The Youngest Dowager: A Regency romance(26)
‘Marcus, you are impossible,’ Marissa hissed, struggling to maintain her appreciative social smile. ‘You will have to get used to this sort of thing.’
‘Remind me to have the pianoforte chopped up for firewood,’ he retorted, low-voiced.
Marissa could not help but smile. ‘Miss Sophie Woodruffe plays the harp and she often brings it with her.’
‘Oh, my God.’ He dropped his head into his hands in mock despair. ‘Must I stuff my ears with sheep’s wool?’ The air came to an end and before they could embark on another he was on his feet, leading the applause. ‘Ladies, thank you, that was delightful. It almost moved me to tears.’
Jackson forestalled any further entertainment by ushering in the footmen with the tea tray, much to Marissa’s relief.
She dutifully circulated around the room, exchanging pleasantries with the guests, admiring Aunt Augusta’s winnings at the whist table where they were playing for penny points and congratulating the young ladies on their musical performance.
Seeing that the Earl was within earshot, she added wickedly, ‘And I do hope you will bring your harp to the next soirée here, Miss Sophie. The Earl has just confided in me that it is quite his favourite instrument.’ She looked him across at him, managing, somehow, to keep the smile from her face.
As he passed Marissa Marcus bent his head and whispered, ‘Touché, my lady.’ He watched her, admiring her elegance as she moved around the room, gracefully putting everyone at their ease, taking the opportunity to thank Jackson for the success of the arrangements as she passed him.
No, it would be no hardship being married to Marissa, and the contrast with the immature younger girls only pointed up her obvious advantages. He would find an opportunity to speak to her alone and ask her to marry him tonight.
He found Sir Henry at his side and realised that the older man also watching the Dowager Countess. ‘Good to see her enjoying herself again,’ the baronet said. ‘I’ve missed seeing her out riding, you know. Damned fine seat on a horse. Of course your cousin would never permit her to ride with the hounds. Great stickler for decorum, the late Earl.’
‘Tell me, Sir Henry, I am not familiar with the fine details of English social niceties yet, but would it be considered inappropriate for Lady Longminster to be seen riding at this stage in her mourning?’
‘Good grief, no. It’s been well over a year, hasn’t it? Perfectly acceptable, and it seems a shame to deprive her of something she enjoys after all she has been through.’
Marcus clapped his guest on the shoulder. ‘Sound advice, Sir Henry. I am obliged to you.’
Marissa accepted a cup of tea from Jackson and went back to her place on the sofa. Marcus, waving aside the offer of refreshment, joined her. ‘Tell me, Marissa, do you miss riding?’
‘Oh, yes, very much. I used to ride every day when the weather permitted.’
‘Surely it would be acceptable for you to ride again now?’
‘I suppose so. Yes, I must think about buying a horse.’
'You must have had a horse. Is it not still in the stables here'?'
‘Not one specific one, no. My lord preferred me to ride a variety of mounts, depending on the occasion and the season.’ She bit her lip as though puzzling over how to explain something. ‘My lord viewed a rider in the landscape as part of the composition of the parkland.’ Seeing his puzzlement, she said, ‘In autumn, for example, against the backdrop of the newly ploughed fields and reddening foliage, I wore a chestnut-brown habit and rode the red roan. In winter, he wished me to ride in garnet-red on the grey.’
Her face was serious as she explained the late Earl’s detailed rules for creating a landscape almost Palladian in its perfection, in order to set off the house like a jewel in its box. Marcus would have laughed out loud if he had not been so fearful of offending her. Wherever he went he had heard murmurings of his late cousin’s eccentricities, but had put them down to the whims of a dilettante rich enough to indulge his every desire. Now he was beginning to wonder if the third Earl had not been actually unbalanced.
He kept the thought to himself. ‘I will send instructions to the stables that any mount you choose should be at your disposal.’
‘Why, thank you, Marcus. That would be wonderful. I shall so much look forward to that. I have missed my rides out about the estate. Oh, I see Aunt Augusta waving, I believe she wishes to speak with me. Will you excuse me, please?’
Marissa crossed to where the older woman was rising from the card table, ready, it seemed, to depart.
‘I’ll be leaving now, my dear. I can’t get used to the French fashion of late dining, it plays havoc with my digestion. But I’ve had a splendid time, particularly when the footman dropped the fruit, eh? Didn’t get that sort of entertainment with Charles, the stuffy old dog.’
It was as though a bank of freezing fog had swept into the room. Marissa had forgotten that incident and the memories it had evoked, the fear of her lord’s cold, studied, anger. Yet here she was, surrounded by friends, admiration, laughter. It was madness to be afraid of Charles now when she was beyond his reach and his retribution. She was free now, free to rebuild her own life, and she never need be in the power of another man again as long as she lived.
The guests had begun to leave. Marissa detached Nicci from a rather too intimate conversation with Mr Ashforde and the two of them joined Marcus at the head of the staircase to see the guests off to their waiting carriages.