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Chapter One

The Conversation

London, May 17, 1840

M arina Ashton was not the belle of the ball though the Farringtons were hardly renowned for hosting the event of the Season. Though the event was technically in her honor—well, in Stanford’s honor—she was content to remain in the background at the small gathering. In fact, that suited her perfectly. The Season she had so looked forward to was not really what she had imagined. It wasn’t vanity to say that she was beautiful. In truth, beauty was a bit of a nuisance. She’d quickly come to realize that her appearance was a commodity to some and a source of contention to others. Then, of course, there was the fortune.

An indiscreet comment made by a clerk in the office of her uncle’s solicitor had disclosed to one and all amongst the ton that she was a very wealthy young woman, despite her somewhat scandalous beginnings. Subsequently, whomever married her would be incredibly wealthy.

Between her appearance and those unfortunately truthful rumors abounding regarding the fortune her Uncle Devil had set aside for her, she’d discovered the very double-edged sword of being sought after to such a dizzying degree. And in all, she’d been terribly disheartened and disillusioned. Gentlemen who had not even bothered to dance with her prior were suddenly writing odes to her beauty and dancing attendance upon her.

All the gossip had brought far too much of the wrong sort of attention. But Stanford had been there all along, courting her, being quietly attentive and respectful at all times. The perfect gentleman, she thought, long before her financial status had been disclosed to one and all. In truth, that lack of foreknowledge about her future means had seemed such a reassuring fact early on. But like so many things in her life, she found herself doubtful. It was grossly unfair of her. He’d given no indication that his motives were anything but pure. He was always a perfect gentleman, never even trying to steal a kiss. He’d insisted to take such liberties would be a dishonor to them both. And so she was two days away from her wedding and had not yet been kissed. Which did nothing to reassure her that he was marrying her for the right reasons.

Marina clenched her fists at her side. And inside her glove, she felt the small, folded note she’d tucked securely away earlier. The corner of it bit into her flesh.

It had arrived only that morning and with it had come the sinking feeling that perhaps Stanford’s reticence to take liberties had less to do with honor and more to do with the fact that his heart was engaged elsewhere. How she’d wanted the words on that small, nondescript bit of stationery to be false—to be something she could share with Stanford and together they would laugh about it. But she hadn’t shown it to him. Indeed, she hadn’t shown it to anyone. She’d hidden it away and not spoken of it to a soul. But she’d read it. Again and again throughout the day, she’d pored over it, looking for some indication of the anonymous sender’s identity. Alas, she could only trust their signature at the bottom of the page. “A Concerned Acquaintance.”

Slipping the note from inside her glove, Marina scoured it once more. She didn’t worry about being observed. Even at such a small gathering, where everyone present knew that she was very firmly off the marriage mart, no one paid her the least bit of mind. She could disappear a bit, blend into the background. Initially, when she’d noticed the effect, it had been a relief. It was as if a weight had been lifted from her. Now it was a necessity. And this would be her last opportunity to act with any sort of subversiveness. The next time everyone present would be assembled would be on her wedding day. Her cloak of invisibility would vanish then, once she was dressed in all her bridal finery and walking down the aisle. All eyes would be on her once more. It had been an exciting prospect before.

Before the note. And after the note. How could one tiny slip of paper alter her life so completely that it should be demarcated as before and after its arrival?

Perhaps it was the proximity of her leap from being a girl to being someone’s wife which had her feeling so out of sorts. Her wedding, much anticipated by everyone in her family and most of society, as well, was scheduled for only two days hence. Two days until she was to become Mrs. Stanford Williams. Two days until her uncle would escort her to the altar and “give” her to a man that she was beginning to wonder if she even knew at all… and with the entirety of the ton watching. Her stomach tightened and the room seemed to spin a bit. A couple waltzed past her—so close the young woman’s skirts whipped at her own. Watching them spin about intensified the nausea that assailed her. Even then, she had a moment of envy. Staring at that young woman, so obviously enamored of her partner, she appeared so carefree and so very full of life. And free of doubt.

