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backs of the postilions, to where Gregory sat beside Lucian in the curricle.
The imperious blast of a horn behind them had both vehicles pulling over to let the mail coach sweep by. ‘That should be carrying my letter to my parents,’ Sara said. ‘I am hoping it will arrive at least an hour before we do.’ It would certainly help if Mata spoke about inviting Sara’s new friend and her brother in advance of their arrival. She had racked her brains to try to recall who was expected, but one could never tell with Mata, who might take the fancy to entertain anyone from a bishop to an actress, or sometimes both at the same time. Hopefully there would be at least a few pillars of the establishment, which was what was needed to ensure no shadow of gossip attached to Marguerite.
‘I cannot thank you enough for persuading Lucian to accept the match and to only hit Gregory once,’ Marguerite said earnestly. ‘I cannot believe how forgiving he is being.’
‘I suspect it is a mixture of realising he cannot shut the stable door given that the horse has bolted not once, but twice, and a reluctance to pulverise an injured man. What did happen to Gregory in France?’
‘A roof tile fell off a building that was being repaired. It did not hit him right on the head, thank goodness, or I think he would have been killed, but it tore right down the side of his face as you can see. He was taken unconscious to a nearby nunnery where the sisters cared for him and sent for a doctor, but they could not save his eye. He was unconscious, then in a high fever and in no state to explain himself, let alone get out of bed. It was two weeks before he could persuade someone to go round to the lodgings to find me and by then I was on my way back to England with Lucian.’ One fat tear ran down Marguerite’s cheek and she dashed it away. ‘He says I must not think about it, but I cannot bear to think of him in so much pain and so worried.’
‘That is all behind you now. This evening we will make certain that we are all telling the same story and everything will be well.’
‘You parents must be very kind for you to be so certain that they will welcome three extra guests at such short notice,’ Marguerite ventured. ‘But I expect they will be pleased about you and Lucian.’
‘About—what on earth do you mean?’ Mata might not turn a hair about Sara taking a lover if that made her happy, but her father and Ashe would react in a way that was completely predictable.
‘You are going to get married, aren’t you? I am so pleased about it. We will be sisters and—’
‘No, we are not going to get married,’ Sara snapped, too startled to control her reaction. ‘What on earth makes you think that?’
‘But…’ Marguerite’s cheeks were pink with embarrassment. ‘But you…he… Last night, there were only two bedchambers,’ she finished in a rush.
Sara gritted her teeth and kept her voice reasonable. ‘Marguerite, I am a widow. A discreet liaison in those circumstances is, shall we say, overlooked, by society.’
‘But don’t you love him?’ Marguerite looked mystified. ‘I was sure you loved him.’
‘I find your brother very attractive. I admire his desire to protect you. I also find him infuriating, stubborn, single-minded, authoritarian and domineering. He is the last man I would wish to marry.’
‘Truly? And he does not want to marry you?’
‘No.’ He made that perfectly clear. ‘He wants an affaire, has wanted it ever since he realised I was possibly…available. I have no doubt that next Season Lucian will be choosing a bride from the young ladies making their come-out.’
‘I think I know who he will choose.’ Marguerite wrinkled her nose. ‘She was out last Season and she lives near us in the country. Lady Clara Fairhaven. She is perfect.’ The emphasis was not one of approval. ‘She is pretty and dull and has all the right connections and never puts a foot wrong and her father would be delighted if Lucian marries her. I thought he was going to make a declaration last Season, which was infuriating because I wasn’t out so I couldn’t do anything to stop him.’
‘Such as?’ Sara asked, fascinated despite herself at the thought of anyone thinking they could stop the Marquess of Cannock once he had made up his mind to something. ‘What could you do to prevent it?’
‘I could get her drunk at Almack’s or bribe some rake to flirt with her outrageously or put a mouse up her skirts at a dinner party,’ Marguerite said darkly. ‘She would make him dull, too. You wouldn’t.’
‘I am one-quarter Indian, I am a widow, my husband died in a duel and I have led a somewhat unconventional life since his death. None of that makes me a suitable wife for your brother, certainly not set against a well-bred young lady of perfect deportment. Even if I wanted to marry him, that is. Which I do not.’
Even as she spoke she could think of nothing but waking that morning in Lucian’s arms, the tender fierceness of his lovemaking, the pleasure they had exchanged and shared, the harmony she felt with him. And yet…and yet, this was the man who had only permitted his sister to marry for love when every other option had been removed, the man who would have killed Gregory and thought it was his duty, an honourable thing to do, the man who seemed to have no understanding of her own need for freedom or her anger at what Michael had done in his misguided desire to protect her honour.
There were fleeting moments when she imagined being with Lucian, sharing ideas, impressions, laughter. And there were long hours when she could see what would be the reality, a conventional husband expecting a conventional wife and exerting all the power that men had to enforce that.
‘I definitely do not,’ she repeated and looked away from the broad shoulders of the man driving ahead of them.
‘I suppose it will make it awkward for you, going to your family house like this,’ Marguerite ventured. ‘With Lucian, I mean.’
‘I have no intention of carrying on an affaire under that roof, you may be certain. And neither will you. Everything depends on the other guests witnessing the beginnings of a love-match and you behaving like an innocent young lady not quite out.’
‘Yes, Sara,’ Marguerite said meekly, making her feel forty-five at the very least.
*
It was a long day, but Sara was pleased to see that Lucian allowed Gregory to take the reins for several stages. Whether that was simple common sense because he knew he should give himself a break from time to time or, as Marguerite thought, a sign of forgiveness, it did at least mean they could keep up a good time. They reached Northampton just after sunset and she let out a sigh of relief when they finally drew in to the yard of the King’s Head.
Lucian came to help them down from the chaise while Gregory went inside to secure rooms. ‘I told him to bespeak four rooms and a private parlour,’ he told his sister as he swung her down on to the cobbles. ‘You need to get into practice for the house party.’
‘Yes, Lucian,’ she said obediently, her docility at odds with the longing look she gave Gregory from under her lashes.
