by Diane Gaston
Seeing her again brought it all back. She looked more beautiful than ever, and there was a new fire of determination in her eyes that made her even more tantalising.
The tavern maid delivered a tankard of ale. Allan wrapped his fingers around it and drank deeply, remembering the ale Marian had given him after his fever broke. He drained the tankard of its contents and ordered another one.
Maybe one more—or three more—would wash away his anger and regret.
Three days later Allan saw Marian again.
His uncle had arranged for him to be invited to Lady Doncaster’s musicale, where many of society’s influential people would be in attendance. As Allan walked from his rooms near St James’s Square to Duke Street, mere streets away from where Marian lived, it occurred to him she might be there.
As soon as he entered the Doncaster town house and greeted his hostess, his gaze found Marian, standing with his uncle and Lady Ullman. Like a moth to flame, he crossed the room to them.
‘Uncle, Lady Ullman, good evening.’ He bowed.
‘Allan!’ cried Domina. ‘You must call me Domina. We are family.’ She turned to her friend. ‘I have brought Marian with us.’
Allan bowed to Marian. ‘Good evening, Miss Pallant.’
‘Capt—’ she began, then caught herself. ‘Mr Landon.’ She dropped into a curtsy.
She was easily the loveliest woman in the room. A bit taller than was fashionable, but her hair gleamed like spun gold. Her gown was some gossamer confection as angel-white as the first gown he’d seen her in, its only decoration a simple edging of gold ribbon.
The memory of her dressed in boys’ clothing dragging injured soldiers from a burning house flashed through his mind. He smiled.
The colour rose in her face, making her even lovelier.
Lord Ullman seized his wife’s arm. ‘Someone you must meet, my dear.’ He whisked her away, leaving Allan with Marian.
Marian’s eyes flickered with irritation as they so callously left her.
‘Domina has abandoned you again, it seems,’ he remarked.
Her lips pursed. ‘And she knew this was my first real foray into society since Brussels. I know hardly anyone.’
Because Tranville had not bothered to see her properly introduced.
‘Chin up, Marian,’ he said quietly. ‘You faced the French. Surely a few lords and their ladies cannot daunt you.’
Her eyes rose to his. ‘I feel out of place.’
Out of place? Because she outshone them, perhaps.
Across the room a woman glanced towards her, then whispered something to a lady next to her. Both continued to gaze at her.
She sighed. ‘I have not escaped gossip, it seems.’
‘Perhaps they are merely envious of your gown,’ Allan said.
She rolled her eyes, not even heeding his compliment. ‘More likely they are saying I am woefully out of fashion. Everyone else is festooned with lace and frills.’ Her voice turned to a whisper. ‘Or perhaps it is you who have captured their interest.’
‘Me?’ He was surprised.
‘An eligible man, surely women would notice.’ She averted her gaze. ‘Forgive me—for all I know, you may no longer be eligible.’
He spoke in a low tone. ‘I am not married, if that is what you mean, Marian. I am not betrothed.’
Her eyes rose to his and that sense of connection they’d shared so often in Brussels returned.
She quickly looked away. ‘Perhaps Domina has gossiped about me.’
He felt the distance between them again. ‘Surely she would not have spoken about Brussels.’
She waved a hand. ‘Not about Brussels, but she is very capable of chattering on about me living independently. The ton is not likely to favour that.’
He’d had the same thought. An independent woman was by definition suspect, unless she was a widow or an aged spinster. He wondered what those ladies might think of her if they knew she’d run into a burning building or swept out a barn.
He was about to make that remark when Lord Sidmouth approached.
‘Good evening, Landon.’ Sidmouth gave Marian a speculative look.
Allan obligingly presented Sidmouth to her.
Her eyes widened at the mention of his name. ‘You are Home Secretary.’
‘Am indeed, Miss Pallant.’ Sidmouth nodded towards Allan. ‘Landon works for me. Good assistant.’
‘Yes, he told me.’ Something in her manner changed and that glint of determination returned to her eyes.