The weight of the betrothal ring on her hand was a tangible reminder of why such things no longer mattered. Mentally, Marina ticked off all the many reasons her current position was so enviable. She had secured an excellent match for herself—while he wasn’t a titled gentleman, he was most definitely a gentleman and one of significant fortune. He was handsome and articulate and kind, if a bit reserved at times. Always perfectly proper, he never put a foot wrong in society—a boon given her somewhat scandalous background. In short, Stanford was everything she could have dreamed of. Even her uncle, exacting as he had been in considering any suitor who had dared come to call, had been unable to find fault.

And until that morning she hadn’t the slightest qualms about marrying him. But all that had changed with the letter that arrived in its nondescript glory.

She might have ignored it altogether but for one thing. Every event that had been hinted at in that letter had come to pass. He’d declined to accompany them, instead insisting upon meeting them there. No sooner had they arrived, than he’d greeted them and immediately departed to the card room. And now, only ten minutes later, she’d watched him taking a circuitous route around the ballroom and down the corridor farthest from the card room on the pretext of needing to speak to a business acquaintance. It wouldn’t have been suspicious, note aside, as he rarely danced attendance upon her at such events. Stanford was always circumspect. He’d been a consistent suitor if not an ardent one.

Now, watching him take that circuitous route around the ballroom, her heart sank. He was heading for the corridor where the retiring rooms were. Along with other rooms that she knew were often utilized for secret trysts .

That clandestine exit not only deepened her suspicions but also her resolve to discern the truth of it all. The other accusations in the letter swarmed in her mind like bees. Fortune hunter. Unfaithful. Lying. Scheming. Never loved her. And all of those thoughts were only punctuated by one entirely of her own making. He’s never even kissed me.

Thinking of the last time she’d asked him to kiss her, all but pleaded with him in truth, and his very pat answer about propriety and honor, she burned with the humiliation of it. Never mind that every betrothed couple skated along the lines of impropriety a bit. Never mind that it was common knowledge that most betrothed couples, at least in private, would display such affection for one another. Kissing, for a betrothed couple, was not considered scandalous at all unless one did it in full view of everyone. The letter called into question his motivation for denying her such reassurance of his affection and desire for her. Perhaps it had nothing at all to do with altruistic reasons and far more to do with the fact that she was simply not the one he desired.

“Forgive me, Aunt Willa. I must excuse myself to the ladies’ withdrawing room.” She hadn’t even realized she’d made a decision until the words escaped her.

Willa looked at her with concern. “Are you well, Marina?”

“Quite,” Marina lied. “My head aches a bit, but the quiet will help with that I think.” That part at least was true.

“Should I accompany you?”

Marina looked past her to her Aunt Lillian. “No, not at all. Aunt Lillian has only just returned to town. Enjoy catching up with her, and I will rejoin you shortly.”

Leaving them talking amongst themselves, she skirted the ballroom and headed down the corridor to where the withdrawing rooms were. But she sailed past the door to the withdrawing room and made for the terrace doors at the end of the corridor. Doors that were still slightly ajar. As she neared them, she slowed her steps, all but tiptoeing as she moved as surreptitiously as possible into position, concealing herself within the folds of the draperies.

Beyond the glass panes, she could hear voices. Hushed whispers that sounded impossibly intimate. She recognized Stanford’s voice, but he spoke to the person on that terrace with him in a way he’d never spoken to her. Like a lover.

“Stanford, I can’t bear it!” the unknown woman said.

“If there were any other way, my love, you know that I would be with you! Marrying so far beneath me, given the truly indecent circumstances of her birth and the scandalous way her uncle carried on—marrying his niece’s very own governess—but, alas, I have no choice. Even now, I am hovering on the brink of ruin. What I have is only the illusion of wealth… and no illusion can be maintained indefinitely. If I were to follow my heart and the two of us could wed… Alas, it would never work. You are not free to marry where you please and neither am I. One can weather a scandal if flush enough to bear up under it. I am not. When the truth comes out about my debts, I will be ruined, and you will be ruined with me. You cannot risk it, my love.”

