The Youngest Dowager: A Regency romance(25)
It was time she stopped daydreaming and paid more attention to her guests, Marissa chided herself. She turned and listened intently to Mr Woodruffe’s knowledgeable suggestions for plants for her refurbished gardens at the Dower House.
‘Now roses are always safe on these heavy soils and of course you are sheltered from the worst of the winds in that dip. Lavender, however, might suffer, although if you get your gardener to dig in plenty of gravel that will stop any root-rot…’
He was well away, needing only occasional nods and murmurs of encouragement. Marissa glanced down the table and frowned slightly to see Nicci’s heightened colour. Her laugh was becoming rather shrill and she had been talking to Crispin Ashforde almost exclusively. It would never do for her to be setting her cap at him too obviously, especially when Marcus seemed disinclined to like the young man. She would have to do something to change that opinion because she was still convinced that the curate would be the ideal husband for Nicci.
The servants were removing dishes, re-laying the table with an array of sweetmeats and desserts. Syllabubs, jellies, a confection reproducing the frankly hideous fountain in the West Court in sugar, custards and baskets of pastries were set before them. One of the footmen lifted the heavy epergne loaded with fruit from the sideboard to place in the centre of the table. It was off balance, and another man hurried to help him, but before he could do so the top layer of fruit spilt over, thudding onto the table and scattering between the chairs.
Footmen scrambled for the fruit. Jackson seized the epergne and set it firmly on the table and Marcus laughed out loud. The guests, cheerfully fielding fruit as it rolled in their direction, joined in.
Marissa dared breathe when she saw guests laughing, the amusement on Marcus’s face. She made herself release her grip on the arms of her chair and smile too.
The meal seemed to drag on as she toyed with three grapes on her plate without lifting even one to her lips. At last she could rise, catch the eye of Lady Augusta and lead the ladies out, leaving the gentlemen to their port.
Marissa struggled to regain her composure as they entered the Salon. Mechanically she encouraged Lady Augusta in her efforts to set up a four for whist and found music for the young ladies to play later.
Was she never to be free of Charles? Would her husband always haunt her, dominating her in death as he had in life? She shivered as she remembered what had always followed any domestic transgression for which he held her responsible. The late Earl had believed that physical punishment was necessary to discipline servants, hounds and his wife. He would never show the slightest sign of displeasure in public: chastisement belonged in the bedchamber…
Chapter Nine
Half an hour later, when Marcus led the gentlemen back in to join the ladies, the whist table was already established and Miss Catherine Ollard was turning over the pile of music sheets on the piano, rather too obviously hoping that she would be asked to perform.
‘Will you not play for us, Miss Ollard?’ Marissa asked.
‘Oh, well, that is, I do not know if my playing is… But if you insist, Lady Longminster.’ She sat at the piano, settled her skirts and opened a volume of ballads on the music rest before her.
The younger Mr French stepped forward. ‘May I turn for you, Miss Ollard?’
The Woodruffe sisters raised their eyebrows at each other but sat politely to listen and the remaining gentlemen disposed themselves about the room.
Marcus came and sat next to Marissa on one of the pair of sofas flanking the fireplace. He stretched out his long legs. folded his arms and whispered out of the corner of his mouth, ‘Did you have to do that?’
He was rather too close for convention, the sleeve of his coat almost touching her gloved arm. Melissa felt the warmth of him, smelled the sandalwood cologne he wore and felt her heart begin to thump. Somehow she managed to give him a reproving stare and whisper, ‘Shh.’
Under cover of the opening bars he leaned closer and whispered in return, ‘You look even more magnificent when you frown at me.’
‘Do not be ridiculous.’ She could feel the colour rising up her throat and turned her head away. Why he should be flirting with her she could not imagine, but that was undoubtedly what he was doing. She might never have been involved in flirtation before, but she could recognise it when it was happening.
‘There is nothing ridiculous about it, you must know how beautiful you look this evening.’
She turned her head away but she was still conscious that he studied her averted profile. ‘I know no such thing.’
‘Fishing for compliments, my lady?’
The sheer audacity of it brought her head round. ‘Certainly not!’
‘But no woman appears at a social occasion with a new hairstyle unless she is well aware of how well it becomes her.’
She could hear the laughter in his whispered teasing and it only served to add to her indignation. ‘I am not a young lady. I am a Dowager.’
‘Surely the youngest and loveliest in the land.’ He broke off to applaud the end of the ballad. ‘Well done, Miss Ollard, a very pretty air indeed. Will you not favour us with another?’
Miss Ollard blushed and began to rise from the pianoforte. ‘You are very kind, my lord, but I believe it is time to make way for someone else. Miss Woodruffe, if I were to play, will you not sing?’
Having restored peace with her friend she struck up an Elizabethan love song. Miss Woodruffe warbled away, causing Marcus to moan softly in anguish.