The Viscount's Victress (Scandalous Nobility Book 1)

by Madeline St. James

  She had sewn the curtains and stitched the upholstery on the cushions for the benches. Flowers were picked and placed in clear vases to adorn the center of the tables. A cardinal rug ran across the pine floors.

  The owners had been gracious enough to offer her nourishment and lodging in return for her services. Marina was in charge of all of the mending, cooking, cleaning, and minor repairs as well as tending to the bedchambers. It was hard work, but satisfying.

  For the most part, Marina kept to herself. She hummed quietly and spoke very little, but she was happy...or so she liked to believe. Having heard of Charity Belfour’s sudden fall from grace displeased her. The severe veracity of High Society was truly terrifying at times.

  The service bell signaled a new arrival. Marina tidied up the mess at her feet and went to greet the guests. She stopped mid stride as Lady Lockhart came within view. Upon notice, Marina was swept into a crushing embrace, held up by a teary-eyed noblewoman. “Lady Lockhart, how may I assist you?”

  “No need for that, Marina!” she ordered. “Guinevere.”

  “I – I don’t understand.”

  “I was your chaperone, Marina. But most of all, I was your friend. Most ladies of gentry would not approve, but I would like to believe that we still are. Yours is not the worst nor the only scandal to shock the assembly,” Lady Lockhart insisted.

  Marina finally returned the warm hug and cast a grateful look toward Lord Lockhart for allowing the interaction. From the few times she had met him, Marina knew that he was a kind man with a gentle soul. He reddened slightly, but otherwise looked away to offer them a brief second of privacy.

  Lady Lockhart released her hold and took in Marina’s appearance. To her credit, the noblewoman withheld any symptom of her reaction behind her practiced expression of courtesy. “How are you faring, dear? I went by the shop, but found that you had already moved on.”

  “There was nothing left for me there, but I could not leave London. It is my home. My parents rely on my income for support, so I had to keep going. No matter how difficult it was to leave it, and all of you, behind,” Marina confessed. She wanted to ask about Percival or the other ladies in the circle, but feared rejection. “What of you, Guinevere?”

  “I am well, thank you. I wish for you to accompany my husband and I to the social at the assembly rooms here in London. We would be distraught should you refuse…”

  Marina recognized the cunning edge to Lady Lockhart’s words and she could not cover her silly grin. “I would be unwelcome. We both know that nothing good could come of it.”

  “Do not give anyone the satisfaction of thinking that they have defeated you, Marina. You are strong and more deserving of a place in our society than they understand. Pity for them.”

  “I have nothing to wear…”

  “You are a seamstress, dear. Surely you can make something.” Lady Lockhart laughed kindheartedly and patted Marina on the shoulder. She walked to the area set aside for checking in and paid for her rooms. Marina escorted Lord and Lady Lockhart to their bedchambers.

  Once they were settled in, she allowed herself a moment of hope. Lady Lockhart was certainly holding something back, but Marina decided not to push for answers. A part of Marina dreaded the coming event, but a small voice in her mind told her not to worry.

  She had already survived the worst, what more could they do? Her thoughts were barraged with thoughtless musings that quickly turned to bashful contemplations of Percival. Marina returned to her scrubbing and an epiphany assaulted her senses. She knocked over the pail of water onto the floor and rushed to Lady Lockhart’s rooms. She straightened her skirts and knocked respectfully until the abigail answered. “Yes, Miss?”

  “I must speak with Lady Lockhart.”

  From the other side of the door came, “You may enter.”

  Marina stepped inside and sighed, “Why did you not tell me that I was engaged to the Viscount?”

  Lady Lockhart’s infectious laughter made a second appearance. “Theoretically, you used deception, so it should not qualify. Lord Knight’s intentions were quite clear. Society by may still consider you engaged... unless you state otherwise.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Assembly Rooms

  St James’s District, London

  It felt like a lifetime since Marina had graced the doorway of the assembly rooms. Her hair was curled about her face with the rest of her length pinned neatly atop her crown and fastened with a gilded, emerald headpiece. She wore a white taffeta petticoat trimmed with golden cord, emerald satin, blonde lace trimmings, and a lace border around the neck.