“I can’t simply watch you marry that wretched girl! Not when she will never be worthy of you,” the unknown woman all but shouted. “Why didn’t you ask for my hand years ago?”

“Shush, my darling. Your family would never have permitted you to marry me given the state of my finances and the fact they were only too well aware of them. Your own father held the mortgage, after all… and now your brother.”

“Perhaps, if all the obstacles in our path were cleared away, and we were to marry, then he might forgive the debt if you asked.”

“I cannot, my darling. You know that. I would never be able to forgive myself for taking such charity from anyone. This is the only way. I must marry her, though there is no doubt I will spend each day wishing she were you.”

“What about me? Am I to be trapped in a loveless marriage forever? I will wither away into a wretched old crone while waiting for you to be free!”

He sighed heavily. It might have been sadness, but in all likelihood, it was exasperation. The melodramatic and pleading tone of his companion was enough to grate on anyone’s nerves, Marina thought with no small degree of bitterness.

“I would never ask that of you,” he said. “I am not in a position to ever be your husband and while it will pain me to say it, I cannot envision a way in which you would ever be permitted to be my wife. But just because we are not wed, we need not part. There is no reason that we cannot simply go on as we have for so long already.”

“Be your mistress? Warm your bed and fulfill your needs while you parade the daughter of a harlot all about town?”

“It’s the only way. Think before you speak rashly, my love. I beg of you.”

The terrace doors opened, and Marina made herself as small as possible, shrinking back into heavy velvet drapes which were not so different in color from her own gown. From her hiding place, she could now see the identity of the woman. Lady Crowden.

“Don’t leave me like this… Can’t you slip away with me for a bit?”

He looked back at her and Marina did her best to stand as still as possible lest she alert either of them to her presence. “Not now. We’ve both been gone from the ballroom for far too long already. But later… after supper. I’ll slip—ostensibly to the card room—you’ll plead a headache and make for our little bower in Bloomsbury.”

Stanford walked away, leaving the other woman standing there in the hall, dejected. Still Marina did not move or make a sound. A confrontation with Lady Crowden was the last thing she wished to have when she was already so off balance by everything that had transpired.

Marina had heard enough. More than enough. Lady Crowden made her way along the corridor and as quietly as possible, Marina slipped from her hiding place. This time she did go to the ladies’ retiring room. Ducking behind one of the many screens that had been placed about the room for privacy to repair hems and torn flounces or to see to more personal needs, she focused all her efforts on simply taking in one gulping breath after another without retching.

Why on earth should it matter to Lady Crowden if Stanford were to wed when she was already married to another? Never mind that she was a good ten years Stanford’s senior and her marriage to Lord Crowden had failed to produce a child, though he had several daughters from his previous wife. Stanford would never marry her even if she were free because she could not give him what he needed, what he insisted was so important to him—an heir. Though now it became clear there was nothing to inherit. Those thoughts raced through Marina’s mind, but on their heels came others that were even more distressing.

He’d told her he loved her. He’d painted such a sweet picture for her of what their life would be like together. Was he lying to her? Or was he lying to his now-embittered lover? And ultimately, did that even matter? If he was capable of such a grand deception, he was clearly not the man she had thought him to be. But their wedding was only two days hence.

Two days!

If she broke things off now the scandal would be horrendous. It would destroy her socially. It would wreak havoc upon her family. How could she not go through with it when the choices she made could mar her cousins’ reputations for life? Isabella would be making her debut in ten years. And ten years was not enough time to make the whispers vanish. Marina knew that from personal experience. Even now, a decade and a half had passed since her mother’s untimely death, and she was still reviled. If Marina walked into a room full of people, her transgressions were still whispered about. And from Stanford’s own lips, she would forever be tainted by them.