Page 18 of An Arranged Marriage with a Mad Marquess (Marriage Mart Scandals #3)

Lucy was vaguely aware that she ought not to be doing this. In other houses, she might well be dismissed if she were caught.

Still, most of the servants secretly dreamt of spying on the fine parties the ladies and gentlemen threw, without being forced to serve at them.

The ballroom was a huge room, with a balcony rounding the upper half of the room. Lucy happened to know that the balcony would not be used during the soiree, as it was quite high up and the railings a little flimsy. She waited until most of the guests had arrived and then, heart pounding, climbed up the narrow back staircase which led to the balcony.

Nobody will be looking up, she told herself.

The noise of chatter, laughter, and music drifted along the staircase. When Lucy finally stepped out onto the balcony, the noise took her breath away.

The room was full of people, the scents of food and fresh-cut flowers and greenery mingling with perfume and drifted upwards. She inched towards the railing, risking a peek downwards.

The gowns were beautiful, swirls of every colour a person could think of, in the finest materials. Ladies’ hairs were piled up into elaborate styles, glittering with pearls and little glass ornaments and even diamonds , each one different and breathtakingly beautiful.

The repast arranged upon the refreshment table appeared most delectable – jellies of various hues, diminutive cakes adorned with rich frosting, and dainty morsels for nibbling that she’d never tried and couldn’t identify, and of course champagne and punch and fine wines. The proper supper was going to be even better, too – Lucy had seen them preparing it in the kitchen. Her stomach rumbled. There hadn’t been much time for the servants to eat, what with getting everything ready. Of course, there would be endless leftovers for them to tuck into, and Lucy had already learned that the servants were encouraged to polish off any leftovers if they wished, to prevent waste.

Of course, that didn’t help her hunger now .

Scanning the room, Lucy found her mistress. Patrina was talking to a gaggle of well-dressed young ladies, looking very confident and happy, saying something which made them laugh. She was standing near the corner of the room, where a comfortable seat had been placed for Lord Morendale. He was watching Patrina talk, a strange, soft look in his eyes.

Lucy bit back a smile. She knew, of course, that the marriage between Lord Morendale and her mistress was a marriage of convenience, but she wasn’t blind. They liked each other, very much so.

Next to Lord Morendale stood Harry Westbrook, his red hair vying for attention despite the subdued black suit he wore. He was alert, gaze scanning the ballroom. Nobody talked to him, and Lucy felt a twinge of outrage on his behalf. He was a steward, but he was still a relative of the Tidemore family. Why should he be ignored?

As if sensing eyes on him, Harry suddenly glanced up, looking straight over the heads of the crowd. At her .

Lucy flinched, darting downwards to huddle behind the railings. When she gathered the courage to peer into the ballroom again, Harry was gone from beside Lord Morendale’s chair.

Her heart thumped.

Am I in trouble? Or is Harry’s disappearance nothing to do with me? Perhaps he just has some work to attend to.

Minutes ticked by, and Lucy was just starting to lose her nerves and relax into watching the party when she heard footsteps on the stairs. She huddled down again, cursing herself for not leaving when she had the chance.

She wasn’t entirely surprised to see Harry appear at the entrance to the balcony.

She was, however, surprised to see that he had a tray in his hands. It was laden with good things – jellies, cakes small pies and so on. There was a bottle of champagne tucked under his arm.

“I have a feeling you aren’t meant to be up here,” Harry said, grinning.

“I’m not,” Lucy confessed. “But haven’t you ever wanted to attend one of those parties?”

“I do attend them. I’m sure you saw me down there.”

She grimaced. “Yes, but I mean properly . As a guest, with nobody expecting you to work or defer to others while you’re there.”

“I’m afraid I’ve seen too much of these parties to want to join them,” Harry sighed, setting down the tray on the ground. “Besides, certain parties have made it abundantly clear that I am not welcome here, either at this party or in this family.”

Lucy frowned. “Who do you mean?”

“Who do you think?”

“Lord Clayton Tidemore and his mother?”

Harry forced a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. “They are not fond of me. They don’t like to be reminded that we’re family.”

Lucy bit her lip. “You ought to tell Lord Morendale. He cares very much for you, and he wouldn’t like to hear that you’re being treated so badly.”

