The Youngest Dowager: A Regency romance(43)
‘Especially as your heart has still not recovered from Mr Ashforde,’ Marissa replied slyly as the door opened and the footman let Gyp in to the room.
After dinner the ladies left Marcus to his brandy and retired to the drawing room where the conversation turned to plans for the next day. Nicci demanded to know the names of all the most fashionable modistes and insisted that Marissa and Miss Venables accompany her to all of them as early as possible the next morning.
‘No, no, dear,’ Jane protested. ‘It will never do to patronise a modiste at random. We must consider who will best enhance your style and make gowns suitable for a debutante.’
‘I have heard well of Madame Franchot,’ Nicci said excitedly. ‘Diane – our dear friend Madame de Rostan, who lived near us in Jamaica – patronises her when she comes to England, and Diane always wears the most stunning gowns.’
Marissa, fighting to keep her composure, said nothing but Jane said, ‘No, dear, that would not be a suitable choice. Madame Franchot does not specialise in gowns for young ladies just out, you will be able to shop at her establishment when you are married. But farther down Bruton Street there is an establishment owned by a dressmaker who previously worked for Madame Lavall and I hear she produces the most charming, fresh gowns that will be quite your style.’
‘Very well. And then I will need shoes, and bonnets, and reticules and stockings…’
Marissa laughed at Nicci’s ambitious programme. ‘We will need to plan our days like a military campaign, Nicci, if we are to get through it all.’
A floorboard creaked and Marcus walked into the drawing room, a wicked smile on his lips, his tall figure immaculate in evening dress. ‘Nicci, I am sorry to disappoint you, but Marissa is coming shopping with me tomorrow.’
Marissa looked up, startled, then sent him a reproving frown for teasing his sister.
‘Marcus, don’t be a beast,' Nicci protested. ‘And Marissa can’t go shopping with you. It would not be proper for her to go to tailors and bootmakers. Even I know that.’
‘Oh, I was not intending to buy clothes, sister dear. No, we have something far more important to engage us. Marissa is going to assist me in redecorating this house.’
Nicci was immediately diverted. ‘How wonderful – I knew Marissa could not really like this chilly place, although naturally I would not say so. Now, for my room I want a pink silk tented ceiling and gauze bed curtains, and a shell-shaped bath in my dressing room…’
‘Tell me, Nicci, how have you managed to imagine a room better suited to a class of female I devoutly hope you will never encounter?’
‘My lord,’ Miss Venables cautioned, but Nicci simply pouted at her brother.
‘Stuffy man! I saw it illustrated in the Lady's Intelligencer last month. It was beautiful.’
‘Well, I have no intention of redecorating your room, whatever your journals say. It will soon be buried under piles of shopping in any case. No, we will begin with the hall and the Salon. Marissa, at what hour tomorrow would it be convenient for you to accompany me to Schomberg House? Harding, Howell and Company are reputed to have the latest styles in furniture.’
The thought of spending an intimate day in Marcus’s company choosing furnishings like a married couple was dangerously attractive. Marissa dropped her gaze. ‘I regret that I will be unable to give any attention to furnishings until we have ordered our gowns, my lord. Surely you would not have the house redecorated but none of us fit to entertain in it?’
Marcus crossed one leg over another and looked at her steadily. ‘Come, Marissa, you are reneging on our agreement.’
‘Not at all. I am more than willing to assist you, but all in good time: I had not realised that you were in quite such a hurry, my lord.’
‘I know what it is,’ Nicci teased. ‘Marcus is going to catch a wife and he wants the house to be in the mode to impress the ladies. Is that not so, brother? Deny it if you dare.’
There was time for two heartbeats before Marcus said, ‘Of course. And I must be sure that the house will reflect the taste of the lady I would marry.’
‘Aha!’ Nicci said triumphantly. ‘Hoist by your own petard – whatever that is. You cannot be in a hurry, for how can you redecorate until you have found the lady and discovered her taste?’
Marcus laughed. ‘Touché, brat. Very well, I release Marissa for your orgy of shopping, but I reserve the right to claim her later.’
Marissa’s heart thudded. What a thing to say. What a wonderful thought. It appeared he was still bent on marrying her but she would not, could not, fall in with his plans for her to be the new Countess of Longminster. The realities of marriage would be far worse this time because she loved Marcus, she knew that now. She could not bear to have that love destroyed by marriage when he would all too soon realise she could never be a true wife to him.
‘If we are to make an early start tomorrow we should retire,’ Jane said firmly. ‘Nicci, if you do not go to bed this instant, I can promise that you will have black circles under your eyes. Come along now, say goodnight to your brother and Marissa.'
Left alone, neither Marissa nor Marcus spoke. She because she could not, he because he seemed quite at his ease simply sitting and regarding the flames of the small fire flickering in the grate.
At last the silence became so oppressive, and the tension of waiting for him to speak so great, that Marissa blurted out, 'May I take the barouche – ’