Her father swallowed and pursed together his lips, but he did not say anything to contradict his wife.
“She is not a lunatic.” Maryann clenched her hands, pressing her nails into her palms to keep herself from shouting. “And I shall gratefully care for her. She would do the same for any of us if she could.” She turned back to the window, gritting her teeth and thinking how she would handle this new responsibility. And how to prevent anyone from discovering that she was doing it.
As strained as the relationship had been with her stepmother, Araminta had at least discovered a discreet institution—a home in Craven Hill—where Jane would be cared for. And the girls’ parents had come early to Town—not without grumbling—to make sure Jane was settled. Aside from a few servants in their country house of Ashford, the three occupants of the carriage were the only people who knew the truth about Jane. Her stepmother was utterly horrified that the disgrace of an “abnormal” daughter would become common knowledge among London society, but now both her parents had washed their hands of her and Maryann. Maryann would carry the heavy burden alone.
Very well. She had been the one to care for Jane ever since that night when everything changed—the one who understood how to calm her episodes and to find the sister she knew hidden inside the frightened young woman. No upheaval in her own life would alter that.
Maryann should feel glad that she would be able to remain close to her sister. She figured her marriage would have at least one positive result. The thought caused her to wrap her arms tighter around herself. In the worry about Jane, she’d momentarily forgotten her own predicament. Her marriage. To Lord Rensfield. She tried to conjure the man’s face in her mind, but all she could manage was the furious picture of a man who had believed himself to be betrayed.
The very same image met her gaze as she entered the church. Lord Rensfield stood, handsome as ever, at the church door, waiting. Aside from the groom and the vicar, two other men who were to serve as witnesses sat in the pews. Maryann studied them for a moment. Based on their clothing, she thought they must be solicitors or clerks—certainly not any of the earl’s aristocratic friends. The awareness that he saw this as no more than a matter of business stung her heart. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing back the tears that seemed determined to push their way out.
In only a few moments, the ceremony was complete. The men produced a quill and were rustling about with papers before the vicar even finished pronouncing them man and wife.
She swallowed against the thickness in her throat and fought to hold back her tears.
“Sign here, please.” One of the men handed her the quill and pointed to a line on the marriage document. As soon as she’d written her name, he took it away, without giving her a glance.
Lord Rensfield shook the men’s hands, thanking them for coming.
He very courteously bid her parents farewell and, without more than an obligatory glance, offered Maryann his arm.
She felt miserable as she slid her hand over the crook in his elbow and allowed him to lead her from the church.
Once she was settled in the carriage, he sat across from her, his fist pressing against his lip as he stared through the window.
Maryann could not bear the silence. If he would only listen, maybe she could explain. “My lord?”
He moved only his eyes, shifting his gaze to her.
“I know this is not what you wanted.”
He blew out a breath through his nose and closed his eyes in a long blink.
“I hope you will allow me to explain.”
He lowered his hand and raised his brows.
Maryann took it as an indication that she was to continue. “I did not set out to deceive you. I never meant for you to be trapped in the carriage with me, and I certainly did not wish for you to be forced into marriage.”
His eyes tightened the slightest bit, but he continued to watch her.
“All my actions and words have been truthful, my lord. And I just wanted you to know that,” she finished lamely.
“You expect me to believe that this entire charade was not a ruse to trap me? To seize for yourself a title?”
The anger in his face ignited her own. “I did not ask you to come into the carriage with me. Nor did I send away the servant. Those were your own actions, sir. And if you think that I am desperate enough for a husband that I would sink my carriage and stand in a fierce storm in the dead of night in the hopes that an earl, instead of a highwayman or a murderer, would happen along, you are sorely mistaken.”
His expression did not change, although his eyes unfocused a bit as if he were contemplating what she said.
Maryann had his full attention, and did not know how often it would happen, or if they would ever have reason to visit this topic again. She felt a wiggle of guilt and turned her gaze out the window. “That being said, I do not believe my father acted with complete honesty. When he discovered who you were, he no doubt saw the opportunity. . .” She glanced at him, and then down to her hands. “And for that, I do apologize, my lord. Had I suspected such a thing possible, I’d have walked home before I would put you at such a disadvantage.”
The air in the carriage was heavy as the mist from the Thames and her apology hung between them. She kept her gaze on her fingers twisting in her lap.
The sound of the wheels clattering over the cobblestones became louder as the silence between them stretched out.
“My mother has hoped for a long time that I would find a wife. She will be happy that I have married.”
His voice had softened considerably, but when she looked up, she saw that his expression had not fully relaxed. “Do you think she will be displeased that I am not a noblewoman?” She hated the vulnerability in her voice as she asked the question. But as they had never discussed any of his family’s expectations before the wedding, she thought she should know how they would react to her.
“You are a noblewoman now, Countess.” His voice was not kind, but had lost the sharpness it held earlier. “My mother will not be displeased. As for the rest of my family . . .” He pressed his fist back against his lips and turned his gaze to the window.
