Page 17

Chapter Seventeen

An unfortunate run-in

January 20, 1842

“I t hasn’t sprouted wings and flown away.”

Marina glanced up at her aunt’s curious turn of phrase. Lillian was looking at her speculatively. “Pardon?”

Reaching over, her aunt picked up her hand and once more admired the ring that had been placed upon it. “Your ring, dear. I must confess to no small amount of envy. It’s truly stunning. Perhaps he owns a gem mine instead of just coal?” she suggested in a teasing tone.

Leave it to Lillian to look not for a simple bright spot but for one that sparkled, Marina thought as she tucked her hands into her lap beneath the edge of the table. It would likely not help her to resist the temptation to stare at the ring, but it might make her do so with less frequency.

“I am sorry to disappoint. But he’s very solidly invested in the coal mining industry, Aunt Lily. Nary a gem mine in sight.”

“Pity,” Lillian replied with a weary sigh. “Maybe when it’s Isabella’s turn to find herself a husband she can land one who will drape us all in emeralds the size of apples! Barring that, I should at least hope she loves him. What do you think, Marina? Emeralds or a love match? Or both?”

“I couldn’t say.”

Lily smiled. “You will know soon enough, I think. The earl has been most attentive from what I hear.”

Beneath the table, Marina rubbed her finger over the ring, twisting it on her finger. He had been attentive. For five days since he’d presented that ring, he’d been the picture-perfect bridegroom. And yet still she hadn’t fully acclimated to it. It wasn’t simply the weight of the bejeweled item, though that was not insignificant and felt somewhat foreign on her hand. The symbolism of the ring surely played a part in her continued fascination with it. After all, it was a means of outwardly manifesting her status as a soon-to-be-married woman. If she were a soon-to-be-married woman. Of course, that wasn’t the reason behind her conspicuous study of it either. It was the connection she felt to Caleb and all that it signified.

He’d kissed her. Oh, not a real kiss, as he’d said that night in her aunt’s library. It hadn’t been passionate and all-consuming. It had been a mere brush of his lips over hers, and yet still hers tingled with the memory. If what he’d said was true—that there was so much more—then she couldn’t imagine how she might respond when kissed properly. And yet, despite the many times he’d come to call on her in the ensuing days, the numerous parties and balls they’d both been in attendance at, they’d been unable to find a single moment alone in which they could recreate that act. When they were in society, all eyes were on them, watching them for the faintest hint of impropriety. It was decidedly inconvenient. How was she to know if he was the right choice for a husband if she could never kiss him, never touch him? What if that startling rush of sensation had been simply because it was her first kiss and not because she was kissing him ? She didn’t truly think that was the case, but there was no way to disprove it unless they were granted at least a moment of privacy.

“I do believe that, with what you have at home, and what we’ve purchased in the last few days,” Willa said, “that your trousseau is finally complete.”

It was an olive branch, a way to change the subject and spare her more of Lillian’s well-intentioned but still very nosy and very pushy questions. “I’m very relieved. While I do not object to shopping, the marathon we’ve conducted over the past few days seems a bit excessive.”

The door to the tea shop opened, the bell jingling cheerily, drawing their eye. That cheerful sounding bell with its happy tune, Marina thought, was a liar. Standing in the doorway, surveying the interior as if she were a queen inspecting her subjects and finding them wanting, was none other than Elizabeth Whitmore.

“I do believe the milk has curdled,” Lillian said, entirely deadpan.

“You’re sounding more and more like the dowager every day,” Willa pointed out.

Lillian smiled, her shoulders squaring with unmistakable pride. “That is quite wonderful as she was both inspirational and aspirational. I miss the old wretch, let me tell you.”

“She’ll haunt you for that,” Marina stated boldly causing Lillian to laugh. Instantly, she knew it had been a mistake. It drew Elizabeth to them like a moth to a flame. After all, her calling in life seemed to be stamping out joy whenever it crossed her path. “Oh, dear. I’ve done it now.”

