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Chapter Fourteen
Two weeks had passed since Marcella visited the Duke of Mavis’ country estate, and it had been decided that Lord Reginald ought to then visit the estate of Castamere. That was how, on a lovely January morning, Marcella found herself seated in the drawing room with her parents, awaiting the soon-to-be Marquess of Hurrow’s arrival.
That library was beautiful.
Despite Marcella’s best attempts not to think of the library, her thoughts kept returning to the books left closed and unexamined. Her chest gave an anxious little flutter, too, when she thought of Lord Reginald’s promise that she could have whichever books she desired in her library. It could very well be an empty promise, for men would say anything to coax a woman into marriage.
I just want it to be a lie. I must be careful not to like Lord Reginald too much.
Claudia, the Viscountess of Castamere, smoothed over her peach silk skirts. Marcella’s stepmother had thin, delicate hands, which she kept folded over her skirts. No one would’ve ever guessed from her bearing that Claudia had been born a commoner. Marcella felt strangely as though she was the opposite sort of woman, as though she acted common despite her high birth.
Or perhaps not. Women commoners aren’t free to read what they like or encouraged to be writers, either. They’re working alongside their husbands to earn money and tend to their families.
If Marcella acted neither like a commoner nor a proper lady, what was she, then?
“This is quite exciting, isn’t it?” Claudia asked.
Marcella looked at her father. He nodded. “Yes, it’s quite remarkable to have him with thetonagain. It’s been quite good for Rufus, too. I daresay my dear friend looks much younger these days.”
Claudia nodded, but her smile was thin, as though something about the comment had displeased her. “And now, we’re to see our dear Marcella wed to the young lord. What a happy day that will be!”
Not if I have a say in the matter.
Too soon, the butler entered and dipped into a neat bow. “My Lord, Lord Reginald has arrived.”
“Excellent,” Marcella’s father replied. “Send him in.”
Marcella straightened her spine and folded her hands in her lap, just like Claudia had. It would be trickier to play the role of an entitled lady of thetonwith her parents there. Even if Lord Reginald didn’t recognize when Marcella was acting a part, her father and stepmother would know immediately that something was amiss.
Lord Reginald entered, clad in a deep blue color which brought out the brightness of his eyes. He looked quite dashing, and Marcella drew in a sharp breath without really meaning it. As he neared, Marcella smelled the faintest hint of sandalwood and orange blossoms. He smelled nice, very nice. She imagined drawing nearer to him and breathing in the lovely scent and letting it envelop all her senses.
“Good afternoon, My Lord,” Lord Reginald said. “Thank you for inviting me.”
“The honor is ours. Please, join us,” Marcella’s father replied.
The only empty place was the seat where Marcella sat. Lord Reginald joined her, keeping a very respectful distance between the two of them. Even with the distance, Marcella felt as if the air crackled between them, as if the room was filled with lightning. “It has been so very long since I’ve been in this room,” Lord Reginald said, looking around him.
“Since before your disappearance,” Marcella’s father replied promptly. “You came to visit with your father. We walked through this room on our way to the stables. We left the ladies here.”
Lord Reginald nodded, looking as though he was trying very hard to recall the meeting. Marcella doubted he’d manage to recall it; she couldn’t. “I see. That would’ve been Lady Marcella, yes? And your own lovely Viscountess.”
“Indeed,” Marcella’s father replied.
Claudia let out a soft sigh. “It is so strange how quickly time passes sometimes.”
“It is,” Lord Reginald replied.
“After it all, you’re here,” Claudia said. “That is amazing in itself. Finally, that old promise will be fulfilled. Isn’t that wonderful, My Lord?”
Claudia looked to her husband, who nodded. “Yes.”
“So it will be,” Marcella replied.
Unless Lord Reginald called the engagement off, which he surely would. Marcella knew she’d been insufferable, and she’d only let her mask slip once—when she’d seen the library. Today, she must tread carefully to avoid arousing either Lord Reginald’s suspicion or her father’s ire.
“We heard you were found in London,” Marcella’s father said, “and that your father managed to save you from some—ah—dispute with the constable.”
“Is a dispute what he called it?” Lord Reginald asked, his lips curled upward in wry amusement. “That’s a generous choice of words.”