Maryann’s heart felt like a boulder. Was she to be scorned by her new relations? Would her new husband be a disappointment to his family for marrying her?
The carriage stopped in front of a house that Maryann had only ever seen in passing. One of the very finest townhouses in London, the structure dwarfed the exceptionally magnificent homes on either side of it. White pillars flanked the front door, and red bricks covered the façade, with lovely detailed wrought iron on the gate and surrounding the windows. Maryann had always thought the house to be the epitome of understated elegance.
When a liveried servant opened the carriage door, Lord Rensfield stepped out and turned to hold her hand as she alighted. He kept hold of her fingers, setting them lightly on his arm as they walked to the house.
The door opened, and a tall butler with a shiny bald head dipped forward in a bow as they entered. “Welcome home, my lord.” The man glanced at Maryann but did not say anything.
The entry hall was papered with green damask and paneled in oak. A glass-topped table held an arrangement of hothouse flowers, and above them, a crystal chandelier cast glints of colored light. She drew in a breath, thinking it was indeed the most beautiful residence she could imagine, and the air caught in her throat at the thought that it was now her home.
“Dixon, this is the new Countess of Rensfield. My . . . wife.” Maryann’s face burned at his slight hesitation.
A small tick of his brow was the butler’s only reaction to the statement. “Very good, my lord. Congratulations. Welcome, my lady.”
“Thank you.” Maryann forced her words through a dry throat.
Dixon offered a gold tray that held an envelope. “This just arrived by express messenger, my lord.”
A maid took their outer clothing as Lord Rensfield opened the envelope. As he read the folded paper inside, his face pale
d. “I—we must leave immediately. My father—” He swallowed.
“I will call back the carriage.” Dixon hurried toward the door, and the maid turned, bringing back their wraps, head coverings, and gloves.
“No, fetch my mount.”
“What is wrong?” Maryann said.
“The doctor thinks my father is very near to passing. I must make it to Northampton before—” His words caught, and he cleared his throat, walking toward the door and slipping on his gloves. “I will ride ahead, and the carriage can bring you—”
Maryann’s throat was tight. Jane. “I cannot leave London, my lord.”
He turned. “Pardon?”
“I cannot go.”
He squinted in confusion. “I shall not return until the start of the Season. It will be at least two weeks.”
She twisted together her fingers, feeling her breath coming fast. She couldn’t leave Jane alone for weeks. “There is . . . someone. I must stay here. I’m sorry.”
The coldness snapped back into his eyes, and his jaw tightened. “If that is your choice, madam, so be it.”
Without another word, he whirled, slammed his hat onto his head, and left.
Chapter Four
Five days later, Jonathan stood in the main hall of his family’s country estate, welcoming mourners who had come to pay their respects. The drawing room was draped with black fabric and lit with candles as the family and friends kept vigil.
A touch at his elbow drew his gaze, and he saw that his mother had joined him. She held on to his arm. “You should rest before the funeral tomorrow, Jonathan.” Deep lines surrounded her mouth and dark smudges sat beneath her red eyes. Though they had known for quite some time that the marquess was ill, his death had utterly devastated Lady Spencer.
Jonathan ached as he studied his mother’s typically handsome face and saw only pain. It was as if the light in her eyes had been snuffed out. He lifted her hand from his arm and squeezed her fingers gently. “I will, Mother.”
The door was opened, and another family entered, one that Jonathan was certain would give his mother a small bit of cheer.
Even from across the darkened hall, Archie Clawson’s smile—though appropriately sobered by the occasion—shone like a beacon. Archie strode toward Jonathan, and the relief of seeing his oldest friend eased some of the heaviness that pressed on his chest ever since he’d read his mother’s desperate note in London.
Archie shook his hand, placing his other on Jonathan’s shoulder. “How are you holding up, old boy?” His tone was more serious than Jonathan had ever heard, and it brought a tightness to his throat.
In response, he nodded his head until he had control of his voice. “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course, Ren.” His friend’s use of the old nickname warmed Jonathan’s heart.
Archie gathered up Lady Spencer in a familiar embrace that Jonathan knew would have made her extremely uncomfortable if any other person had attempted it. “Oh, dearest Mother Kathleen.”
Lady Spencer wept against his waistcoat, and he whispered words of comfort. Jonathan realized again how grateful he was for a friend who seemed to know precisely the right thing to say.
The other members of Archie’s party, his parents and youngest sister, were only a few steps behind him. Jonathan greeted Lord and Lady Bromley and Lady Olivia, thanking the family for making the trip from Surrey.
The earl’s wife, whose disposition tended more to that of her son’s, grasped Jonathan’s hand.
“Oh, your father was such a cherished friend,” the countess said. “We have such fond memories of his dry humor, don’t we, dearest?” She prodded her husband.
“Yes. Our sincere condolences, Jonathan,” the earl said in his soft voice.
