She waited and waited, but the embarrassment never came. The people gathered in the card room let their jaws hang loosely as they stared at Marina openly, forgetting all manners of propriety. One gentleman was polite enough reawaken the conversation that had taken place prior to her delivery. Marina felt the heat radiating off of her skin as she flipped open her fan and cooled herself down.
The Viscount and Marquess did not tear their puzzled gazes away from her face. For once, Marina did not blush because she felt ashamed by her behavior. She felt nothing but pride in silencing a room full of aristocrats who thought they were the most cultured and sophisticated citizens. But she, a hard working seamstress who conspired her way into their society, inspired stunned silence amongst nobility.
Marina did not know what Lady Belfour’s intentions were when she suggested that Marina recite a work of poetry, but the effect was great praise. Many of the guests in the Earl’s home took the time to compliment Marina on her skill; some even invited her to night at the theater, which she humbly accepted without further thought.
Eventually she would have to put an end to her façade, but she enjoyed the eccentric life of Lady Leliana Gray much more than the ordinary life of Marina Clarke. Her parents gave her a life of comfort in the country, but she always wanted a sensational time in the city of London. She left home, thinking the city would be dazzling and kind to her. However, it took no more than three weeks to fall into a dire state of poverty. Marina was too ashamed to return home.
“That was…. adequate,” said Lady Belfour.
“Do not be foolish, Charity!” Miss Victoria Hamilton insisted. “Lady Gray was remarkable. Did you notice the quiet?”
“I am lady enough to admit that I had misjudged you, my dear. Please do not take offense to my reluctance. After all, you are a stranger we know nothing about aside from what you have told us. Pardon my immodesty,” said Lady Belfour.
Marina hated how graceful Lady Belfour pretended to be. She knew that the Scottish noblewoman had secrets of her own. A lady of such strength was often forged by a troubled past. There was energy in her hazel eyes that showed just how passionate and courageous she could be. Marina wanted to see that side of Lady Charity Belfour fueled by passion, not revenge and resentment. “So,” Marina began. “You enjoy poetry and theater. What other interests do you have, Lady Belfour?”
“Much to my father’s aggravation, I enjoy hunting. My brother taught me how to handle many different types of weaponry on our hunts. Not very ladylike, unfortunately,” Lady Belfour teased with a wink as she absentmindedly twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “And horse riding through the countryside as well. Fresh air and open land is what I require.”
“How adventurous of you! I cannot imagine your father would be happy to discover that his daughter had partaken in a bit of sport.” Marina could envision Lady Belfour at the races or the opera, but never would she have predicted outdoor recreations as her favored activity. “I am truly impressed by your candor and fearlessness, Lady Belfour.”
There were an alarming number of expressions that emerged on the faces of the ladies in the circle. Had no one ever awarded Lady Belfour an authentic compliment before?
“…Th-thank you, Lady Gray.”
Chapter Eight
Ruteledge Estate
Winchester, England
Percival excused himself from the room politely and exited onto the veranda. He needed to escape. He was surrounded by the scent of her, wrapped in her laughter, and struck by her velvety whispers as she had articulated the words of Dante. Nothing had shaken him more profoundly.
He was aware that the Marquess would reprimand him for displaying such weakness in the company of their peerage, but he was left with no choice. Percival was suffocated by the mere presence of Lady Gray. Like clockwork, the Marquess sauntered after him. This time, however, he did put on airs of reproach. “I apologize, Percy.”
“Whatever for?” he asked in confusion.
“I wish I had seen it sooner. A week had passed since the ball and I assumed that your thoughts had returned to other matters. Had I been certain that she would appear at Lady Lockhart’s side, I would have suggested another event. We need support on our venture, but not if it will cost you your sanity and reputation.”
“Speak plainly, Elias. Please.”
“It is quite clear that your affections toward Lady Gray are beyond that of meager fascination,” Elias remarked. “I believe you care for her and that your emotions will only continue to grow until you can no longer predict your own actions. This is complicated, and must be treated with a delicate touch.”
Percival leaned against the rail and exhaled deeply. Sleeping had become nearly impossible as thoughts of her drew him near like a moth to flame. It was irrational, he was more than aware of that fact. But the stirrings in his chest would not see reason.
“Why must I feel this way, Elias?” he whimpered, his tone seeped in desperation. “Lady Gray and I have exchanged no more than a few words since our fated introduction, and yet I am wrecked by these feelings. She is perfection, glorious in all her worth and yet she does not show mercy. Instead, she appears like an angel in the dew of morn only intent on this torture.”
The amused laughter from his friend and colleague caused Percival to turn to face the nobleman. “Percy, I must admit, this is the first time I have ever heard you refer to anyone other than yourself as being perfect. I do believe that your arrogance has finally met its equal.”
“Mock me if you wish, but I must rid myself of these ridiculous notions of romanticism.”
“Be still, Percy,” his friend pleaded. “You are not in love. Not yet anyhow, so there is plenty of time and opportunity for you to acclimate to her presence. If the feelings lesson with your adjustments, then you can settle your nerve. If they do not, then you must decide if you are willing to pursue matrimony.”