‘Mark my words. Landon will rise high. He’s that sort.’
She slanted a glance toward Allan. ‘Rise high?’
‘My hope, Miss Pallant,’ Allan explained, ‘is to sit in the House of Commons some day.’
‘Is it?’ Her voice turned more sarcastic than impressed.
‘Will succeed, too. Mark my words.’ Sidmouth walked away.
The butler announced that the music was about to begin. Everyone made their way to the ballroom, which was set up with rows of chairs.
Allan caught sight of his uncle helping Domina into a seat next to another couple. ‘Would you do the honour of sitting with me, Miss Pallant?’
She also had noticed her friend had seemingly forgotten her. ‘Thank you, Mr Landon. That is kind of you.’
Kind? To sit with anyone else would feel unnatural.
Cards detailing the programme had been placed on each chair. An Italian soprano, Giuditta Pasta, would sing from Figaro, and a pianist would play some of John Field’s works.
They settled in seats towards the back of the room. The performers were soon ready.
The first selection, one of John Field’s nocturnes, had a certain sweetness and delicacy yet depth of mood that seemed to perfectly reflect Allan’s companion. At first Marian sat very still and listened intently to the music. Eventually her gaze drifted, and Allan sensed her thoughts had travelled elsewhere, somewhere beyond this room, beyond the music and his company.
The Italian soprano was next. She walked into the room dressed in breeches. Her role in Figaro was Cherubino, an adolescent page always played by a soprano.
Allan exchanged glances with Marian, and knew she, too, was reminded of her own disguise as an adolescent boy.
The soprano began to sing. Allan’s Italian was limited, but he was able to translate the first line:
You, who know what love is, see if I have it in my heart.
The line ran through his mind during the rest of the musical evening. Seated next to Marian, Allan felt more attuned to her than to the music. He knew when she listened and when she drifted away. He wished he could drift away with her.
When the music concluded, the audience clapped, but immediately stood, ready to seek out the refreshments, which would be served in another room. Allan and Marian did not rise immediately. It took Allan a few moments to remember they were in the Doncaster ballroom.
When they entered the room with the refreshments, Marian’s friend Domina rushed up to them. ‘Marian! I thought I had lost you, but I was excessively grateful to know you were with Allan. I knew I need not worry at all. Have you enjoyed the performance?’
‘I did enjoy it,’ Marian said.
Allan wanted to deliver a set-down to Domina for abandoning her friend. Again.
‘That is splendid.’ Domina clapped her hands. ‘Ullie has introduced me to so many wonderful people, people we would never have met in Bath. I shan’t ever recall all their names, but it has been quite exciting.’ She glanced over to where her husband kept an eye on her. ‘I would ask you to join us, but there are no chairs.’
‘You should—’ He was about to tell her that she and his uncle should choose a table to include Marian, but Domina was off, her skirts sailing behind her. ‘Your friend angers me,’ he muttered.
Marian sighed. ‘She angers me, too.’
They joined some people with whom Allan was mildly acquainted and talked of the music. It was an entirely pleasant time.
When Domina decided
she wanted to leave, she sent a footman to alert Marian. Allan escorted her out of the town house to where his uncle and Domina, and others, waited for their carriages to reach the front of the queue. It had rained earlier in the day, but the night was fine, and Allan did not mind that the wait for the Ullman carriage dragged on.
Marian looked impatient. ‘I could walk home faster than this.’
Allan was the only one close enough to hear her. ‘I will escort you, if you wish.’
She glanced around. ‘Will anyone remark upon it, I wonder?’
‘We have darkness on our side. I will inform my uncle. If he has no objection, we can slip away.’
A minute later, they were crossing Oxford Street.
‘Thank you for taking me home, Captain.’
He smiled. It felt good to hear her call him ‘Captain’ again. ‘I enjoy the walk.’
‘I did learn one thing this evening,’ she said.
‘What was that?’ He liked this sudden camaraderie with her. It reminded him of better times.