“I thought of that, actually,” Harry sighed, shaking his head. “But Neil is so ill at the moment. It’s bad enough that Lady Morendale is not being treated respectfully. I don’t want him to have to worry about me, as well. I’m a grown man, I can manage.”

Lucy considered this for a long moment. “I think that Lord Morendale might not like to be treated as a child. I’m not saying that you intend to do so, but wouldn’t it be better to let him decide for himself what he will worry about? You ought to tell him, Harry.”

“Perhaps you’re right. But not tonight, I think.”

He settled himself down on the floor beside her and poured out two glasses of champagne. “The food, however, is spectacular. Can I tempt you?”

Lucy took a glass with a smile. “I think you might.”

***

The ballroom was immensely crowded. Patrina often bumped against other guests, smiling and apologising over and over again. Her cheeks ached from smiling. Names and meaningless pleasantries buzzed round and round in her head. As well as that, she found that Neil was always in the back of her mind.

Is he comfortable? Does it look odd, him sitting down and not mingling? Well, it must, but there’s hardly anything that can be done about that. Is he feeling nervous? Am I doing enough? Is he embarrassed by my behaviour or not?

The next time she glanced over at the chair they’d placed in the corner for him, Patrina saw that Harry had disappeared somewhere. Clayton was nowhere to be seen, and nor was Thomasin. Emma and Cynthia were both off entertaining important guests.

Drawing in a breath, Patrina crossed the room towards Neil. The Evans couple had descended upon him, this time with their daughter in tow.

As Patrina moved closer, she heard snatches of their conversation.

“… just one dance, Lord Morendale! Of course, you’ll be opening the dance with your bride, naturally, but I’m sure you can spare a set or two for Geraldine. It will do her prospects much good to be seen with a gentleman of your calibre.”

Neil cleared his throat, shifting and looking uncomfortable. “I… I am not myself this evening, Lady Evans. You’ll see, I won’t be dancing with anyone tonight. Even Lady Morendale. I won’t be standing up with anyone, so please, don’t worry about a snub to your dear…”

“Oh, but one set won’t kill you, will it?” Lady Evans pushed. “Here, let me write your name on her dance card.”

Patrina stepped up beside Lady Evans, smiling blandly. “What’s this about dance cards?”

Neil looked exhausted. His skin was losing what colour it had, and there were rings around his eyes. He looked anxious, too.

“I… I was trying to explain to Lady Evans about my health…” he began, blinking helplessly up at Patrina.

She smiled. “Of course, dearest. Lady Evans, Miss Evans, I’m afraid it will not be possible for my dear husband to dance on this occasion. Another time, perhaps.”

Lady Evans pursed her lips. “Well, really. It’s most irregular, Lady Morendale.”

Patrina’s smile widened. She shuffled closer to Neil and took his hand.

“You aren’t intending to steal away my husband on our very first soiree together, are you?”

Lady Evans flushed. Miss Evans, to do her credit, did not seem to care much whether she danced with Neil or not, and was currently smothering a yawn.

“Well, n-no,” Lady Evans muttered.

“I thought not. Do excuse us, Lady Evans, Miss Evans. I require a breath of fresh air, and my dearest husband is going to escort me.” Patrina glanced down at Neil, lifting her eyebrows. He scrambled to his feet at once, looking relieved. She noticed that he did not have the walking stick, and bit back a frown.

Lady Evans was obliged to back away, and they slowly cut their way through the crowds towards wide French doors at the side of the ballroom. Outside the doors was a long balcony, which Patrina was sure would be quiet and deserted at this stage in the evening. The heat had not yet gotten so bad in the ballroom that guests were forced to flit outside to cool down. Once the dancing had started, of course. it would be another matter entirely.

There were rules, naturally, to whether or not ladies could step out onto balconies. Unaccompanied? No, certainly not. It mattered little whether a lady and a gentleman were in full view of the entire ballroom – they could not be on a balcony together, unaccompanied. It was shocking, and the scandal would reverberate through a whole Season.

But Patrina was married, and so could go more or less where she liked. The newfound freedom thrilled her. Even something so simple as stepping out onto a balcony during a ball was something new and exciting.

