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Her composure was often remarked upon by the people of her circle, and she wasn't going to let Jude ruin her calm. A servant passed, and Marissa snatched a glass of wine from his tray and sipped it as quickly as she could manage. Only to help her composure, of course.
She forgot all about dancing and glared at Jude Bertrand's wide back. He was insufferable, and she could only pray to God that she did not end up married to the man. He'd drive her mad before the first year was out.
Chapter 6
Marissa woke with a tense neck and an aching head. She nurtured the pain into anger as she sipped her tea. She glared at her own reflection as the new maid brushed and styled and dressed her. One stupid, drunken mistake and she'd forfeited all control over her own life. She'd had so little control in the first place and had held onto it with stingy determination.
Of course, she'd known that she would marry, but Marissa had been in control of when. She'd known she would have to leave her home, but only when she was ready. And she'd known that her life would be spent with a husband, but who. . . the who had been up to her.
If nothing else, she would at least snatch that one tiny piece back. Who.
When her most modest dress was buttoned up and smoothed down, Marissa set off to battle with the baron.
Angling her chin ridiculously high, she pushed open the doors to Edward's study and swept in. Her family had al least taught her how to make a grand entrance.
"Ah, Marissa," Edward said, glancing up from his papers. "Would you close the door behind you? We need to speak."
"We most certainly do."
"So you've heard?"
Marissa's chin inched in. "Heard what?"
"Mrs. James Ready asked to speak with me this morning. She had heard there was an incident between you and Mr. White, and she was concerned that it might have been something 'nefarious.' She worried that her daughter might be exposed to the rumors. Millicent is a few years younger than you."
All the anger drained from Marissa's muscles as if a hole inside her had opened up. Her chin inched down. Her knees lost feeling.
"I managed to assuage her by bringing her into my confidence. I fed her the sam
e story we gave the servants. That you argued with Peter White over a minor jealousy, and it was nothing."
"Oh," Marissa breathed. "Oh, that is good."
"Millicent hasn't behaved strangely toward you?"
"Not at all."
Edward's head dropped, and the sight of his bowed neck stole the rest of the strength from her legs. Marissa lowered herself carefully to a chair.
"Still, I cannot stop all the stories. I'll do my best, but. .."
She nodded, and kept slowly nodding until the movement faded to nothing. It finally hit her. She had done this not just to herself, but to her family. To Edward, who had never done a sorry thing in his life. And to her mother, who might enjoy the
fainting, but would not like hearing malicious laughter. And to Aidan, who had heard enough whispered gossip to last a lifetime.
She could not complain. She could not stomp her foot and demand to he accommodated. If she needed to marry, she would marry Jude Bertrand and he grateful for his generosity.
Or at least not resentful.
Edward offered a wan smile. "I'm sure all will be well, 'Rissa. What did you wish to speak with me about, if not Mrs. Ready?"
"Nothing. 'Twas not important."
"It seemed important."
"No."
His eyes dropped to his desk. "I hoped it was something concerning that note you received last night."
