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“I know that I am privileged to bring my own contributions to the Reading legacy,” Marion said clearly, trying not to shy away from holding the Dowager Countess’s gaze. “But that is exactly what I intend to do—to honour its history and our community here by being a good mistress. I shall never allow scandal to touch the earldom, mark my word.”
The corner of Simon’s mouth twitched into a smile, but he didn’t break the silence between them. The Dowager Countess raised her eyebrows again, her face a classic expression of disdain, but Marion was sure she saw a glimmer of respect in her eyes.
The intimidating woman sipped her coffee slowly and then, setting her cup down, laid her final card.“And your father, Marion? I know nothing of him. Who was Mr Laurie?”
Marion took a shaky breath but ignored the flush rising in her cheeks. She had known this might come up. How could it not? Her father’s absence was the blemish on her past, the stain on her life. Of course she would have to account for it before the Dowager Countess. Marion was not surprised that she had saved this subject for last—she must have known that it would be difficult for Marion. The Dowager Countess was testing her mettle.
“Mother,” Simon frowned at the Dowager Countess, clearly seeing Marion’s discomfort and wanting to intervene. “Surely this is not the time.”
“I will happily answer any questions,” Marion said, straightening her shoulders and setting her coffee cup down. She noticed Simon’s surprise but kept speaking. “My father abandoned my mother and me when I was three years old, so I know little of him.”
Marion tried to keep to the facts and not show any of the turbulent emotions that raged inside of her whenever she turned her mind back to her father.
“I understand he was an Englishman of some standing who wooed my mother in France. Then, when we were living in London during the beginning of my life, he disappeared one day. My mother was then compelled to enter service. She was lucky in her friends that Eleanor’s mother was eager to employ her for the position of governess.”
“That is a pitiful tale,” the Dowager Countess said without much feeling. She was right, of course, but the impact was so much more than simply a sad childhood.
Marion knew that she would never trust a man with the ease other women did. Her mother had been unable to move forward with her life, stuck in the unstable space of being unable to remarry, since she did not know if she was a widow or not. Marion had watched her mother suffer from the neglect of her father her whole life. Even when he wasn’t there any longer, his control remained.
“Mamanwas not a lady who endured pity,” Marion said curtly. “She worked hard, we lived well, and we had a strong family unit. It would be uncharitable of me to complain.”
The Dowager Countess nodded sharply. “Indeed. I cannot stand a lady who complains of her situation. I have always believed that if you are dissatisfied, you should change your circumstance.”
“I quite agree,” Marion said. “So wouldMaman.”
It seemed they had finally reached an uneasy truce. Marion breathed a sigh of relief when the Dowager Countess finally set down her coffee cup and declared it was time for her to retire.
“Of course,” Marion stood elegantly. “We have the blue room prepared for you, and Mrs Bolton shall send up your tisane as soon as you ring.”
The Dowager Duchess nodded, surprised and speechless that Marion was taking control of the situation and had already anticipated the drink she would require.
“Good night, Mother,” Simon said quietly, bowing respectfully as she left the two of them alone in the dining room. As the door closed behind her, Simon and Marion looked at each other, instantly both aware of the relief in the room that they had made it through what had, at times, felt like an interrogation.
“Well done,” Simon said, opening the door so the two of them could walk into the hall.
“Thank you,” Marion said, awkwardly standing opposite him at the base of the stairs. She wanted him to come up to their parlour with her, spend time with her, kiss her again like he had done on their wedding. But there was no way to communicate that to him, so she just stood, unconsciously fiddling with her pearls.
“I didn’t know about your father,” Simon said, running his hand over the back of his head. “That must have been terribly hard for you.”
Marion nodded, feeling a lump rise in her throat.“It…it has been hard, at times, to trust people,” Marion said, swallowing hard, her voice cracking.
“Of course.”
She wished that he would provide reassurance, that he would comfort her and say that she could trust him, trust him completely to never hurt her or cause her distress. But he didn’t.
“I shall retire,” Marion said, knowing that if she stood any longer in his presence she may cry.
“Of course. You have worked hard tonight.”
Simon leaned forward, bending down to kiss her on the cheek. It was a surprise to Marion, this sudden, inexplicable contact. His lips were beautiful and warm against her skin, the scent of his body, musk and leather, overwhelmingly comforting and alluring. She breathed in deeply, feeling his hands squeeze her shoulders in response, but then he pulled away. Once again, she could literally see the veil of regret fall in front of his eyes.
It hit her like a punch in the stomach, this rueful attitude that he had towards interacting with her, as if she was his housekeeper and not his wife.
“Good night,” she mumbled, unable to look at him anymore, and turning and running up the stairs before she heard his response.
Only once she was up in the gallery did she let a tear slip down her face. She brushed it away impatiently, annoyed at the intensity of her own feelings. It was not his fault that he still loved his last wife. She could not blame him for something she had known about him when she agreed to marry him. Yet she couldn’t help but despair.
How was she ever going to provide him with the heir they needed to secure both of their futures if he couldn’t touch her without regret?
