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Who am I to think of him, to dream of him? No one! I’m nothing, a mere governess and nursemaid—
“I hope they shall be married by Michaelmas,” the Dowager Countess of Reading said quietly, her eyes continually flicking over to where her son danced with the elegant and charming Lady Henrietta.
“Really?” Eleanor said, sipping her champagne with her eyebrows raised.
“Oh yes,” Simon’s mother gushed, her eyes alight with excitement. “This is the first time he has danced with a lady at a ball in such a long time—even if he’s not spoken aloud, actions surely speak louder than words.”
Marion felt the wine in her belly curdle at the thought. Actions did speak louder than words, and her actions so far tonight had been telling. She had entered the ballroom with trepidation, unsure if it the fine ball gown or being so exposed to scrutiny that made her nervous, but then she had spied Simon in the corner of the room. Her heart had set up a rapid beat at the sight of him and she had accepted a glass of wine without hesitation, drinking more than she would usually. It hadn’t helped her nerves.
Now all she could do was think about how the Earl of Reading was the most handsome man she had ever seen. His chestnut brown hair curled around his long face and his stormy eyes were so inquisitive and intelligent they made her breath catch in her throat. If actions spoke louder than words, the actions of her body declared that she was, in fact, partial to the earl. She could feel the way his gaze passed over the room as he danced, absorbing his surroundings, and every time his eyes swept over her, her stomach clenched.
“Perhaps,” Eleanor said musingly. “He is infinitely eligible…”
“Oh, yes,” his mother jumped in quickly. “And so handsome, even if I do say so myself! Every one of my acquaintances speaks of his eligibility to me, and all the ladies are in consensus that he is by far the most handsome man in the room.”
“Well, I could not agree with that,” Eleanor smiled as her husband joined them.
“Countess, Marion,” Nathan bowed politely to them both before taking his place beside his wife. Marion noticed with a pang of envy the way he touched his hand to his wife’s back, a little gesture of care and protection that nearly broke her heart. She swallowed hard. How dearly she wanted to be cared for like that.
“Oh, tosh!” the Countess scoffed. “Of course, the Earl of Brixton is the most handsome of men—”
“Why, Countess, I didn’t know you cared,” Nathan joked lightly, but Marion couldn’t giggle. She felt dizzy. She couldn’t tell if it was constantly tracking the spinning form of Simon and Lady Henrietta around the ballroom, or her nearly empty glass of wine.
“My son is by far the most eligible, everyone says so,” the Countess continued, dogged in her doctrine. She turned to Marion demandingly, “Miss Laurie will agree with me, won’t you? My son is known far and wide as an eligible bachelor, is he not? The help always talk of such things.”
Marion’s heart slipped at the last words, and even though she knew they were not meant in malice, she felt tears pricking in her eyes. Even though she could see Nathan’s frown and Eleanor’s scowl at the words, even though she could see they were ready to jump in and intervene on her behalf, she couldn’t bear to be defended. She would surely cry.
Instead, she swallowed hard and said, “I really could not say.” She drained her glass and set it down beside the group without looking at any of their faces. “Please excuse me. I am in need of some air.”
With unsteady legs, Marion made her way out onto the terrace, fixing her eyes firmly ahead and trying to avoid the whispers around her. She had known it was a bad idea to wear this gown, to put herself out in society. She could only imagine the things they were saying about her.
Stupid girl, thinking she could be on the same level as the gentility. Only a governess’s daughter!
The cool air of the balcony was a welcome relief. Thankfully, no one else was outside. It was a cold night and no one but she was venturing out into the frigid weather. She rubbed the goose-flesh on her arms and tilted her head up to the sky, letting the cold air bathe her hot face.
She knew why the Countess’s words had hurt her so badly—the society matron had imagined it would be quite appropriate for Marion to comment on the handsomeness of her son, in that neutral way that those below stairs were allowed to do without any implications or intention of impropriety. The Countess invited her to speak that way because she would never, not for a moment, imagine that Marion could make a match with her son. Not because the Countess disliked Marion in any way, she simply did not think of her as an equal. It was a bitter pill to swallow on the night that Marion most looked like she could fit in. No amount of fine gowns could change the circumstances of a person’s birth.
Marion took a deep sigh of breath and fought her tears. It was too unfair! A man like Simon was everything she had ever dreamed of. Perhaps it was the wine, but she allowed herself to be honest with herself: Simon had taken on the role of the man of her dreams in her fantasies. Whenever she read a novel or a fairy tale, she recognised his face in the features of the romantic hero.
Had she been secretly harbouring feelings for him? Had she really ever felt this flushed or agitated over any other gentleman in her life? If she was honest with herself she knew the answer was no, but that only made her more miserable. For if tonight had taught her anything it was that even a lady with ten thousand pounds and beauty that out shone the stars would struggle to be worthy of the Earl of Reading. She was just a nobody with fruitless dreams.
“Excuse me, Miss Laurie. Are you alright?”
Marion gasped and turned around, blinking in surprise. Was she dreaming, or was the Earl of Reading standing right before her?
Chapter Four
Simon had tracked Marion as she left the ballroom, his body going through the final motions of the dance with Lady Henrietta, but his mind following the lady in the red dress as she slipped out onto the terrace. He knew there was no way that Marion could have overheard Lady Henrietta’s negative comments about her, but he noticed the way her head was bowed in a defeated posture, her cheeks flushed red. He noticed the stiffness in her back, as if she was fighting to hold in her tears. He instantly wanted to check that she was alright.
“A pleasure, Lady Terrell,” he said, bowing formally to his partner, who could now barely look him in the eye, his words having chided her sufficiently. She curtsied quickly and was happy to leave his presence.
Ignoring the significant glances of his mother, Eleanor, and Nathan, he left the dance floor and followed Marion outside. She was alone. She stood with her back to him, her red dress stark and bold against the darkness of the landscape. Despite her bare shoulders and throat and the chill in the air, she had her head lifted to the open air, a breeze gently ruffling the curls around her face. He noticed how her hands were balled into fists and she was swaying slightly, as though buffeted by the breeze. He coughed, but she didn’t seem to hear.
Nervous, he spoke, “Excuse me, Miss Laurie. Are you alright?”
She started and turned around to face him, one hand pressed against her throat. He noticed the way she stumbled back slightly, resting against the stonewall of the balcony.
“Careful there.” Instinctively he stepped forward, worried she might fall, but she steadied herself and shook her head, stopping him from coming too close.