  To pull the ensemble together, Marina wore silk gloves that she borrowed from Lady Lockhart as well as a several minor pieces of jewelry. She chose the darker green knowing it would help her to stand out among the white-washed colors of rose, violet, and blue that the other ladies would have worn.

  There was no need to attend a social at the assembly in the midst of a scandal if one was did not want to draw attention. Marina wanted all eyes on her as she entered the edifice. She stood beside Lord and Lady Lockhart before the doors swung open to welcome them, which would not have been possible if Lady Lockhart had not petitioned the Patroness of the assembly rooms in Marina’s favor. The ladies of the hierarchy of London welcomed her back despite her lack of wealth and social rank, at least for one night filled with supper, dancing, and gambling.

  Whispers came to her attention saying that Percival had nearly been denied entrance to the event from by Patroness, but the collective support of his peers had swayed her opinion. Marina’s heart quickened at the notion of seeing him again, even if it was just from across the room.

  When he entered the card room, it felt as though she had never seen him before. His navy, linen, single-breasted tailcoat was a thing of beauty. It fit him perfectly. The tailcoat was opened to reveal a silk brocade waistcoat with a high collar and double turn-back lapels. A white cotton shirt with a high collar as well stood stark in contrast to the otherwise darker colors of the ensemble. A burgundy cravat artfully tied about his neck caused the hues of his eyes to appear otherworldly.

  Even with the warmth of the lighting, Marina could see the cold numbness in his gaze. The high points of his cheeks were stained a rosy-pink that should have been a fluster of repressed contempt appeared bashful. His lips parted slightly to draw in more oxygen, and his hands fidgeted with the watch at his pocket. Anyone simply giving him a passing look would say he appeared confident, but Marina saw the insecurities he attempted to hide.

  She wanted to do as she had done before and smooth away the wrinkles at his brow, but she feared her touch would be most unwelcome. Lady Lockhart, with her knowing smile and twinkling eyes, stepped forward as she pulled Marina along. When Marina and Percival stood no more than the socially appropriate distance from one another, Lady Lockhart spoke her words of salutation to Percival and his colleagues.

  Marina only heard the end of the entire speech. “…And of course you remember, Miss Marina Clarke. She is a darling friend and a valued member of our circle, My Lord. If you wish I shall arrange a dance for the occasion?”

  “To be frank-”

  “Splendid!” Lady Lockhart interrupted. It was something that did not escape her dear husband’s notice and had earned her a silent warning from the nobleman. Even so, Lady Lockhart had her heart set on one thing only. “And perhaps later a conversation on the veranda?”

  Lord Lockhart gently gripped his wife’s elbow in a way that was quite amusing as he steered her away. Marina stood alone momentarily, her eyes never leaving Percival’s sharp, glacial stare.

  “Good evening, My Lord,” she sighed finally. Marina then performed a light curtsy and returned to her chaperone’s side. Percival’s hand reached out instinctively, but did not make contact; it hovered in the space between them until it ultimately dropped to his side.

  ***

  By all rights, Marina Clarke should be his. The possessive-compulsive thoughts that ran throu
gh his mind caused him to take a step back in shame. Percival cleared his throat lightly and wondered why, even after their time apart, he could barely maintain control over himself. It was unseemly for him to be so eager in her presence or to show too much affection and interest, but his heart felt like it tried to mend its tattered state with every beat.

  Warmth spread through is chest and melted away the ice that had formed beneath the surface. The Marquess steadied him with a supportive hand to his shoulder. Percival knew that his friend wanted him to propose as quickly as possible, lest they risk losing the Duke’s support. But he could not bring himself to take that step just yet.