‘I have little need to mix in society.’
They walked side by side again, but he wished he could thread her arm through his. ‘Are you certain? You cannot isolate yourself.’
She looked pensive. ‘I no longer belong in such company.’
He could not believe it. ‘You look as if you have always graced the fashionable world.’
It was her turn to look surprised. ‘Why, thank you, Captain.’ She shook her head. ‘No matter. It holds little interest to me.’
He frowned. ‘Because of Belgium?’
She slanted a glance. ‘Yes. It changed me.’
He looked into her face. ‘It changed me, too.’
Her lips trembled and he was lost again in a haze of wanting her, needing her, unable to conceive of being apart from her.
They stood on the Mayfair street, gazing upon each other. For Allan the moment stretched until he lost how long they remained there. Slowly he bent down, bringing his lips closer to hers.
She turned away and started walking again. The moment passed and they began to talk of the musicale and the people there, about Domina’s total self-absorption.
They reached her street and walked up to her door.
‘Thank you again, Captain.’ She extended her hand.
He took it and, wanting so much more, pulled her close enough to place a kiss upon her forehead. ‘I enjoyed your company.’
She looked up at him, her eyes large.
Before he lost the thin tether on his restraint, he sounded her knocker. Reilly almost instantly opened the door and Marian rushed inside.
Allan nodded to Reilly and stepped away. ‘Goodnight, Miss Pallant.’
From just within the threshold, she turned back to him. ‘Godspeed, Captain.’
Allan had hoped to see her at other entertainments over the next few days but, even though his uncle and Domina were present, Marian was not a member of their party. He began to worry about her. Was she ill? Was some man not of his uncle’s set entertaining her? Or was she merely turning her back on a society in which she felt she no longer belonged?
He told himself not to think of her, to concentrate on work instead. He filled his time checking in with Sidmouth’s sources, reading newspapers, visiting taverns and coffee houses.
This day he was in the office, seated at his desk, perusing a Nottingham newspaper. Some familiar names dotted the pages, making him wonder how they went on. Between the lines he read of much distress from lost jobs and high prices. It was like that throughout Great Britain.
Lord Sidmouth rapped on his door.
Allan lowered the newspaper and stood. ‘Come in, sir.’
‘Well? What have you found?’ Sidmouth sat in a nearby chair.
‘Nothing specific.’ Allan folded the paper. ‘Something has changed in the last week. I can sense it, although I’ve heard nothing and read nothing specific.’
‘Have the same feeling,’ Sidmouth said. ‘What of Mr Yost?’
Allan shrugged. ‘His name recurs, but in the context of people wondering if he will dare write another essay.’
Sidmouth pounded his knee. ‘He’s our key. Bet a pony on it.’ He leaned towards Allan. ‘I have an idea.’
‘What is it?’
He leaned back again, lounging in the chair. ‘You are acquainted with his neighbour. Pretty girl. Met her with you at Lady Doncaster’s.’
Allan held his gaze steady.
‘Miss Pallant,’ Sidmouth went on. ‘That’s the name. Sizeable fortune. Father was with the East India Company. Lord Tranville’s niece by marriage. Had some sort of falling out with him. Been living on her own since inheriting.’
Allan was appalled. ‘You investigated her?’
A corner of the lord’s mouth turned up. ‘Asked a few questions here and there.’
Allan’s fingers curled into a fist.
‘Unconventional sort. Lives with a companion. Controls her own funds. Went to Brussels with Sir Roger and his wife. Something happened there. Don’t know what it is yet.’ Good God.
Allan’s eyes narrowed. ‘What has this to do with Yost?’ Why was Sidmouth digging into Marian’s past? Did he know that Allan had been with her?
‘Had this idea.’ Sidmouth grinned in delight. ‘Call upon her. Court her, even. Makes sense for you to court an heiress.’
Now he was sounding like Tranville.
‘Court Miss Pallant?’
Sidmouth cocked his head. ