Page 11

Chapter Eleven

Infamy…

January 15, 1842

S he could feel the weight of their stares. In a desperate attempt to act as if everything were perfectly normal, they’d gone for a morning stroll in Hyde Park, as was their custom. Her aunt and uncle flanked her, while her cousins walked several steps ahead, cavorting as only exuberant adolescent boys can. She’d worn a day dress of red tartan, trimmed with black velvet ribbon and she wore a black velvet pelerine pinned with a tartan rose to match. The bonnet of black gathered silk was saved from austerity by the bright red plumes and ribbons that trimmed it. In short, she’d dressed as though she had every wish to be the center of attention. She couldn’t very well hide, after all. At least, dressed to the nines as she was, they’d have something to talk about other than the salacious speculation about what had truly occurred in the library at the Crowdens’.

“It’s dreadful,” Marina murmured. “Everyone is staring.”

“Let them stare,” Willa insisted. “By strolling through this park, unbothered by the lot of them—and looking quite lovely—you are signifying both your innocence and your unwillingness to be bullied by anyone. You’ve done nothing wrong, my dear. Unwise, certainly. But not wrong.”

“If this fellow doesn’t arrive at the house by luncheon, I’ll take matters into my own hands,” Devil offered, his voice quiet but his tone chilling.

Marina shook her head. “No. No, you will not. While I appreciate your desire to protect me from… this, he didn’t actually do anything wrong either. He was attempting to break off a relationship with Lady Crowden which existed primarily in her own mind. And if I had been bold enough to do the same in disabusing Mr. Nutter of any chance of our making a match, then perhaps I wouldn’t have felt inclined to hide from him, thus wreaking havoc in all of our lives. Though surely Elizabeth Whitmore would have found another way to create strife and turmoil.” She didn’t include that the library had been her only avenue of escape due to the presence of Stanford outside. In truth, she wasn’t certain what to make of his presence out there. It seemed a bit too contrived to be merely coincidence. She was still puzzling about it.

Willa linked arms with her. “You couldn’t have known, Marina. Who could have? Miss Whitmore’s machinations are positively Machiavellian. If ever a young woman needed a husband, it is her. Perhaps if she had a household to run and children to raise, she’d be content to meddle in their lives and leave other people alone. Idle hands and all that.”

“Pity the children,” Devil muttered under his breath.

Suppressing a slight giggle at her uncle’s response, one that was wholly representative of his typically sardonic view, Marina shook her head. “I hardly think she’d be content with such wholesome activities. I firmly believe the only joy she takes in life is to make it a misery for others.” In fact, Marina was quite certain of that.

For the short time in which she’d attempted to have a friendship with Elizabeth Whitmore she’d seen firsthand just how much glee the girl took in tormenting others. While lying and scheming were always wicked, she could perhaps at least understand it if it benefited the other woman in some fashion. But Elizabeth was cruel for the sake of it, often directing her ire at people who ought to have been beneath her notice. Young women who were perhaps not as pretty, or whose fortunes were such that even beauty could not fully atone for the lack—those were her targets of choice. Or they had been until Marina had confronted her about the behavior and thus courted her ire. Now her pettiness and spite were quite firmly targeted in her direction.

“She can’t be all bad. Perhaps she is merely misguided,” Willa posed. “I can’t help but feel anyone who would court such unpleasantness in life must be a very unhappy person.”

“You are too good, Willa,” Devil said. “You assume others have a good heart when they do not. There isn’t an ounce of kindness or compassion in that wretch of a girl. Only hatefulness and menace.”

“Uncle Devil is right,” Marina agreed. “But I have no wish to further discuss Miss Whitmore, the Earl of St. Aiden, Lady Crowden, or Mr. Nutter. We can talk it all to death and still the situation will simply be what it will be. But I do believe that we’ve displayed ourselves enough for one day and I’m tired of feeling like an animal trapped in a menagerie. I wish to go home, eat an entire plate of Cook’s cinnamon scones, and bury my nose in a good book.”

“A most excellent plan.”

They walked on, ignoring stares and whispers. Despite their noble efforts to remain unaffected, certain phrases whispered by those they passed still found their mark like well-aimed arrows. Not an ounce of shame in any of them. Just like her mother, of course. Heaven knows who her father is. And raised by a penniless governess who puts on airs. A poisoned tree bears poisoned fruit. Do you think she’ll make it to the altar this time or will she discard yet another one? How many proposals must one girl receive before she settles down?