He knew the Marquess’ words were spoken in truth and sincere concern for his state of mind. Percival adjusted the lapels of his coat and straightened to the impressive length of his full height. With his shoulders back and impeccable posture in place, he accompanied the Marquess back into the card room. Percival readied himself for the forceful impact of being within the same room as Lady Gray.
Her eyes found him instantly and his jaw clenched. She was completely unaware to the fact that the others in the room had caught wind of their shared look. Percival continued across the floor with a heated face and stubborn set of his chin. The Marquess took his place by his side and motioned to the servant to refill their brandy.
The night pressed on and Percival felt himself relax slightly, despite the constant reminder of Lady Gray. Some of the men at the table discussed legislations and the war until one of the Lord Brandish directed the conversations toward more uncharted waters as he began a game of commerce.
“I say Lord Knight, Lady Gray seems to fancy you. And here I assumed it was Lady Belfour who had caught your eye,” Lord Brandish muttered.
Percival looked at the cards he had been dealt and used his newfound calm to resume his place as the master of elusion with countenance of indifference. “A gentleman does not contribute to insignificant gossip, Lord Brandish.”
“Now is not the time for modesty. We have all seen the way she glances at you, My Lord. You seem to be the only person in which she neglects subtleties.”
“Oh, yes – of course,” Percival supposed with a smirk, allowing a wealth of sarcasm to paint his words. “I am ever the icon of modesty. Surely, you’ve noticed?”
He took great pride in himself as the Marquess hid his laughter behind a cough. “Yes, truly a saint he is.”
Percival knew Lord Brandish did not find their jests as amusing as they did, but he could not have cared less as he finally allowed himself to enjoy the atmosphere. That was until the chiming flutter of cheeky snickers from Lady Gray snapped his gaze to her once more before he quickly recovered.
***
Marina knew what
his voice sounded like. It came as a deep rumble that caused her to shiver. She knew what he looked like when he threw his head back in merriment, laughter glistening in his stare. Her eyes were privileged to see his delightful smile and those endearing dimples that graced his cheeks.
He was persuasive and elegant in his movements, respectful at all times. The Viscount smelled of bergamot, leather, musk, and discreet notes of oak wood, which did not fail to weaken her knees. Marina was grateful that she had been seated when he walked past her on his way to the card table, powerless to smother her quiet sigh when he had accidentally brushed against her shoulder.
“Lady Gray, I would be delighted if you would join the ladies for a visit to my home in Mayfair. It would be nothing significant, just a spot of tea, quick breakfast, and friendly conversation,” Miss Hamilton offered.
Marina thought about the dresses and gowns she had made and wondered if she had the proper clothing for the occasion. Once she agreed, five other invitations to private gatherings, social outings, shopping, and the like were extended to her. Marina graciously accepted them all and made a mental note to keep her schedule free. Mrs. Winslow was barely at the shop, so she would not notice if it closed for a few hours a day? Would she?
“There is another ball approaching,” announced Lady Lockhart. “My husband and I will be attending, if you would like me to be your chaperone permanently, Lady Gray.”
“Please.”
“Wonderful! We must prepare you for the Season.”
Marina tried to hide her flutter of anxiety. She understood that the London Season was important for ladies her age, especially when one considered the likelihood of an arranged marriage. But she could not risk an engagement with a gentleman who did not know her true identity. Marina did not believe that she had the ability to accept her life as Lady Leliana Gray as her new sense of authenticity. She had no wealth, no status, and no family in London as she had claimed.
The comforting blanket of false security that she had sheathed herself in started to crumble. Beatrice had warned her that the lies would only lead to her disgrace, but Marina persisted in weaving her illusions. But she knew this act could not go on forever.
Her parents lived alone in the countryside, waiting for the end of every week when Marina sent them money. Between making her dresses and feeding her family, Marina barely had enough coins to take care of her own health. Even in the recent days, her weight had begun to melt away. She would be considerably ill if it were not for the socials she attended. The food was well beyond her prestige, but she savored each bite knowing that she would have to feel the pangs of starvation until the next gathering.
The Viscount deserved someone who would be able to match his worth, someone who did not lie to themselves about their own value. Still, Marina wanted nothing more than to fly into his arms and grip him tight. A stranger though he was, the Viscount was the only reason she wanted her pretenses to continue. She simply could not breathe at the thought that she would never see him again.
“I look forward to the coming weeks, ladies.”
***
“Nicholas Yeatman, Duke of Manchester, is hosting a ball at his private estate in July. Every nobleman in our company will be invited. It is the perfect opportunity to implore him to join our cause,” the Marquess presented to Percival as they took seats on the veranda. The midnight hour had grown repulsively warm with the number of guests in the card room.
Percival nodded his head. “It will take years, Elias. Years of begging and fighting for what we believe to be right. We can only hope that the gentlemen of nobility do not share the same outlook on poverty as the other affluent inhabitants of London. You say that the Earl is a good man, that we can trust him with this, but he has fought in far too many battles at his age.”