Arm hooked through Neil’s, she glanced up at him as they made their way through the crowd. It was too loud to talk much, but she guessed that he was feeling hot and uncomfortable too, just as she was.

When they finally freed themselves from the crowd and stepped through the doors, the cool air outside was truly delicious. Patrina gave a sigh, closing her eyes and tilting back her head, letting the night breeze cool her clammy skin.

“I was going mad in there,” she murmured. “Everyone is kind – at least, most people are kind – but it’s rather too much, don’t you think?”

“I have to agree,” Neil sighed, limping forward towards the wide stone parapet. It was high enough for him to comfortably rest his elbows upon, and he did so, sighing with relief. “At the last moment, Aunt Thomasin told me to leave the walking stick behind. She said that everybody would notice, and would all talk about it, and guess at how ill I was.”

Patrina frowned. “Who cares what they think? You ought to be comfortable and safe above all else. Does your mother know she said that? Does Harry know?”

“Harry disapproved, but I believe he’s rather afraid to speak up. Patrina, do you… do you think my cousin Clayton might have threatened Harry?”

Patrina blinked, taken aback. “What? Has Harry mentioned anything?”

“No, but I see how nervy he is around Clayton. He generally is uncomfortable around them, more so than usual.” Neil sighed, clenching his fist and pressing it against the stone wall. “It infuriates me that they refuse to consider Harry family. I’ve made it clear that he is to be considered as family. I only gave Harry the steward job because he refused to accept an allowance or anything from me. I need a capable man who I can rely on to help me run the estate, and frankly I trust Harry with my life. He is my friend. So why can my cousin and aunt not understand this?”

“I’m sorry, Neil. This must be difficult for you.”

Neil bit his lip. “The more I see of my cousin, the more I understand that… that Clayton cannot be allowed to inherit the role of Lord Morendale. There’s so much involved, so much work. Clayton would raise all the rents, ignore the tenants, and it would be a disaster.”

“Can’t you…” Patrina paused, glancing over her shoulder. “Can’t you disinherit him?”

Neil shook his head. “I cannot. If I was healthy, I wouldn’t worry so much. Oh, I’m sorry, Pat. This is your first soiree as Lady Morendale, and I’m ruining it.”

“No, you aren’t,” she laughed, looping her arm through his. “Frankly, this is a rather tense event. I’ve never hosted my own party – it was always Mama who managed that. And is that your new sobriquet for me? Pat ?”

He winced, shooting an apologetic glance at her. “It just slipped out. Do you hate it?”

“Hate it? No, it’s sweet. For some reason, I’ve never had a sobriquet. I like it.”

Neil smiled, face relaxing. “I never had one either. I suppose one can’t really shorten Neil .”

Patrina considered. “We could call you Eel . How about that?”

He grimaced. “That’s… terrible.”

Patrina gave a gurgle of laughter, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, it was the first thing I came up with.”

“Well, it’s awful. If you ever call me Eel in public, I might fling myself off the top of the house.”

She laughed harder, pressing a gloved hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. Neil watched her laughing, grinning.

“It’s good to see you smile properly,” he said at last, once her giggles had subsided. “I think perhaps you’ve had a difficult time since you came here.”

“Mayhap,” she acknowledged, “But life can’t be easy all the time, can it? It would be dull if there were no challenges at all. Besides, I’m not sure I’d change a thing.”

He stiffened at that, eyes scanning her face as if searching for signs she was lying.

“Truly? You wouldn’t change anything? Not even… not even marrying me?”

The warmth spread through Patrina’s chest, and she met his eyes squarely.

“Especially not marrying you,” she heard herself say, the words rasping on their way out of her mouth.

Am I really saying that to him? Do I truly feel this way?

Yes… yes, I do. This is how I feel.

I believe I’m falling in love. Goodness, how strange does it sound. Falling in love with my own husband. Who would have thought it?

Once the idea had arrived in her head, Patrina understood just how true it was, and how dear the man had become to her. Her husband . Her friend .

Before Patrina could say a word or formulate any sense out of the chaos in her head, Neil dived forward. His fingers skimmed the soft skin of her neck, breath sweet and warm.

Before Patrina could fully understand what was happening, he was kissing her.