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‘Yes, my lord.’
‘And Matthews, order some tea to be sent up: her ladyship is fatigued.’
She waited until the door closed behind the under-butler before she snapped, ‘Thank you so much for your concern, Marcus, but I am quite capable of ordering my own tea.’
‘You are as pale as linen, Marissa. I am sorry, I appreciate this must be painful for you.’ Marcus came and took her hand, led her to a chair and urged her into it. ‘I should have realised you would have an attachment to this house and will find it difficult to see it occupied by others.’
‘No, not really.’ Marissa was startled into honesty. ‘I never cared much for it. It is not that I dislike it, simply that it has no character, no warmth. My lord ordered it decorated in the Classical taste but I can’t help feeling that it is not so successful in a house of this scale as it is at Southwood Hall.’
‘Very true,’ Marcus agreed drily, his expression critical as he looked around the morning room. The walls were ice-blue with white mouldings. The curtains, again in chilly blue, were draped with almost rigid perfection around the long casements and two marble nymphs flanked the empty grate. It made Marissa cold just to look at it.
‘Now I’ve seen it I have it in mind to redecorate throughout,’ he said. ‘But I would not want to do anything you would dislike.’
‘Oh, yes, I hope you do redecorate. I have always felt that this could be made into a real family home. The house has beautiful proportions, but it is not served well by my lord’s taste.’
Marcus’s eyebrows rose. ‘So, my impeccable late cousin had at least one failing, then?’
She felt the animation drain from her. Marissa lowered her gaze to where her hands had tightened in her lap. ‘As have we all, my lord.’
Marcus dropped to one knee beside her chair and covered her entwined fingers with his. ‘Marissa…’
She glanced up and found he was looking at her with such compassion that her heart knotted within her. If he would only take her in his arms now, hold her, tell her that her marriage had been a bad dream, that it would not be like that with him…
‘Your chamber is prepared, my lady, and I have had the tea tray sent up,’ Matthews said from the doorway. He left as silently as he had appeared, but the spell was broken.
‘Excuse me, I will go up now.’
Marcus rose silently from his knees, keeping his hand over hers. Marissa stood, releasing his light grasp the moment she was on her feet. The moment of intimacy had passed, yet the pressure of his fingers still remained as though imprinted on her skin.
Her chamber was tidy, but it seemed very full. Mary was shaking out and hanging up her gowns, a pile of trunks was stacked in the corner and Nicci, obviously too excited to sit, was pacing the room, chattering non-stop to the stoical maid.
‘Marissa, there you are. Oh, do not bother with tea – can’t we go out to the shops now, or for a drive in the park? Surely it is the fashionable hour to be seen?’
‘Nicci, please sit down. You are badly in poor Mary’s way and I declare you are positively giving me a headache with your pacing. Sit down and have a cup of tea, then we must finish our unpacking, have a rest and a quiet family dinner. Tomorrow we will go shopping, I promise you.’
‘But I need so much – I cannot be seen in these clothes. And there is a pile of invitations and cards downstairs already. If I do not have the right gowns I will miss all the parties.’
Marissa regarded her over the rim of her cup. ‘This is the start of the Season. There will be time, and parties, enough for you to go to. You know your brother will deny you nothing in the way of gowns.’ Nicci was looking mutinous, so she added cunningly, ‘You would not wish to appear to be a provincial by scrambling to attend every event you are invited to, surely? We will be selective and you must not appear over-eager.’
‘Very well. I expect you are right as usual, Marissa. Tell me about your own come-out. Was it very wonderful? Did you have lots of lovely gowns and admirers?’ She took her cup and sank down in a flurry of muslin skirts, ready for a good gossip.
Marissa looked at the girl’s eager face and chose her words with care. ‘My lord proposed to me within a month of my come-out. And of course thereafter I always attended functions with him. But, yes, I had many lovely gowns.’ And indeed she had. Her father, who had ignored her as an inconvenient expense throughout her childhood, had proved unexpectedly generous when it had come to her first Season. He had gambled away most of her late mother’s jewels, but from somewhere he had found the resources to dress her in the very latest and most flattering fashions when she had made her debut
.
Almost paralysed with nerves at her first dance, Marissa had not realised she was under the scrutiny of the eligible, uncatchable, Earl of Longminster until he had asked for a dance. He had appeared to admire her for her looks, for the dignity of her demeanour so unusual, he said, in a girl of just eighteen years. She had rapidly discovered, although her nervousness had diminished and she had soon felt at ease in Society, that her lord preferred her to retain an air of control and distance.
Innocent and sheltered, Marissa had not realised until much later how unusual Charles Southwood’s courtship had been. He had never expressed affection, or even partiality. He had never touched her, except to take her hand in the dance or to assist her from the carriage. He had appeared to admire her, but almost as though she were an object, to be selected and purchased, not a woman with feelings and emotions to be engaged.
And if she had been taken aback by her father’s urgency that she accept this very first proposal and that the marriage should swiftly follow, then her puzzlement had been swept aside in the hectic preparations for marriage.
‘Marissa?’ Nicci's voice broke through the memories. Marissa smiled at her. ‘I am sorry, Nicci. I was just reflecting that I am quite jealous of your freedom. I was engaged within weeks of my come-out, so I never really had the opportunity to enjoy myself as a single girl for long.’ She leaned across and took Nicci’s hand. ‘Nicci, take your time. Do not feel you have to hasten into marriage. Enjoy yourself while you can.’
The girl's expression was first puzzled, then she laughed. ‘You sound just like Miss Venables. Do not worry, Marissa, I do not intend to find myself entangled.’
‘Especially as your heart has still not recovered from Mr Ashforde,’ Marissa replied slyly as the door opened and the footman let Gyp in to the room.
After dinner the ladies left Marcus to his brandy and retired to the drawing room where the conversation turned to plans for the next day. Nicci demanded to know the names of all the most fashionable modistes and insisted that Marissa and Miss Venables accompany her to all of them as early as possible the next morning.