Elizabeth strolled toward them, a patently false smile curving her lips. “Viscountess Seaburn, Lady Deveril… Miss Ashton. It’s quite surprising to see you out and about given the rather salacious rumors I saw in the scandal sheets just this morning.”

Marina didn’t need to ask. She’d seen them herself. “One should know better than to pay too much attention to idle gossip and unfounded rumors.”

Elizabeth reached out and took Marina’s hand, lifting it slightly to examine the large ring that now rested there. “Rather gauche, isn’t it? Or perhaps it’s paste?”

Refusing to rise to the bait, Marina pulled her hand away. “No, it isn’t paste. It isn’t gauche either. But it is a betrothal ring which, I suppose, means I will be the winner of our wager. Perhaps you should start penning your apology speech now. There is so much, after all, for which to beg my forgiveness.”

Elizabeth laughed, but it was a humorless sound, not unlike her personality. “Oh, you haven’t won yet. It isn’t about which of us could get betrothed first. It’s about which of us will actually be married! There’s quite a long road ahead for you and the earl. A road that you have traversed before without ever reaching its end! But I’m certain you’ll navigate it well enough. The middle class are notoriously handy when it comes to ascending another rung or so on the social ladder… Leave it to you, Miss Ashton, to ensnare a bourgeois nobleman.”

As Elizabeth walked away, Willa leaned across the table and demanded in a low hiss, “Now would be a very good time for you tell me precisely what she was speaking of.”

Marina’s lips pursed as she recounted the woeful tale. “At the Crowdens’ ball, during our confrontation in the ladies’ retiring room, she goaded me into wagering which one of us could get a husband first… And I was so angry and so exasperated with her smugness that I accepted.”

Willa frowned. “If that were the case, why was she bringing Mr. Nutter directly to you?”

Marina had given that much thought. “Because she knew I would refuse him and another such refusal would only offer more proof that those who called me difficult, vain and ungrateful, fickle, high in the instep—and everything else—were correct. All the things society had already begun to whisper about me would have been proven true. In short, any of my limited prospects would have washed their hands of me or been too fearful of public rejection to pursue me further,” Marina replied. “To be not only a spinster but one who has already jilted a prospective husband, refused multiple offers, and then publicly turns down what is considered her last chance for a decent match? It would be seen as the most dastardly insult to a man.”

“Why on earth would you accept such a foolish wager?” Lillian demanded.

Marina sighed, rolling her eyes heavenward. “I do not know, but I did and then all of this happened… Now, I’m on the verge of winning this wager, though that seems terribly unimportant in the overall scheme of things.”

Willa must have sensed how upset she was. She reached out and patted the back of Marina’s hand. “I cannot imagine what she was thinking to suggest such a wager. Where did the notion for such a wager even come from?”

Marina sighed. She didn’t know with certainty, but she strongly suspected it had come from someone else. While Elizabeth was particularly nasty, she was hardly an original thinker. Someone must have suggested it to her. But who and for what purpose?

“She’s a nasty young woman,” Willa continued. “Foul tempered, unkind, rude, and she has an unfortunate tendency to bray like a mule when she laughs. Likely because the sound is entirely forced since she has no humor to speak of. Her jealousy of you is boundless and you should be cautious around her. Such people are not above sabotage to get what they want!”

“Indeed,” Lillian concurred. “Quite right. Heaven knows Willa and I faced our share of challenges. But I have to ask the question, Marina, do you like this man even a little? Or have you agreed to marry him only because of the scandal? Perhaps because you are feeling desperate about alternatives?”

The pointed question had put her quite on the spot. It forced Marina to admit a truth that she hadn’t fully come to terms with herself. “I like him more than a little, Aunt Lillian. Much more, I think.” It was the first time she’d uttered such a thing aloud and it made her heart race in her chest. “He’s handsome, articulate, but so… well, he’s not at all like the normal gentlemen of the ton. ”

“How so?” Lillian probed. For all her affectations of being shallow and obsessed with all things that glittered, Lillian had a depth of character few would recognize.

