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He clearly hadn’t the faintest idea how to court a woman, and Marcella winced when she considered what his attempts might resemble. Really, this was as unfair to him as it was to her. Marcella had no wish to wed, but it was also apparent that Lord Reginald didn’t even recall what constituted a proper courtship.
“Towinwomen?” Marcella asked. “Do you think I’m a prize? Your reward after a good evening of hunting?”
Lord Reginald smirked, as though she’d amused him. “You’re purposefully being obtuse.”
Marcella shook her head and strode towards the wall. She sensed Lord Reginald following her, and when she abruptly turned to face him, her chest nearly collided with his. Drawing in a sharp, startled breath, she stumbled back a couple of steps. Her hazel eyes darted about the room, trying to determine if anyone had noticed.
It seemed that no one had. She let herself relax just a little and firmly met Lord Reginald’s blue eyes. He was a handsome man, admittedly, and Marcella would’ve been lying if she said that shehadn’talready memorized every aspect of his face.
“Perhaps you’re simply speaking poorly. It seemed rather discourteous of you to assume that the fault is mine, My Lord.”
“I might not make so many assumptions if you weren’t so willfully misinterpreting my words, Miss.”
“My Lady,” Marcella corrected. “I’m not some baker’s daughter who will be easily swayed by your—”
“I apologize,My Lady. I’d forgotten myself and what the proper address ought to be.”
Marcella hummed, doing her best impression of a haughty lady. She rolled back her shoulders, trying to emulate the posture of her stepmother, Claudia. “I do not accept your apology,” she said. “I expect better.”
“Better than a Marquess and a happy father?” Lord Reginald asked.
“You aren’t a Marquess,” Marcella pointed out.
“Not yet, but I shall be. Then, you will be my Marchioness. It’s a good match and a marriage which many ladies of thetonwould be quite pleased with.”
“Then, you should consider offering your generous proposal to some other lady if I’m so exhausting to you,” Marcella replied.
“I don’t want another lady.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lord Reginald’s cousin, the present Marquess of Hurrow, approach. They’d spoken on several occasions due to the closeness of their families, but their conversations were short and cordial. Marcella had never liked him. There was simply something about the young lord that made her shiver. She straightened her spine, painting on a mask of polite welcome.
“Lady Marcella,” he greeted with a bow. “That was a lovely dance.”
Lord Reginald fixed his gaze on the ceiling, as though he found it suddenly fascinating. “Yes. It was.”
Marcella wondered how the two of them were faring when the matter of the coveted title of Marquess of Hurrow was about to be the subject of an unprecedented legal battle. Certainly, there had been contests of inheritance before, but there had never been anything like this, a long-lost nobleman reappearing after being gone for a decade.
Marcella’s father and stepmother both expected Lord Reginald to emerge victorious, but it was unclear if the court would find the matter to be so readily decided.
“May I have the next dance?” Simon asked.
“Certainly,” Reginald replied.
He looked utterly relieved, understandably so. Marcella swallowed down a lump in her throat and curtsied. “It was a lovely dance,” she said. “Thank you for it.”
Even if her partner hadn’t been great, he’d tried so hard. She only wanted to break the engagement, not to truly hurt Lord Reginald, who seemed to be one of the very few men of thetonwho was willing to exchange witticisms with her.
The Marquess of Hurrow offered his arm, and Marcella let him lead her back to the circle of dancers. His touch didn’t give her the same warmth that Lord Reginald’s had, but then, she’d been so shocked to find that he was the man from the garden. That may be why his touch had felt so warm, and his cousin’s didn’t.
“I do apologize,” Lord Hurrow said. “My poor cousin did tread terribly upon your feet.”
“It wasn’t intentional,” Marcella replied. “I’m willing to forgive his faults as a dancer.”
Lord Hurrow smiled thinly and led Marcella through the dance. As expected, he never missed a step. He was elegant and impeccable. Marcella let her thoughts wander, and with every step and turn, she found herself searching the room for Lord Reginald. Was he watching, or had he already found another interest? Marcella couldn’t have said why she cared what he did, but care she did.
“Lady Marcella?”
She smiled. “I’m sorry, Your Lordship. Did you say something?”
