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Walter patted Marcus’ hand on his arm in reassurance.
“I will help you. I promise you that,” he said, pulling the two of them forward once again. “What about the other matter?”
“Which matter?” Marcus asked.
“Well, I take it you are not looking for help in finding a wife?” Walter said, pulling a small laugh from Marcus.
“That will be no easy matter either, I am sure,” Marcus said, feeling himself unsettled as he fiddled with the sleeves of his tailcoat.
“Marcus, just remember that not every lady will be like the last one.”
“Won’t they?” Marcus asked, looking up from his sleeves. Walter shook his head, clearly certain of the words.
“They are not all alike,” he said with purpose. “They do not all leave heartbreak in their wake.”
Marcus couldn’t help the fact he was not convinced. Yet his mind slipped to Lady Violette, who he had met the day before. She was certainly different from any other lady he had met, at first glance.
***
“Did you not see the exhibition?” Lord Darrow asked Marcus, steering him toward the far edge of the dining room.
“I regret, I have not had the time,” Marcus confessed as he sipped the claret in his hand. Far behind him, the tables were set with a light supper that the mourners were picking at. Walking amongst them, the Marquess was dipping in and out of conversations.
Peter and Laurie, still so young that they did not know everyone in the room, kept mostly to themselves in one corner, their heads bent together as they talked of James. Walter was talking to some of the tenants on the far side of the room, leaving Marcus to speak of matters that interested him for the first time in days.
“You should have seen it,” his friend said with warmth. “You would have been sincerely impressed by the skill of the painters. I even met an artist there myself.”
“You did? Who?” Marcus asked, excitedly lowering his wine glass.
“Mr William Marceux.” Lord Darrow spoke with a drama to his tone.
“Well…” Marcus gasped in surprise. “His paintings have been at Somerset gallery for the last three Seasons at least! What was he like?”
“Rather quiet,” Lord Darrow said with a chuckle. “Like prizing blood from a stone to get him to talk to me.”
“Not quite what you were hoping for then?”
“Not in the slightest,” Lord Darrow said, shaking his head.
“What’s all this?” A voice joined them. Marcus turned his head to see his father walking up to his side, looking interested in their conversation.
“We were talking about….” Marcus paused, struggling to come up with a lie in time.
“Somerset gallery, my lord,” Lord Darrow said before Marcus could stop him. Naturally, his friend had no idea that his father would object to the conversation. “We were talking of the latest exhibition.”
“Really? How interesting.” Yet despite the Marquess’ smile, Marcus could see it was false. The Marquess placed a hand to his shoulder, clasping a little tighter than usual. Marcus had to hide his wince. “If you would excuse us, I must talk to my son.”
Marcus felt himself steered away across the room, until his father had put one of the tables laden with food between them and Lord Darrow.
“I thought we had talked about such matters as this?” the Marquess asked in a harried tone.
“Father, I have agreed to reign in my visits to such places, to spend more time on business matters, but it is a conversation that interests me. Do you expect me to ignore that part of my life altogether?” Marcus asked in irritation.
“Next you’ll be telling me you want to go on a Grand Tour yourself, just like James,” the Marquess said tiredly, shifting his feet.
“Would it be so bad if I did?” Marcus asked, yet he regretted his words almost immediately, for the Marquess’ expression darkened. “Never mind.”
“We lost James because of his travels and an accident with a carriage. Do you intend to risk your life too?”