Lady Bromley squeezed Jonathan’s hand. “And we were so pleased to hear that you had married. We, of course, stopped to pay a call to your lovely bride as we passed through London.”
Jonathan’s mother froze. She lifted her head and inhaled a jerky breath. “What did . . .?” She took Archie’s offered handkerchief, dabbing her eyes. “Jonathan, is it true?”
He nodded, wishing he’d found a better time to tell his mother, but he’d arrived mere hours after his father had passed, and she’d been inconsolable, and then once family and guests had started to arrive, the moment never presented itself.
“Why did you not tell me?”
“The timing never seemed right. I am sorry, Mother.”
She offered a small smile. “I suppose we’ve not had a chance to visit as we should—what heavy circumstances to be married within. Tell me about her. And why did she not accompany you?”
“Her name is—was Miss Maryann Croft.” He felt his cravat growing tighter. “Unfortunately, her family obligations were such that she could not get away quickly enough to accompany me home. I left as soon as I received your letter.”
He felt Archie studying him and kept his face from revealing his uncertainty. He did not quite know how to explain Maryann or the rushed wedding or her absence, and giving the simplest answers seemed the best way to keep from saying something he might later regret or have to explain.
Lady Bromley did not seem at all embarrassed. The straightforward, sincere manner was yet another attribute Jonathan loved about her. “Well, I am sorry to ruin the surprise. Reverend Matthews told us the news when we saw him in town. But you should know, Lady Spencer, she is absolutely lovely. And so gracious.” She placed her fingers on her breastbone as she spoke. “She had such complimentary things to say about you, of course, Jonathan. And she was especially attentive to Olivia, wasn’t she, my dear?” She slid her arm through the young lady’s, bringing her forward to join the conversation. “You know how shy my daughter can be, but your bride engaged her in conversation and listened with interest, setting her right at ease.”
“Very charming.” Olivia spoke in a quiet voice and ducked her head.
Jonathan had hardly heard the young lady say more than a few words, and he’d known her all her life. He could not imagine Olivia engaging in conversation with anyone. But he did not know his wife well enough to imagine how she would behave among ladies. The exchanges he’d had with the woman had taken place under a fair bit of duress, never during normal circumstances, and he felt a twist of unease. He hadn’t considered that as a new bride, she would be called on, and while he had not even mentioned her to his family in Northampton, she’d spoken well of him. Even though he’d hardly given her a reason to.
He determinedly kept his eyes from moving to Archie, but could feel the curiosity in his friend’s gaze, even from five feet away.
“She’s an exceptional young woman.” Lady Bromley continued. “And we could not be happier for you.”
“Thank you.” Jonathan was glad his secret was out, but unease still pricked the back of his neck as his future with a perfect stranger loomed before him. She’d been kind and welcoming to Olivia, but would she be the same to him? Could his marriage ever feel like a happy circumstance? Or would a feeling of discomfort always exist?
Chapter Five
Two weeks had passed since the late Marquess of Spencer’s funeral, and as the new marquess, Jonathan had spent the interim traveling to his holdings, visiting tenements, properties, sheep farms, and a few coal mines, as well as navigating through a mountain of paperwork with his solicitor, Mr. Hatchett, who had come from London to help in the transition of the title. His father had been a good man, but an abysmal keeper of records, and while Jonathan would have liked to put off the duties a little while at least, he worried that would only create greater complication. Jonathan added his new investments to the books, wishing his father had been alive to appreciate the increases. He would not admit to anyone how desperately he’d longed for his father’s approval, and knowing that he’d arrived too late with his report felt like a hole inside of him that would remain unfilled.
Jonathan scrawled a note and left the roadside inn on horseback before his mother and Archie, who had a
ccompanied him on his latest round of visits, rose. He knew his mother was in good hands and felt as though he ought to spend a few hours preparing Maryann before his traveling companions saw how completely unacquainted he and his wife were. The two had understandably asked questions about his new bride on their journey to London, and Jonathan had answered vaguely, realizing he did not know a thing about her aside from her dismal father and that she owned a blue dress and perhaps a gold ribbon.
The solitary ride gave him plenty of opportunity to think, and now that he’d spent a few weeks away and his anger had abated, he realized there was no possible way Maryann or her father could have known his route on that rainy night. Nor could they have known the pathway would be blocked by broken tree limbs. She, at least, had not had anything to do with the coercion. His anger at that suspicion was replaced by the sick feeling of guilt gnawing at his gut when he thought of how he’d treated her. A woman’s wedding day is supposed to be joyful, but his thoughts had only been of himself and his own aggravation. Ashamed, he realized he’d not only made her feel unwelcome, but had left her in an unfamiliar home without corresponding for nearly three weeks.
The dark clouds that had threatened for hours burst open just as he approached London. Without another alternative, he pressed onward with the assurance that he’d be at the townhouse and in front of a warm fire within the hour. Thunder cracked overhead, and he held tightly to the horse’s reins to keep his stallion under control.
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