Page 60 of Make Mine a Marquess

Her gaze flickered over him. Willard was the type of man to take care with his dress and it showed. He was dressed in a green coat with a matching paisley waistcoat, brown breeches, and polished Hessians. The baron, together with his two friends, could keep a tailor fully employed. It wasn’t just his dress that she critically analyzed. His fair hair was pomaded, and a lock brushed his forehead. She believed that wayward lock was arranged deliberately and suspected he believed it looked roguish. Other ladies might think so.

She was not other ladies.

What is wrong with me? I should be flattered my betrothed came to check on me, and that he seeks my companionship.

“I’d like that, my lord,” she made herself say.

He nodded and smiled as if he’d expected no other response.

She looked both ways down the hall to ensure they were not being watched. It was inappropriate for him to enter her room while she was unchaperoned. Her concern over propriety was curious since she’d spent hours playing backgammon with the marquess. Even if they kept the door open and Beatrice and Aram kept watch, it skirted on questionable.

But here, now, she hesitated for her fiancé to enter her private chambers.

Just then, Mimi decided to leave her usual spot on the window seat where she’d been resting to prance over. Rather than wind herself between the baron’s legs, as the feline tended to do with the marquess, she arched her back and hissed.

“Mimi!” Phoebe bent to scoop the cat in her arms. “I apologize. She is usually quite docile.”

Willard eyed the cat with a critical squint. “You do not intend to bring that animal with you to our home after we are wed, do you?”

Of course she did. She’d never thought otherwise. Mimi was her precious pet. Mimi had comforted her during the most difficult time of her life, and Phoebe knew the cat would help her through any future trials as well.

Perhaps if she explained. “Mimi means—”

“I’ve never had an animal in my home. I do not intend to change.” His voice was firm.

Phoebe held the cat tighter. “You must understand. I’ve had her since she was a kitten. I will keep her out of sight.”

“Find another to care for her.” A flash of cruelty marred his pretty features, but just as quickly, he recovered, and the smooth smile was back in place. He took one step into her bedchamber. Unconsciously, she took a step back, the cat still in her arms. “Now, let us not waste time talking about a cat when we could be spending a lovely afternoon together.”

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from protesting. Mimi was hers. Her pet had never abandoned her, and she wouldn’t abandon the animal, either. Once again, her thoughts turned to another.

An image of Landon reaching down to scratch the cat behind her ears, and Mimi purring in response, flashed through her mind.

You can tell a man’s true character by the way he treats animals.

Beatrice’s words of wisdom had never meant more.

Willard was completely ignorant of the twisted thoughts racing through her head and her heart. He waved to the door. “Come along, my dear. I have a picnic lunch arranged in the gardens. Your parents have approved.”

As if in a daze, she set the cat down, shut the door, and allowed him to lead her down the grand staircase and outside the back doors. All the while she wanted to scream that if Mimi wasn’t allowed, then she wasn’t welcome, either.

Hold your tongue, Phoebe. He couldn’t stop her from bringing the cat. She’d smuggle Mimi into the stables if she had to. She’d ensure there was a way for Mimi to enter the house through the servants’ door. All would be well.

It had to be. Because her choices were limited.

They stepped outside and onto the back terrace. A table had been set in the grass by the blooming azaleas, beneath the shade of a large oak tree. Polished silver flatware, gleaming crystal, and fine china rested upon a white tablecloth. A footman and a maid stood to the side, waiting to serve them.

The sun heated her cheeks and birds chirped. She spotted a darting hummingbird feeding from a bird feeder. Her lips parted in surprise.

Willard pulled out her chair and sat across from her. At a nod of his head, the footman placed a silver-covered platter before her and lifted the lid to reveal salmon in a delicate lemon sauce with asparagus.

It was far from an informal garden picnic. She’d expected a blanket and a picnic basket with a variety of cheeses, fresh bread, and wine. A chance for an engaged couple to have an intimate meal. Apparently, Willard preferred formal and extravagant.

A footman filled their wineglasses. Willard picked up his wineglass and sipped. “Have you spoken with your parents?”

Phoebe reached for her own glass and sipped. The wine was dry; she preferred sweet. “Yes. Our wedding must wait for the formality of the banns.”

Not for the first time, she was grateful for her mother’s delay. She knew their wedding was inevitable. She just needed more time.