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Marissa stood open-mouthed as he kissed Madame de Rostan full on the lips without restraint. And the embrace he received in return was just as uninhibited and generous. So Nicci had been right and this woman had been – still was, surely? – Marcus’s mistress.
Chapter Sixteen
‘Chéri, I have missed you so much,’ Madame de Rostan cried when, after what seemed like minutes, they broke the kiss. ‘You look so handsome, Marcus – I thought you would have become all pale and uninteresting after a few months in this soggy country!’ She ran a proprietorial hand down his lapels and across his chest.
Marcus caught her hand in his, laughing down into her face. ‘Behave, Diane, we are not alone.’ The low-voiced words, caught by the acoustics of the hall, were like a stab to Marissa’s heart. Thank goodness she had not succumbed to the desire to tell him everything, especially how much she loved him.
Nicci, never one for subtleties, ran down the stairs, crying, ‘Diane! Diane!’ and threw herself into the Frenchwoman’s arms. ‘I have missed you so much. Are you well? Was the voyage dreadful? But you look beautiful, so you cannot have been seasick.’
Madame de Rostan patted Nicci’s cheek. ‘You are prettier than ever, ma petite, but I regret to see that your manners have not improved one jot. You must introduce me to these ladies.’
Marissa reached the bottom of the stairs and found herself caught by the warmth of the Frenchwoman’s personality. Smiling deep blue eyes regarded her from a face lightly coloured by the sun but virtually unlined, even after years in a tropical climate.
Marcus stepped forward, a trace of colour on his cheekbones. ‘Lady Longminster, may I make known to you Madame Diane de Rostan of Jamaica, an old friend of the family? Diane – the Dowager Countess of Longminster, my cousin by marriage, who has graciously consented to act as hostess for me and help bring Nicci out this Season. Miss Venables – Madame de Rostan. Diane – Miss Ve
nables, Lady Longminster’s companion.’
The ladies exchanged polite bows and the entire party moved into the drawing room, followed by Jackson and a footman with a tray of refreshments.
Marissa studied Diane while the footman handed out glasses of ratafia and almond biscuits. Madame de Rostan was tall, almost willowy, but with a full and voluptuous bosom which the high-waisted fashionable afternoon dress showed off to perfection. The fine wool cloth was a soft, deep blue, the colour of periwinkles, in the highest kick of fashion and unmistakably French-cut. The overall effect was to make Marissa feel washed-out and provincial in the pale green twill which had pleased her so much that morning when she had put it on.
For a tall woman Diane had delicate hands, now sheathed in fine kid gloves just a shade paler than the blue of her gown. Below the braided hem of her skirts peeped fine blue kid slippers. Sipping her ratafia and maintaining a polite flow of conversation, Marissa struggled with the unworthy feeling that she disliked this woman on sight.
Nicci was chattering on, demanding news of mutual friends and of old servants. Marissa let her attention wander until she suddenly realised that Marcus was watching her intently from across the room. Bringing her gaze up, she met the look with one of bland but polite indifference.
Madame de Rostan broke off from a description of someone’s new plantation house to say, ‘But, Nicci, you must stop asking me about Jamaica. We are discussing matters and people that are of no interest to Lady Longminster and Miss Venables.’ Nicci immediately apologised prettily to Jane and Marissa.
It was difficult not to be piqued by this instant obedience from Nicci, with none of the wilfulness she could show when in Marissa’s charge. She felt her brows drawing together into a frown and hastily rearranged her expression, ashamed of herself. She was jealous of Diane de Rostan, jealous not only because she was Marcus’s mistress but also because she was so beautiful and Nicci held her in such affection.
It was a thoroughly unworthy emotion, Marissa chided herself, but she could not shake from her memory the way Marcus and Diane had clung together in the hall. The history of past passion had shown in that embrace. Or was it past?
Marissa felt a great weariness, as if all her vitality had drained away. So much for her hope that she and Marcus could be friends, that she could still be part of his life, even if she could not marry him. Now he had Diane, who would doubtless take a discreet step back when he found a wife, but for now seemed more than ready to resume her former role as his mistress. With her and with his sister for female companionship Marcus would not need Marissa and her tiresome emotions.
Suddenly she could not bear to sit there any longer. ‘Madame, I do hope you will join us for dinner this evening? If you will all excuse me I must leave you, I had promised I would call on Lady Valentine this afternoon. I look forward to seeing you later.’
Nicci’s voice carried clearly after her. ‘That is strange, I was not aware that Marissa had an engagement this afternoon, were you, Jane?’
Marissa came down to breakfast at eight, expecting to have the room to herself. Normally Jane would have taken a slice of bread and butter and a cup of tea early and gone out for her daily constitutional in the gardens in the centre of the Square. Nicci never rose before ten and habitually took breakfast in her room. Marcus, who had still not shaken the habit of rising early in order to take advantage of the cool of the morning in Jamaica, would have breakfasted by half past seven and be dealing with the day’s business in his study.
To her surprise they were all three at the table, deep in animated conversation. They broke off politely as she entered. Marcus rose, but the moment she was seated and they had exchanged good mornings they carried on their conversation around her.
After last night’s dinner, where Diane de Rostan had been very much the centre of attention, Marissa was feeling in need of reassurance. Madame had been stylish and effortlessly charming, the room illuminated by her personality. To Marissa it had seemed that the Frenchwoman had broken into the circle of friendship and intimacy which had begun in Norfolk and had flourished in the family atmosphere of the Grosvenor Square house.
Diane, as she had insisted Marissa call her, had been charming to her, and had been at pains to include her in all the dialogue over dinner, but none the less she had felt excluded and lonely, as though she were no longer the hostess.
Jane had revealed a fascination for the flora of the West Indies and had been delighted to discover that Madame de Rostan was a passionate horticulturalist who had designed a large garden on the island. With Jane constantly asking questions, everyone except Marissa had been drawn into the discussion of the great houses and estates of Jamaica.
‘Would you pass the chocolate, Jane, please?’ Marissa prompted as her companion, deep in conversation with Marcus, had failed to notice she was waiting for it. ‘What shall we do today?’ she asked, with a brightness she did not feel, once she had their attention.
‘I am going shopping with Diane,’ Nicci said. ‘She has promised to take me to her glove-maker and to buy me a pair to go with my evening dress. My very first pair of long kid gloves.’
‘But I thought we had agreed that we would buy your gloves at Schomberg House,’ Marissa said.
‘But anyone can buy gloves at Schomberg House,’ Nicci protested. ‘Diane knows a French glove-maker – very exclusive.’
Marissa waited for an invitation to join the shopping party, but it did not come and she did not care to invite herself. The lid of the chocolate pot rattled slightly as she put it down on the table. ‘Well, that sounds very nice, Nicci. Do not forget to take a sample of the dress fabric with you. Jane – shall we go to Hatchard’s this morning? I believe they have a recent book by the author of Waverley called Guy Mannering. I recall you saying how much you enjoyed Waverley, when it came out three years ago.’
‘Oh, did I not say last night, dear? Madame de Rostan has offered me an introduction to an old friend of hers who is an expert on the flora of the West Indies and has the most wonderful collection of native species in his conservatory here in London. Madame de Rostan promised to drop me off to visit Sir Frederick Collier and his sister this morning, on her way to the shops with Nicci.’
