The Viscount's Victress (Scandalous Nobility Book 1)
Page 9
Marina looked as though she belonged in Lady Lockhart’s world, but she knew the only way she would truly be accepted was at Percival’s side. Even if she was permitted to do no more than carry out the duties expected of a young wife, then she would do so with her head held high with not but love and gratitude in her heart. Marina realized then that she fully intended to accept the Viscount’s proposal.
Every molecule within Marina knew that she had to work in order to regain Percival’s trust. She understood that there would be times when he would not be able to distinguish her lies from her truths, but she would give him everything. Marina wanted no more lies between them. She loved him.
Marina feared she had gone green again because Lady Lockhart’s hand was reached toward her. “Marina, are you alright? If you feel faint, perhaps we should retire to-”
“No!” she hastened. “I will be fine. Rarely does the opportunity come for a lady to speak upon the worries of her heart to the gentleman she loves.” The words had slipped past her defenses before she could make an excuse. Lady Lockhart’s smile was dazzling in the afternoon sun.
“Well, now…” Lady Lockhart mused breathlessly, connecting her hand to Marina’s arm. “It would seem that all of us have greatly underestimated your affection for Lord Knight. I humbly apologize Marina, for even I had assumed it was a matter of convenience and mere fascination that held your mind captive. Do forgive me, dear.”
“Please forgive me, Guinevere. You have done all that you can to mend my mistakes and give me an honest attempt at the life I would have otherwise admired from far away.”
Lady Lockhart and Marina walked arm in arm into the manor with Lord Lockhart trailing behind. Servants came to assist with the baggage and escort them to their assigned chambers. Percival was in a conference with the Marquess of Northampton and the Duke of Manchester.
She was placed into his schedule after the conference but before supper. During her off hours, she rested in her assigned quarters, feeling full of boundless, nervous energy. Marina had been to the estate before, but never had she been permitted to walk through the corridors even though the temptation was nearly impossible to resist. A knock came to Marina’s door not long after she changed into something more comfortable for her private meeting with the Viscount. “You may enter,” Marina called in assumption that it was Lady Lockhart or a servant.
To her surprise, it was the Dowager Viscountess. The timeless beauty of Elisabeth Knight was legendary throughout England and recognizable to all. Portraits of her face had inspired countless great artists of the century and would continue to do so for many years.
“Dowager Viscountess Knight, it is a pleasure to-”
“So it is true,” the Dowager Viscountess intruded. “You do have manners of decorum. Perhaps all is not lost.”
“Apologies, Dear Lady Knight. But I have no protestations of modesty to offer, and will not slight your cleverness by forming the assumption that you are unaware of my previous actions of impropriety,” Marina expressed.
The corner of the noblewoman’s mouth twitched in amusement before she fully entered the bedchamber. Her walk was fluid and graceful, her posture was pristine, and the dress she wore made a mockery of everything Marina had created.
“I had expected nothing less from the courageous and persistent Lady Gray. You should be most grateful for Lady Lockhart’s efforts. Most girls of your status would not have been left unscathed by the scorn of society. Your praise of being prideful and compassionate would never have come to pass if it were not for your talent for the game. So easily could you have been victim to the same fate as Lady Belfour.”
Marina lowered her head in a display of sincerity, but the Dowager Viscountess sighed. She walked over and stunned Marina by embracing her. Her mind wanted her to question the sudden show of affection, but the expectation of etiquette demanded that she allow it to happen. When the Dowager Viscountess stepped away, she regarded Marina with a commanding, yet sympathetic look.
“Miss Clarke, you have nothing to offer my son. There is no fortune that you possess, no status of importance, and no other recognizable advantages in this arrangement. Somehow the Duke of Manchester and the Marquess of Northampton support this match, but I wish to be perfectly clear: you are not worthy of Percival. Many others and myself will remind you of this endlessly. But it is your duty as his wife and as Viscountess to ensure that you do nothing to harm his reputation any further. You must prove your significance.”
“I understand, Dear Lady Knight.”
With a final embrace from the Dowager Viscountess and an informal curtsy from Marina, the room grew quiet once more. Marina adjusted her pelisse and fastened her bonnet more securely on her head. The housekeeper, who had found Marina wandering through the corridors, gave the tour of the manor. Then a servant named Luther summoned her to the gardens. He appeared to be a valet, but Mrs. Seton clarified that he was an important friend of the Viscount.