  He would indeed save a dance for Miss Clarke so that he may speak with her beneath the blanket of music that floated through the air. It was, after all, become somewhat of a tradition between them since their first introduction. Percival prayed silently that Miss Clarke would not run away from him again. Once they began dancing, the truth of her words broke down the walls he had built around himself.

  “All I wished for was one night,” she admitted, keeping her eyes down. “A night filled with wonder and excitement, but…” Percival looked away as her lovely features contorted into an expression of pure anguish. He remained quiet. “Before that night, I felt as though I was not worthy to stand in your presence and it made me despise myself. It made me despise all of you for making me feel less than. But then I laid eyes on you and everything changed. Suddenly, I wanted to be part of your world and one night was not enough.”

  Miss Clarke ran from him because she had not felt worthy and she had buckled under the pressure. His observation that evening surely had not helped to ease her discomfort. Well, it sounds as though you’ve never attended a social, Lady Gray. Percival flinched at the memory. All of the signs had been clear as the sky on a summer day.

  He should have noticed her lack of experience in dancing, social games, table manners, and the like. In truth, he was impressed that she had blended in so well after her disorganized first night at the ball. Clearly, Miss Clarke could adapt to her surroundings well and was quick to learn. Percival beamed with pride at having an educated…what, exactly? Were they truly engaged in the eyes of his peers? Or was she no more than a stranger?

  Percival decided then that it did not matter. Marriages of his time were typically arranged between strangers. Between these realizations and her delicate fragrance of sweet apple and jasmine, he could hardly recall the reason he had been upset in the first place. He looked down at her once again, willing her eyes to meet his. When they finally did, he smiled.

  “I am… delighted you are here, Miss Clarke.”

  ***

  The heavens truly mocked Marina. There was no other explanation for how she could once again find herself in the capable hands of Percival. He would be the death of her, she was sure of it, but that did not stop her foolish heart from dancing along with the music.

  She had dearly missed the familiar arrogant set of his chin and the hint of a dimple always within view. What she would not have sacrificed to hear his laughter from across a room once again…but she did not have to sacrifice anything anymore. He was here, and it appeared that he forgave her for the lies and fraudulence.

  She had her hand softly placed in his. It simultaneously felt like torture and the greatest peace she had ever known. Marina finally looked up into his blue-green eyes and wished with all of her heart that their dance would never end. “I am sorry…”

  “Please, no need to apologize. We have both made fools of ourselves and should be grateful that we are still welcomed. The responsibility is not only yours to bear,” he said deeply.

  “There is so much I wish to say to you, but this is neither the time nor the place for such a thing. It is impossible to find a moment where we could speak privately…”

  “I have a solution, if you trust me,” Percival begged quietly. His stare was more serious than Marina had ever seen it. “When the dance is over, I shall speak with your chaperone. Lady Lockhart is more sympathetic to our situation than most of the guests here, but that does not mean we are not being watched carefully. I shall arrange something, with your consent of course, for tomorrow afternoon. This will be our final opportunity to put things in order.”

  When Marina nodded her agreement, Percival reluctantly pulled away from her when the music changed. She fanned herself as he escorted her over to where Lady Lockhart and a full glass of wine awaited her. He wasted no time in making his offer to Lord and Lady Lockhart, both of whom agreed much too enthusiastically for Marina’s state of mind. She shook her head, but smiled at her friends for their kindness and lack of judgment.

  It was set. She would join them for a short visit at the Viscount’s estate in Oxfordshire. Marina only hoped that the butterflies that battered around in her belly would settle over the course of the evening.

  She noticed the subtle jab to his side delivered by the Marquess, no doubt chiding him on staring so obviously when he was expected to associate with the other guests. Marina felt flattered, but she also felt like her own skin was sewn on too tight and was preventing her from flying. She was at a social, not as Lady Leliana Gray, but as herself.