“He doesn’t care about the fact that my mother and father were not wed. He has a shockingly egalitarian point of view that is a refreshing change of pace,” Marina explained. And that was only a half truth. While, yes, he did possess such a viewpoint, that wasn’t truly the source of her fascination with him. She couldn’t have named it even if she wanted to. Her experience in such matters was so terribly limited that she hadn’t the faintest idea what attraction or desire, or even romantic love for that matter, looked like, even if she did suspect it as the root cause of her current feelings.

“I shall go see the proprietor for a moment,” Willa interjected, giving Lillian a pointed look. It was a signal to dig into matters more deeply without her present. It was hardly subtle, but it was effective.

“There has to be more to base a marriage on than the fact that he simply doesn’t find you objectionable,” Lillian insisted. “This is your life, Marina. The whole of it. There are worse things than being scandalous. Being married to a man you detest certainly tops that list.”

“That—the scandal—might have been what prompted our arrangement,” Marina replied, “but I think there is much more to it than that.”

“And did you reach that conclusion while closeted in the library with him the other night? Perhaps after you shared a kiss?”

A heated blush pinkened her cheeks as she glanced around to see if Willa was in earshot. “Aunt Lillian, you are scandalous!”

“Practical,” she countered. “Marriage to a man whose touch you cannot abide is a prison sentence. I would not have that for you. Marriage… Willa would never dare speak of such things to you, but passion is a key component to love. And love is a necessity for a marriage that is truly happy.”

Realizing that her aunt’s somewhat intrusive questions were being asked entirely out of concern, Marina softened. “I can most assuredly abide his touch. More than abide, I think, although he was far more of a gentleman than I might have wished him to be.” It was a mortifying admission to make, but far better to have that conversation with Lillian who, at times, was more like a friend than an aunt. She certainly couldn’t have that conversation with her Aunt Willa who was, in fact, more like a mother to her.

Lillian sighed. “So that’s the way of it… he is remarkably handsome. And contrary to what Willa might have you believe, neither she nor I had conventional courtships. Some might argue that Valentine and I didn’t have a courtship at all. But I was still drawn to him like a moth to a flame. I could no more have stayed away than stopped the world from turning.”

“You do understand,” Marina conceded, bemused by it.

“Oh yes, dear heart, I understand only too well. Do you know when you shall see him again?”

“He’s asked to take me driving in the park tomorrow.”

Lillian grinned. “Willa would kill me for telling you this, but if you’d like to have a moment’s privacy with your earl, then I shall tell you of the perfect place… it’s where I met your Uncle Valentine!”

*

The pretty but viperous Elizabeth Whitmore left the tea shop. Whatever her exchange with the women inside had been, it was clear that it had not gone as she planned. She was there to interfere in the planned nuptials, of course, though he didn’t know why. Not that it mattered. The wedding would never take place. He’d do whatever he had to in order to prevent it. For the moment, he needed to stay alert, to maintain vigilance lest he lose them in the crowd.

It was another quarter hour before he observed the three women departing the tea shop. They walked along Bond Street, a pair of footmen trailing in their wake. There were too many of them to take any sort of action, too many to manage and control. So he settled for observing them, taking note of which shops they favored, where they paused to stare in windows. And he noted how full of packages the footmen’s arms were before they trotted off to take packages to the carriage waiting nearby.

The key to effective strategy was understanding one’s quarry, after all. The more information he had the more likely he would be to accurately predict Miss Marina Ashton’s actions and whereabouts at a later date—a date where he could catch her alone and unaware. Or as alone as a young lady could be. One servant perhaps. A maid or even a footman could be easily subdued, he thought. Because whatever happened, whatever methods he had to resort to, she would not become the Countess of St. Aiden. He would not allow it.

“She’ll pay for everything she’s done,” he whispered. “Every last thing.”

Farther up the street, the three women disappeared into yet another shop. He settled himself in a nearby alcove to wait. Patience, he cautioned himself. He could not afford to act impetuously and jeopardize his advantage. At this point, no one knew his true motives. No one knew the lengths he would go to. He would need to keep it that way as long as possible or failure would be inevitable. And failure was simply not an option.