Marina wondered just how many of the strict guidelines and policies set by the incredible standards of society had the Viscount disregarded entirely. It was not common for a nobleman to be so familiar with a member of his staff, let alone allow one to be recognized as a friend. Each and every person who knew her worried that she would somehow tarnish the Percival’s reputation and title, but clearly they did not truly know the man they held in such high respects.
Percival was surely a gentleman of many secrets. One who took risks, befriended those below his status, and was willing to find companionship in a former seamstress. His small acts of rebellion were more telling than she presumed he was aware of. The walk to the garden with Luther was torturous, but she found his silent presence comforting. Luther appeared to have no expectations, but a readiness to do whatever was required of him. There was nothing but loyalty in the man’s heart.
He opened the garden doors and allowed Marina to exit on her own. “Thank you, Luther.”
Chapter Fifteen
Viscount Estate
Oxfordshire, England
Percival looked up from his cup of tea and had to keep from clutching his chest. Marina Clarke was just as magnificent as ever. He stood upon her approach and offered his arm, which she took graciously. Her hands trembled in the bend of his elbow, belying the composed serenity of her expression.
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as they walked aimlessly through the garden. Percival basked in the contented feeling of her at his side. “We do not have much time alone before the other guests assume our behavior is improper.”
“Yes, My Lord.”
“Marina, please,” he grunted in annoyance. “I grow tired of this. Since the night we met at the ball, I insisted that you address me by name. I understand that it is not appropriate and it is sure to cause complications if done in the public eye, but we are alone. Have I not established that I am different...that our situation is different?”
He desperately wanted to look into her eyes as they spoke, but he knew his resolve would crumble under the sadness of her gaze. They came upon a bench beneath a fragrant apple tree and sat beneath the shade on the hot summer’s day. Marina looked like a goddess in the midst of the vibrantly colored flora. Her pale complexion glowed against her gown.
“I remember what you requested of me. But I am trying my best to be worthy of your affection. We may have all but ruined each other in this. You might argue my importance because I now serve a purpose in the reparation of your character,” Marina cried. “But how do you presume I should act when in Manchester you looked at me with revulsion because I was not noble in blood? And here I find that your greatest friend is a servant in your household. Forgive me, My Lord, but your principles are far more impossible than those of society.”
“Revulsion? Marina, I have not ever regarded at you with any manner of distaste. Hurt, anger, betrayal, and love, yes. But never have I felt revulsion. I admit that I should have assisted you further that evening, but you must understand…”
“I underst
and, Percival. I was the scandal of the year and the last risk you could not take.”
Percival reached out without hesitation and brushed away the tears beneath Marina’s eyes. She started at his touch, but did not deny him. It was now or never. With their souls bared and their hearts torn open, Percival looked deeply into the endless pools of Marina’s eyes and asked, “Would you like to dance? If this is our last dance, I wish for it to be one I could remember always.”
“And if it is not?”
He tried to drown the hope in his heart at her words, but all he could do was surrender and smile. “Then I wish to for us to dance for the rest of my days.”
Percival allowed Marina to set her parasol aside. He placed his hand about her waist and used the other to grasp hers. Without music and without the watchful gaze of society, the Viscount of Greenwood and Miss Marina Clarke of London began to twirl across the gardens on a warm August afternoon.
***
Marina shut her eyes, as she did not believe this was her life. Her heart ached and clenched at the thought that she would wake up and find herself scrubbing the floor at the inn. It was the warmth of Percival’s shoulder beneath her gloved hand and his gently grasp at her waist that anchored her.
“Marina,” he whispered. “Look at me.”
The spark in his eyes showed love beneath the pain and distrust. She allowed herself to melt against him as she felt the swell of courage rise within her. “We are difficult.”
“I know.”
“We are prideful and arrogant.”
“Yes,” he agreed.
“Our blessings are undeserved and our humiliation is sure to come. It is inevitable,” she attempted to reason.
“Yes.”
“But I love you, Percival. And it is a frightening love.”
“Will you do me the honor of being my wife, Miss Clarke?”
The dance stopped and, for a moment, time stood still. She wanted to deny him, to tell him that their love was pagan. Marina worshipped and obsessed over her beloved. It was sinful and it was improper to show such emotion. But she was helpless to it. “Yes, Percival. I will marry you.”
Marina shrieked as she was swept off her feet. She did not fight the laughter or the smile that began to hurt the muscles in her cheeks. Her Viscount joined in her merriment, but only for a second before he set her back on her feet and regained his composure. Marina smiled like a heartsick fool.
“I shall make the announcement at dinner. It is my greatest regret that we must now return to reality. But if it were my choice, I would live in your dream eternally.”