The litany of insults and slights was familiar. Even the smallest misstep Marina had made in life had been received with those same comments. Uttered by different people at different times, they always carried the same message. She was something different, something other. Something inherently wicked and prone to vice and disgrace . No matter how much she tried to follow the rules, no matter how perfectly she behaved, the nature of her birth would never be forgotten. The ton had long memories of everyone else’s public sins while committing far worse in secret. And all of their censure was meted out without the merest hint of compassion.

Exiting the park was a relief, as if she were casting off the weight of their judgment. Their house on Park Lane would offer a reprieve from prying eyes and she longed for the solace it would provide as they walked steadily onward. It was within sight when an unfamiliar carriage halted before it. A familiar figure emerged, and Marina felt a rush of relief.

Caleb Halliwell, the Earl of St. Aiden, was indeed a man of his word. He’d come to call.

*

He’d thought her beautiful the night before in the ballroom and more so still in the Crowdens’ library. But now, seeing her in the bright light of day, the contrast of her vivid blue eyes and dark curls was striking. He could only assume that it was the walk in the park that had put the roses in her cheeks. And it occurred to him in that moment that he would like to be the cause of such high color, to see her blush prettily in response to something he said… or did. The instant attraction he’d felt for her was growing, solidifying into something much more insistent.

The events of the night before had been so chaotic that, while he’d appreciated her loveliness that had piqued his interest from the start, he hadn’t truly recognized the depth of his attraction to her. The desire for her that thrummed in his veins was unexpected. He’d never been given to flights of romantic fancy, but perhaps he’d simply never encountered a woman who could prompt such thoughts. He needed to woo her, to convince her that, as a looming wedding date neared, making the match would be the best course. But how? The situation they found themselves in could hardly be conducive to any sort of romantic feeling. Even when they’d been alone the night before, they hadn’t truly been private. Her family had been just beyond the door. That was hardly the time to tell her he thought her exquisite.

“Miss Ashton,” he said in greeting. “Lord Deveril, Lady Deveril.”

“I see you’re a man of your word, St. Aiden,” Lord Deveril observed. “A point in your favor.”

“Thank you, Lord Deveril. I think.” He wasn’t blind to the man’s doubts. Indeed, he’d have had to be a complete idiot to miss them. “If it would be permissible, I should like to take Miss Ashton on an outing. Chaperoned appropriately, of course.”

Marina looked to her aunt. It was a telling gesture. While her uncle was clearly a man of significant power and authority, it was quite clear that his wife held a certain amount of sway. “You can send Stephens with me, Aunt Willa. Heaven knows she’s certainly an adequate chaperone.”

Lady Deveril nodded to her husband who then sighed in capitulation. “Very well. We need to have a conversation when you return, St. Aiden. There are details to be discussed.”

Caleb reached into his pocket and retrieved a neatly tied sheaf of documents. “I think you’ll find everything in order there, my lord. Having a moment to review it all prior to our conversation might be helpful.”

The other man accepted the documents with a nod and then disappeared inside the house. Only a few moments later, a middle-aged woman with steel-gray hair and a stern expression appeared. She took one look at him, and it was apparent that she found him wanting.

“She looks at everyone that way. Well, except for my aunt. She adores her.”

Those whispered words of encouragement had come from Marina and while his lips quirked, a full-on smile or laugh would likely turn Stephens against him forever. So he suppressed the urge. It felt a bit as if they were conspirators in a caper rather than strangers thrown together by chance and the machinations of two deceitful women.

“Perhaps we could ply her with sweets at Gunter’s,” he suggested. “Isn’t that where the fashionable young men escort the ladies they are courting?”

The blush on her cheeks deepened ever so slightly. “It is, indeed. I think I should like that, though I cannot be certain of Stephens. She tends to frown upon anything that brings joy to anyone.”

Caleb fought back yet another grin as he offered her his arm. When she placed her hand upon his sleeve, even through the layers of fabric, he would swear that he felt a spark of something there. But he was a rational man. She wore gloves. He wore a heavy overcoat in addition to his frock coat and shirt. It was impossible. But the awareness of her innocent touch remained as they set off for their outing, the dour-faced lady’s maid trailing behind them.