The Youngest Dowager: A Regency romance(53)
‘I really could not say,’ Marissa replied indifferently.
‘I have known them both for such a long time,’ the other woman said, with a hint of gritted teeth.
‘So I believe.’
‘Of course in any relationship things change over the years. Feelings alter and mature, passions mute into friendships. I always think it is a wonderful thing when friendship survives when other, more intense emotions wane.’
Marissa stopped abruptly and stared at the Frenchwoman, who smiled at her.
‘You understand what I am saying to you?’
‘You are telling me that you are no longer Marcus’s mistress.’ She could feel the heat in her cheeks at the frankness of her own words, but it was said now. ‘I do not understand why you should tell me that.’
‘Do you not?’ The blue eyes sparkled quizzically. ‘Well, perhaps this is not the time or place to say more. Let us just leave it that I thought things would be clearer between us – more comfortable, shall we say?’
Marissa blushed furiously. Were her feelings for Marcus so transparent that in such a short space of time this woman – even though she had never set eyes on her before – should realise that she needed to be reassured? And if Diane, not knowing her, could see it, was it blindingly obvious to Nicci, to Jane – to Marcus himself?
Madame de Rostan was still smiling. ‘Do not upset yourself, cherie. You are afraid you are being obvious, non? But you are not. Sometimes, perhaps, it takes an outsider to see what those who are close to us cannot.’
‘You think I am in love with him?’
‘Well?’ The Frenchwoman raised an eyebrow. ‘You are, are you not?’
‘Certainly not. I am, after all, in mourning for the late Earl.’ Her fingers were twisting the strings of her reticule and she stilled them with an effort.
‘Mourning?’ The other woman looked up and down the stylish primrose-yellow outfit, the frivolous bonnet and the jaunty parasol.
‘I have only just resumed wearing colours. And Marcus is my late husband’s cousin.’
‘And that makes him no relation to you,’ Diane interposed smoothly.
‘I like him very well. He has been kind to me during a very difficult period in my life.’
‘Kind?’ Diane de Rostan seemed to be considering the word. ‘So that is how he strikes you? Well, if I have misinterpreted the situation, please accept my apologies, Lady Longminster.’
Marissa turned and began to walk back to the barouche. When they had passed the waiting footman and were safely out of earshot again, she said, ‘Indeed, you have misinterpreted my feelings. I do hope I can rely on your discretion to say nothing of this conversation to the Earl of Longminster?’
They reached the carriage. Madame waited until the door was closed and Marissa seated. ‘I would never gossip to Marcus.’ She smiled. ‘Goodbye, Lady Longminster. I have enjoyed our little chat.’
As the carriage drove out of the park and into King Street Marissa reflected uncomfortably that those parting words had hardly been the reassurance she had requested.
Chapter Eighteen
By the time she reached Grosvenor Square Marissa’s unease had turned into a strong suspicion that Madame de Rostan had been laughing at her for being naive. The entire conversation had been shocking and improper. Diane was obviously fast, Marissa concluded, and must have taken delight in scandalising someone she saw as a prim and proper dowager.
Sweeping across the hall, untying the ribbons of her bonnet as she went, she had one foot on the bottom stair when she heard the study door open and Marcus demand, ‘Where have you been? I thought you were resting in your room.’
Marissa spun round, her already warm cheeks flaming in embarrassment at seeing him so soon after Diane’s improper references to him.
‘Look at you,’ he exclaimed. ‘Your colour is up, you are positively flushed. Are you sure you are not running a fever?’
Marcus took a hasty step towards her and Marissa’s temper snapped. ‘No, my lord, I am not running a fever. And I was not aware that I had to seek your permission before going out. I am, naturally, extremely grateful for your assistance this morning, but that does not give you the right to order my comings and goings.’
Jackson, who must have heard voices, came through the green baize door and hastily withdrew again.
‘I am not your little sister, my lord.’
‘For heaven’s sake, Marissa, come into the study – the whole household can hear you.’ Marcus took her hand to lead her into the room and inadvertently touched her bandaged wrist.
‘Ouch! There is no need to manhandle me, my lord.’
Gently, but firmly, Marcus propelled her through the study door and closed it behind them. ‘What is the matter with you, Marissa? And, please – ’ as she opened her mouth ‘ – will you stop calling me my lord every second sentence?’
Marissa paced across the Turkey rug in front of Marcus’s desk. She could hardly tell him that the source of her irritation was a conversation she had just had with his mistress – or, if Madame de Rostan was to be believed, his ex-mistress. ‘Oh, I do not know. It has been a horrid day. No one wants my company, you all have something better to do. And then my father arrives, and now you are shouting at me. I think I will go home to Norfolk.’ She shut her mouth abruptly on the lament. I must sound just as young and silly as Nicci in one of her tantrums.