Marina lightly squeezed his hand and was miserable when she had to release it. Together they walked into the manor with the respectable distance between them that she hated so entirely. Marina retired to her bedchamber and flopped back onto the soft bed coverings beneath her.
She was surrounded by wealth and the unmistakable impression of power, but she wanted none of it. She only wanted him. Percival was located only four doors down the corridor and yet she could feel his happiness that matched her own. Marina sighed a happy sigh and dreamed of the days to come.
Beatrice mentioned in her latest letter that she would be returning in England in September. Marina knew her friend would be in need of employment, so she thought to introduce Beatrice to the housekeeper who worked for James Ruteledge, Earl of Winchester. His mother had recently fallen ill and they were in need of a maid capable of tending to the Dowager Countess’s necessities. The Earl was surly at best, but he had an extraordinary career with the militia and he took great care to ensure the safety of his household.
Perhaps Beatrice could melt some of the ice around his heart, Marina thought.if Marina and Percival’s relationship was any indication; it would not be impossible for an Earl to befriend a fisherman’s daughter. She smiled at the image of her quiet friend scurrying around the Earl’s estate like a mouse in the dead of night. Hopefully the Dowager Viscountess would not protest Beatrice’s involvement in the wedding preparations. Although it was not customary, Marina wanted to sew the gowns for her ceremony. Her heart then did a wondrous patter when she imagined Percival in his most formal state of dress.
***
The remainder of the evening was filled with a joyous dinner celebration between the members of the Viscount’s household and their esteemed guests. Marina Clarke did not hide the admiration and love she felt for Percival, nor did he ignore her for the sake of decorum. They were not permitted to see each other in private, but they were determined to make use every opportunity to watch and appreciate one another.
Despite their delirious happiness, there was hesitance. The entire situation was an untidy cluster of mistakes on both sides. Marina and Percival had indeed all but ruined one another and their reputations, but neither of them felt regret beneath the rushing current of emotions that stole the air from their lungs. The promise of love and happiness was too great to deny.
Disapproval and gossip were to be expected upon the announcement of their engagement, but together they would rise above the sneers and glares that came their way. Marina would stand proudly as a wife beside her husband as Percival continued his work to better the lives of the poor. It was an imperfect and fractured union of two flawed souls.
Percival turned his gaze toward his future bride with a grin that pulled tight and caused his eyes to water in the candlelight. Marina had won his heart and walked away as the winner in their game of wit. Percival was more than happy to concede defeat if it meant that her impish smirk would never fade into oblivion. With their guests otherwise occupied, he mouthed the words, “I love you” and cherished the sight of her redness that blossomed on her cheeks.
“My heart is yours,” Marina responded. Lady Lockhart, who did not withhold her burst of laughter, noticed the exchange. Marina chuckled at her friend quietly.
Percival wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole, especially when he caught his mother’s eye and she lifted one of her delicately arched brows in question. He swallowed his bite of food and returned his focus to the conversation at the table.
Marina, however, continued to stare and grin at him as though his mother’s disapproving look did not sway her. He nearly choked when she stuck her tongue out playfully. It was a behavior that was so mischievous that Percival could only stare in disbelief. Which, he deduced, had been her intentions from the start. Marina then proceeded to kick him beneath the table, which he surprisingly appreciated once he realized he had been staring for far longer than he thought. Now, it was his turn to blush.
He cleared his throat and steered the flow of conversation toward safer topics such as hunting and other outdoor exercises he wished to participate in before the weather began to cool. His words were polite and his actions sophisticated, but Percival’s thoughts were consumed by the memory of dancing with Marina in the garden. The words of Dante came to mind:
So perfect is the beauty of her face.
*****
THE END
About the Author
Madeline St. James is an author from Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania. Fascinated with the intricacies and elobarate customs of the Regency period, she spends her spare time researching and writing wholesome stories.
The colonial charm of Wilkes-Barre turned her into a history buff, where she began studying the US revolutionary war. She became obsessed with the finer details of olde European and American culture.
Madeline’s stories allow her to re-create these moments in time and express herself through a unique, rigid world.
While this historical period only represents a blimp in human existence, she hopes her work will allow this beautiful time to live on forever.
Her dream is to on day travel to Ireland and England where she can explore castles and re-live the scenes of her novels.
She’s always open to chat and discuss historical/wholesome romance, so don’t hesitate to reach out
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Table of Contents
Victress of the Viscount
About the Author
Where to Read More From Madeline St. James & Get Free Books