The Youngest Dowager: A Regency romance(31)
‘He never… shouted.’ Three little words that concealed so much pain. Marissa put a determined smile on her face and turned back to Nicci. ‘I am so sorry if my advice has served you badly, but do not despair. I am sure Mr Ashforde will wait for you for as long as it takes.’
Nicci looked doubtful, but there was a tap at the door before she could speak. When Marissa unlocked it Jackson entered with a tea tray, an expression of dour disapproval on his weather-beaten face.
‘He’s gone out again,’ he said without preamble. ‘You shouldn’t have done it, Miss Nicci. He wants to know what I was about, letting you run around on the terrace with the curate and no chaperone. Huh!’ He put the tea tray down with a thump and went out, closing the door with something perilously close to a slam.
Marissa gazed after him in bemusement. ‘He is very… unconventional, isn’t he?’
‘He is just Jackson,’ Nicci said, as if that explained everything. ‘Tea, Marissa? You know,’ she added after a couple of meditative sips, ‘I do not feel any longer as though my heart is breaking. Perhaps I am not in love with Mr Ashforde after all. It is a very lowering thought that Marcus might be right and that I am indeed a flirt.’
‘But, Nicci, I thought you wanted to marry him.’
‘I think I shall wait until I am out. It would be a pity to be engaged and not to enjoy Society – I should not be able to flirt at all.’
Marissa sighed, acknowledging to herself that she had learned a lesson that morning. Obviously not all young women were as dutiful as she had been, first to her father, then to her husband.
‘I should not think there is much likelihood that your brother will take you up to London for the Season after this upset,’ she said sympathetically.
‘Au contraire, I think it might make him do it sooner. I heard him talking to Jackson yesterday about opening the Town house. And,’ she added disarmingly, ‘he needs a wife. That is what he means about discipline for me. He thinks his wife would look after me and bring me out.’
Marissa’s heart thudded unaccountably. ‘Wife? Is Marcus thinking of getting married, then?’
‘I expect so. Diane says he should get married and he listens to her advice.’
‘Who is Diane?’
‘Oh, his mistress. Madame de Rostan, you know. She lives on the next estate to us in Jamaica. Her husband died ten years ago. He was much older than she was.’
Marissa set down her cup with a rattle. ‘Mistress? Nicci, you should not know about such things, let alone talk about them. I am sure Madame de Rostan is simply a close friend.’
She felt very flustered indeed, far more than Nicci’s improper behaviour warranted. Marcus has a mistress. Well, of course he had, he was a man and men seemed to need such… diversions. At least this woman was in Jamaica. The thought was comforting, but she did not like to dwell too much on why she should care.
Nicci looked at Marissa from under her lashes. ‘I am sorry if I offended you, Marissa, but things are more openly known in the West Indies. And Diane is perfectly respectable and received everywhere. I do miss her but it will be delightful when she arrives.’
‘Arrives? Here?’
‘Oh, no, in London. She has a house there and comes every two or three years for the Season and to buy clothes.’
Marissa found she could hardly think straight. Without thinking, she blurted out, ‘Why does he not marry her if she is so respectable?’
‘Diane says they would fight like cat and dog if they were under the same roof. And besides…’ Nicci wandered over to the clothes press and began to finger a pile of lace. ‘She is older than he is.’
It was some comfort, but not much. No doubt in Lady Nicole’s eyes anyone over twenty-five was quite in their dotage. Marissa stood up, suddenly exasperated with the whole Southwood family.
‘I must go home and I have left Tempest tethered to the fence. Will you be all right now, Nicci dear?’
Nicci crossed and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Quite all right and thank you for trying to help. I am sorry Marcus was so cross.’
Marcus was standing in the hall when she descended the staircase. Marissa faltered slightly at the sight of him, then she walked steadily down, giving him a cool nod as she passed him. He put out a hand, touched her arm, then snatched his hand back as she flinched away from his touch.
‘I must apologise for losing my temper, Marissa.’
‘Please do not concern yourself, my lord. Nicci tells me it is a not infrequent occurrence.’ Her tone was glacial.
Marcus regarded her ruefully. ‘I had hoped you would have forgiven me, because I was going to ask you a favour. Will you not come into the study for a moment?’ He led her in, closed the door behind them. Under his fingers he felt her stiffen. The tension was vibrating from her like a note from a bowstring. Damn it, he thought, she is still overwrought from last night and now I have taken her into her husband’s study. It must be full of memories because he had changed nothing, preferring not to use the unwelcoming room.
Marissa stepped away from him, holding herself erect. ‘Forgive you, my lord? It is not my place to do so. I made a severe error of judgement in interfering between you and your sister and it is I who should beg your forgiveness.’
To Marcus her tone belied the sentiment: she could not have been colder had she been carved from ice. He knew her bereavement ran deep, but there was something else, he was sure of it. If only she would open up and tell him – but he could hardly ask her to confide in him.