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Chapter Twelve
Marcella curled her fingers around her parasol and watched through narrowed eyes as Lord Reginald—only just returned from London a few days prior—crossed the expanse of long, frost-bitten grass. Technically, Marcella supposed that he wasn’treallyLord Reginald anymore, but he didn’t really seem to be Lord Hurrow yet, either. As Marcella had heard the matter explained, Lord Reginald’s title was dependent on him marrying a proper Marchioness. While the court had been happy to return the title to its rightful owner, they also wanted some assurance that a lord who’d been missing for a decade could learn to be part of thetonagain.
And I’ve the dubious honor of being that proof.
Not by name, of course. But Marcella knew thatshewas expected to be that appropriate Marchioness, both by Reginald’s family and by her own.
Lord Brookshire walked alongside Lord Reginald, and although Marcella was too far away to hear the conversation, she could see that the gentlemen seemingly spoke amicably to one another. Her eyes traced over Lord Reginald’s broad shoulders and lingered there for much longer than was strictly proper. A sharp tingling sensation spread through her.
At Marcella’s side, Adeline let out a small, excited squeak. Out of the corner of her eye, Marcella saw Adeline fidget with her cloak and then her bonnet.
“Relax,” Marcella said. “You look beautiful already, and I’m quite sure that Lord Brookshire will think so, also. That is, unless he’s lost his eyes, and we were not informed.”
“Don’t say such an awful thing,” Adeline replied, sounding flustered. “I mean, are you quite sure he will think so? He wouldn’t say that he didn’t find me fetching, even if I were in a most disgraceful state.”
“You aren’t in a disgraceful state.”
A light breeze blew, playfully rustling the nearly dead branches of the surrounding trees. For a winter’s day, it was unusually warm and lovely. It was a pity that the day was to be interrupted by the two gentlemen, for Marcella would’ve been quite happy to spend the day instead with only Adeline.
Lord Brookshire bowed and smiled brightly. The wind ruffled his hair, giving him a rakish appearance, but Marcella knew the good lord was quite a proper gentleman. She’d never heard any scandalous gossip about the young man, which meant that he was—in Marcella’s mind—a man who might be deserving of Adeline’s affections.
“Good morning, ladies.”
“Good morning,” Adeline replied. “Thank you for joining us within such short notice, My Lord.”
“I’m grateful for your invitation,” Lord Brookshire continued. “I’ll confess that I’ve been terribly bored since leaving Cambridge. I hadn’t anticipated just how much I’d miss the bustle of the university.”
Marcella glanced at Lord Reginald. He smiled, but the expression looked strange on his face. It was as if he didn’t quite know how much happiness he was allowed to display for the occasion. “Good morning, Lady Marcella.”
Time for my grand performance.
Marcella tipped her chin up and tried to gaze sharply at her much taller betrothed. She imagined herself as Athena, the great goddess of wisdom and war, gazing imperiously upon a mere mortal. “Good morning. What have you brought me?”
He blinked at her. “Brought you?” he echoed.
“Yes. From London. I sent you a letter requesting that you bring me a token from your travels. Gifts are customary during courtship. Are they not?”
Lord Reginald looked so utterly baffled that Marcella had to force away a laugh. Color rose to the man’s face, at odds with the easy smile which seemed frozen on his face. “I apologize. When you asked forLondon’s most expensive perfumes, clothes, and linens, I assumed you were making a jest. I’m afraid that I’ve brought you only my presence.”
“Oh.”
Marcella made a show of eyeing him very critically. She wasn’t entirely sure if she achieved the appropriate expression, and Lord Reginald gave no indication of being especially irritated.
“Shall we?” Lord Brookshire asked, gesturing further down the path.
“Oh, yes,” Adeline replied eagerly.
When Lord Brookshire offered his arm, Adeline readily took it, placing a delicate hand right at the crook of his arm. Marcella took Lord Reginald’s arm without waiting for it to be offered. He drew in a sharp, audible breath, but Marcella couldn’t have said if his reaction was one of surprise or of frustration. The two lady’s maids, who’d been chosen to chaperone for the trip, both appeared suddenly more alert.
Lord Brookshire and Adeline led the way along the path, which curved and twisted like a snake through the lavish gardens. This place was the passion project of the late Countess of Willowbrooke, who’d been an avid plant collector during her day. She’d wished that the gardens be available for all to view, and even in the winter, there were always interesting things to see. Adeline’s lady’s maid, Sophia, followed close behind her lady.
“I’ve not been here before,” Lord Reginald said.
Marcella nearly told him how beautiful she found the place. As a girl, she’d frequented the Countess’ gardens and imagined herself as some great explorer, darting between the fronds of the grand weeping willows and the lovely tulips.
Instead, she waved dismissively. “I suppose it’s an adequate place. I’d much rather tour a garden in Paris.”
Lord Reginald made a strange sort of choking noise, and he gazed at her as if she’d lost her wits. “I don’t imagine you’d find Paris to be a lovely place at the moment.”
