yourself. Are you in love with him?”
The whole world had seemed to sway in that moment. The twisting vines of the orchard and the trees bordering the nearby forest, the sea tipped, and the moon swung. “I don’t see how it matters,” she answered finally.
“Does it not? It seems to me like that would matter quite a bit.”
Eleanor shook her head, afraid to speak lest her tears crowded her throat. “No, it does not. I have two younger sisters and an agéd grandmother, and barely a farthing to my name, Lady Stride. It doesn’t matter if I love your brother if he’s not going to marry me. I need to secure my family’s future. I’m sure you understand.”