The Youngest Dowager: A Regency romance(47)
‘Quite… That is I will go back to Nicci. Oh, dear…’
Miss Venables could be heard retreating along the landing, muttering, ‘Oh, dear, oh, dear.’
It broke the tension between them. Marcus caught Marissa’s gaze and broke out laughing. ‘Poor Miss Venables. Will she ever recover?’
‘It is no laughing matter.’ Marissa said with something between a sigh and a giggle. ‘She will think me quite beyond redemption. I will tell her that we… Oh, dear, I cannot think of anything to tell her that is not thoroughly improper.’
Marcus got to his feet, the laughter dying out of his face to be replaced with a rueful gentleness. ‘Forgive me, Marissa, I would not have embarrassed you for the world. Tell Miss Venables what you will. I promise I will stand any amount of lecturing from her on the subject of my morals.’ He smiled as he left her.
As she entered Nicci’s room, carefully avoiding Jane’s eye, Marissa thought, I do like Marcus: he is so very kind, and he does make me laugh. It had never occurred to her that she could have that sort of friendship with a man, least of all one she was in love with. Perhaps she could learn to accept that friendship and keep her other thoughts, her love for him, a secret always.
‘Marissa, you have forgotten the scarf,’ Nicci said, staring at her. ‘And what have you been doing? You are quite pink in the face and your hair is half down.’
‘Oh, is it? I thought the scarf might have dropped down behind the blanket box so I leaned over to look. I expect that made the blood rush to my face.’
Jane cleared her throat reprovingly and stared out of the window. She was clearly shocked to the core to have found them in such a compromising situation. And now Marissa had added an untruth to loose behaviour. She could expect a lecture later when they were alone.
A discreet tap at the door, answered by Nicci, revealed Jackson, a broad smile on his face. ‘Miss Nicci, Madame Diane has arrived.’
‘Diane, here in London?’ Nicci jumped up in a shower of paper patterns, her eyes sparkling. ‘But we did not look to see her for several weeks.’
‘The winds from Jamaica were good, I understand,’ Jackson said, still grinning.
‘But where is she staying? Has she opened up her London house?’ Nicci demanded. ‘She must come to dinner.’
‘You can ask her yourself, Miss Nicci, she is below in the hall. I must find his lordship. Have you seen him recently?’
Jane cleared her throat again and Marissa said, ‘No. Perhaps he is in his study, Jackson.’
She and Jane followed across the landing to where the sweep of banisters gave a view of the hall below and the lady who waited there. From above Marissa gained the impression of extreme elegance, of superbly coiffed honey-blonde hair, just visible under the brim of a hat in the very latest mode, and of a woman no longer in her first youth but with a mature beauty that was still dazzling.
Then footsteps sounded on the marble floor and the woman swung round, threw her arms wide sending furs and parasol flying across the hall and was swept up into the bear-hug of Marcus’s embrace.
Marissa stood open-mouthed as he kissed Madame de Rostan full on the lips without restraint. And the embrace he received in return was just as uninhibited and generous. So Nicci had been right and this woman had been – still was, surely? – Marcus’s mistress.
Chapter Sixteen
‘Chéri, I have missed you so much,’ Madame de Rostan cried when, after what seemed like minutes, they broke the kiss. ‘You look so handsome, Marcus – I thought you would have become all pale and uninteresting after a few months in this soggy country!’ She ran a proprietorial hand down his lapels and across his chest.
Marcus caught her hand in his, laughing down into her face. ‘Behave, Diane, we are not alone.’ The low-voiced words, caught by the acoustics of the hall, were like a stab to Marissa’s heart. Thank goodness she had not succumbed to the desire to tell him everything, especially how much she loved him.
Nicci, never one for subtleties, ran down the stairs, crying, ‘Diane! Diane!’ and threw herself into the Frenchwoman’s arms. ‘I have missed you so much. Are you well? Was the voyage dreadful? But you look beautiful, so you cannot have been seasick.’
Madame de Rostan patted Nicci’s cheek. ‘You are prettier than ever, ma petite, but I regret to see that your manners have not improved one jot. You must introduce me to these ladies.’
Marissa reached the bottom of the stairs and found herself caught by the warmth of the Frenchwoman’s personality. Smiling deep blue eyes regarded her from a face lightly coloured by the sun but virtually unlined, even after years in a tropical climate.
Marcus stepped forward, a trace of colour on his cheekbones. ‘Lady Longminster, may I make known to you Madame Diane de Rostan of Jamaica, an old friend of the family? Diane – the Dowager Countess of Longminster, my cousin by marriage, who has graciously consented to act as hostess for me and help bring Nicci out this Season. Miss Venables – Madame de Rostan. Diane – Miss Venables, Lady Longminster’s companion.’
The ladies exchanged polite bows and the entire party moved into the drawing room, followed by Jackson and a footman with a tray of refreshments.
Marissa studied Diane while the footman handed out glasses of ratafia and almond biscuits. Madame de Rostan was tall, almost willowy, but with a full and voluptuous bosom which the high-waisted fashionable afternoon dress showed off to perfection. The fine wool cloth was a soft, deep blue, the colour of periwinkles, in the highest kick of fashion and unmistakably French-cut. The overall effect was to make Marissa feel washed-out and provincial in the pale green twill which had pleased her so much that morning when she had put it on.