“James is my oldest and dearest friend. He is cross and introverted from all that he has seen, but not broken. There is still enough humanity in him that I have faith in his wiliness to be a part of something great.” The Marquess looked down into his glass as though it held the answers to all of his worries.
“The true revolution must be done confidentially. No one can know that we had a part in this. But if you trust him as I trust you, then there is no other direction we can move other than forward. It is too late to turn back now, particularly if you are still adamant on recruiting His Grace,” stated Percival.
Elias swirled his glass, watching the liquid spin against the rim. The wind rustled his hair and carried the floral aroma from the gardens below. “We live in an era where warfare and bloodshed is contrasted by refinement and culture. Our efforts are not in vein if we are able to make the slightest difference for the children working in the factories.”
“Indeed. Decreasing the severity of the conditions is the first step to ending their torment entirely. Whatever the risk.”
Percival closed his eyes and imagined what would happen should they fail. Children did not deserve to die cold on the streets or retching from the unsafe working conditions of the factories. The problem would not end with them, but they could push change in the correct direction.
“It will be at great risk should we be discovered. We have titles and responsibilities to consider. We have reputations and traditions to uphold. The expectation that we do nothing about the poverty and crime that rages through the streets of London is engraved in our society by our ancestries.”
The Marquess huffed a wordless agreement. “I am tired of ignoring the problems that plague this nation. What is the point of war if there is no amendment to our ways?”
“We must be patient. Even if those who benefit from our work never know who we are, I can suffer the sneers and patronizing detestation as long as I know that we were the ones to do the just thing.”
“So, we take our stance in history without the glory that follows,” groaned the Marquess. “My altruism has once again gotten the better of us both. Curse you and your persuasive mannerisms, however. This is your mistake for being so unhesitatingly supportive.”
“Apparently, there are several rumors going around of my modesty and saintliness,” Percival snorted distastefully at the thought. “Hadn’t you heard?”
Chapter Nine
Viscount Estate
Oxfordshire, England
A party was hosted in the gardens at the Viscounts estate in order to properly launch the summer events. None of the guests were aware that Lady Charity Belfour and her abigail met with a gentleman in secret the previous day. Mr. Ludwig was a discrete man who specialized in private investigations as well as many other less-than-legal activities. She did not ask the details of those.
Charity had requested his services to learn more about Lady Gray and her past. Although she had grown somewhat fond of the mysterious woman in her circle, Charity could not shake the thought that something was amiss about her.
Ladies strolled arm in arm through the beautiful, vibrant garden while several gentlemen played a game of chess and rounds of cricket. Tents had been setup to provide shade from the sun. Other guests took their tea and various nibbles while chatting over the tranquil harp music that strummed through the area. Everyone was lively and thoroughly entertained. But Lady Gray sat alone beneath a large tree, a small book in her hand as she wrote upon the pages.
Her pale blue dress trimmed in white lace accented her glittering eyes perfectly. Lady Gray was ravishing. Charity felt revolted by the envy that threatened to choke her.
However, her own insecurities were prominent enough to give her pause whenever a new lady was introduced to their somewhat exclusive club. Charity always thought that her hair was too red, her skin a just a touch too dark, and her accent too thick. So she tried her best to overcompensate by being charming and outspoken.
She anticipated that Mr. Ludwig would find something incriminating against Lady Gray so that she could finally have the Viscounts attention to herself. Charity looked out at the party from beneath the shadow of her parasol, her emerald and honey eyes turned dark as s
he watched.
“Lady Belfour,” a woman said. “My name is Agnes Bond. I was expected to meet you at the ball, but my assistant misplaced my entrance ticket and I was needed out of town soon after. I am engaged to Horace Bond, Baron of Towton.”
Charity peered over her shoulder at the other woman before smiling politely. “Pleasure, Miss Bond.”
“I wanted to commend you on your work. You have truly inspired my love for poetry. Even though you use a different moniker for your publications, it is hard to mistake the description you used for yourself in Tamed A Fire Within.”
She bristled with unwanted attention. Not that she was particularly ashamed of her work as a poet. Charity just did not want anyone to recognize her. Poetry was meant to be her escape from the rest of the word, her own sanctuary. “I would be grateful if you did not speak a word of this to anyone.”
“Oh, dear! No! I would not dream of doing such a thing,” the woman rambled. “I only wished to ask a question.”
“Then what is it?”
“After reading your latest work, I am positively brimming with curiosity as to who the gentleman might be. Would you be so kind as to-” Miss Bond whispered.
Charity turned her full attention to the woman and spoke quietly, “Valor breathes within thy spirit, a truer form I have never set sights. Selfless and noble be thy nature. Not mortal, but the eternal light of divinity amongst man that steals my heart with ruinous thunder.”
“Yes, My Lady.” The gentlewoman was nearly fainting.
“I will tell you nothing other than that the gentleman who inspired that poem is here today. You may do with that information as you please. But if you wish to discuss poetry further, the woman beneath that tree is Lady Gray. She shares your interests,” Charity pointed toward the place she knew was still occupied by Lady Gray. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have other guests to speak with.”
The Viscount's Victress (Scandalous Nobility Book 1) Page 5
