The Youngest Dowager: A Regency romance(5)
It hit him then, what this meant. An hour ago he had been plain Mr Southwood, master of his own business, in control of a life he had created and loved. He had come here out of a sense of duty, an awareness that it was wrong to allow old disputes to poison family relationships from one generation to another. And now his life would be utterly changed.
Whiting announced luncheon. Marcus held back to allow the Countess and her supporters to precede him to the dining room where the great table was laid out with the funeral meats, but she turned and waited for him.
‘Mr... My lord...’
He realised she was expecting him to take her arm and lead her in. Once again he marvelled at the strength of will and composure in one so young. Her hand, resting on his sleeve, was taut with tension; he felt she was like a violin string, stretched almost to the point of breaking.
The place at the head of the table was laid, but the chair was draped in black and Marcus led Marissa to the foot of the long board, taking the seat to her right.
The chaplain said grace and the party settled with a collective sigh. Gradually the volume of conversation rose as everyone relaxed and tongues were loosed by fine wine.
What the devil does one talk about under these circumstances? Marcus helped the widow to roast beef. Back home in Jamaica even a funeral meal was more relaxed, more informal and emotional. There was something about the heat and the sunshine, the vibrancy of colour, the closeness of nature – a dangerous nature – that would make this sort of rigid formality impossible.
And what a brutal way to treat a grieving young woman, to expect her to maintain a rigid composure surrounded by this sombre flock of dark-coated old men. He shivered slightly and instantly she was all attention, the perfect hostess.
‘My lord, you are cold. Whiting, more logs on the fire. This country must seem very chill after the heat of the West Indies.’
‘Indeed, yes, ma’am. My sister declares she will never feel warm again, but now I have been back in England for almost a week I find I am becoming accustomed.’
She cut a minuscule portion of beef and raised it to her lips. Was she actually eating at all? After a moment she said, ‘You have a sister, my lord? I am afraid I know nothing of your family. Are there others still in Jamaica?’
‘No, ma’am, only Nicole and myself. I intended bringing her to London next year to do the Season, when she is seventeen, but she plagued me to bring her on this trip so she could see the sights and buy some London fashions. I could not resist her, I’m afraid.’
He knew he was smiling indulgently and saw her own lips curve slightly in response. ‘How wonderful to have a loving brother like that,’ she said. ‘You are very fond of your sister, my lord, I can tell.’
Marcus, surprised by the longing in her tone, glanced at her quickly, but the smile, if he had not imagined it, had gone. ‘She is the bane of my existence,’ he said lightly. ‘I have spoilt her to death and now I must pay the price. When you meet my sister you will be in no doubt that we had a French mother.’
‘I hope to meet her very soon. You will be sending to London for her?’
‘I must think what to do. All this has come as a great shock to me and I am entirely unprepared. I visit London every few years on business, and that was my purpose on this occasion.
‘Now I will have to return to Jamaica to place my affairs there fully in the hands of my agent. I will have to meet with your – ’ he caught himself, ‘ – the estate manager here, and with Mr Hope, so that I can be confident that all will be well in my absence.’
There was a long pause. The new Earl twisted the wine glass between long brown fingers. Marissa found she could not take her eyes off his hand, nor forget the warmth of his touch through the silk of her gown. What would it be like to be held in his arms again? She caught her errant thoughts with an inward gasp of shame. How could she entertain such longings? It was wrong. And in any case it was a delusion that comfort lay in the arms of a man.
‘Lady Longminster, when you feel able, I must speak with you about your wishes. Needless to say I would not want you to feel you must make any change in your arrangements. This is your home and you must stay in it as long as you desire.’
Marissa looked him straight in the eye and said with utter conviction, ‘My lord, I have lived here for only two years. It is the Southwood family seat but it has never been my home. My cousin Miss Venables will be joining me soon from Cumbria. When she arrives I will move to the Dower House.’
She realised she must have startled him with her frankness, but he merely nodded. ‘It shall be as you wish, naturally. You must instruct the estate manager to move whatever you want from the Hall into the Dower House, and to have whatever resources you need for your comfort there.’
‘Thank you, my lord. Would you wish me to continue to oversee the housekeeper in your absence?’
‘That would be most kind, if it would not be an imposition. We will speak of this tomorrow and, of course, you must decide which servants you wish to take with you.’
Marissa thanked him, and turned to her other neighbour. Throughout the rest of the meal they spoke of nothing but inconsequential matters and, with her mind relieved of the need to guard her every word, she found her attention straying to the man at her side.
His manners were correct and impeccable, as befitted a gentleman, but there was a foreignness too. Perhaps it was the slight French accent on certain words, the lilt that came into his voice when he spoke about the West Indies. He was a handsome man – all the Southwoods were, to judge by their portraits – but this man had a dangerous, vital energy that radiated even in this sombre company.