  Everything she did from that moment on would determine her future. She was more than aware that she was attempting to integrate into an exclusive club. Any missteps could land her in the same predicament that befell Charity Belfour. Marina suppressed a shudder at the thought and made a mental note to write a letter to Charity. It seemed as though letting go of the past would be the only way to move forward. She forgave Charity for her public announcement and she wished her nothing but happy days in the years to come.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Viscount Estate

  Oxfordshire, England

  Percival stared at the ring in his hand and wondered if it was unfashionable to propose with a ring. He knew it certainly was not a requirement, but he did not want the gesture to seem empty. Perhaps he would give the ring to Miss Clarke at a later date and not at the official moment of engagement.

  That is, if she does not reject the proposal…He shook his head to rid himself of his torturous thoughts and stared at his reflection, glad his recent boxing match had not left bruises above the neck. Percival took pride in his fighting prowess now that he had a place to display his skills. But with that pride came the idea that Miss Clarke may not approve of his new form of relaxation.

  Percival would, of course, be honest in all exchanges with his intended bride. He felt no inclination to be dishonest in her presence. There was a troublesome voice in his head that still suspected Miss Clarke of dishonesty. Evidently, she was a woman who could spin very plausible tales in her favor. Would he always suspect the worst of her? Or would trust slowly blossom between them as they shared their days together?

  Percival had never felt so unsure of himself. Miss Clarke could offer no property or wealth to speak of, nor did she hold any respectable title. From what Lord Lockhart had reported, she worked as an apprentice at an inn somewhere in London. The other nobleman also mentioned that she sent the bulk of her profits to her parents who lived in the country and were no longer capable of the harsh labors expected of the working-class. Despite everything, he admired her greatly.

  After all of the deception, Percival was unsure that the trust and love that flooded him when they first met would return so quickly. But he had faith that with time, it could be restored in full. Until then, he looked forward to learning all there was to know about Miss Clarke and her past.

  As a wedding gift, he could also see to it that her parents were taken care of, or he could arrange for them to stay at the Oxfordshire estate while he and Miss Clarke returned to his home. If she accepts the proposal, he reminded himself. A man of his upbringing and status did not often feel such pangs of insecurity.

  Luther stood beside him in the corridor, something he knew the diligent man detested. The housekeeper and butler were guiding the servants through the preparations being made to the estat
e for their expected guests. He did not want anything to go wrong when he proposed to Miss Clarke, and made it a point to oversee all of the arrangements himself.

  If Lord and Lady Lockhart had departed on schedule, they should arrive within the next hour or so. Percival held his pocket watch in the palm of his hand and felt the seconds tick by in tiny intervals. It was maddening. “My Lord, might I suggest retiring to the library. Focusing on your work may ease a bit of the tension in your posture,” Luther recommended.

  “Thank you, Luther. Please, join me for a brief moment. I wish to discuss something of great importance.”

  ***

  Marina cursed beneath her breath as she realized the butterflies in her belly had manifested an impressive set of metal wings that would make the industrial uprising in England most pleased. She gripped the seat of the carriage to keep herself from jumping out in a fit of nervous energy. Her conscious screamed for her to escape before it was too late. But alas, it already was.

  The carriage halted and Lady Lockhart patted the back of her gloved hand. “You will be fine, Marina. Now, summon all of your courage. You are looking a bit green.”

  “I do not think I can go through with this, Guinevere.”

  “You can and you must,” Lady Lockhart insisted. “If not for him, than you shall do it for yourself. Marina, you deserve the life that Lord Knight can offer you. This is the start of your happiness.”

  Marina felt as though her stay was too tight and her chemisette was too high around her neck. The feeling of being restricted was unpleasant, but she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, willing the panic to subside. Once the dark spots behind her eyelids disappeared, Marina felt secure enough to exit the carriage.

  Wind rustled the end of her dress. It was a round cottage gown of jaconet muslin that was embroidered with delicate needlework. The dress was topped with a flounce of scalloped lace and a blue spencer made of satin, trimmed in darker lace. The cuffs were adorned in the same embroidery and lace as the dress itself. A bonnet of similar blue satin, styled in the typical fashion of most carriage costume was on her head.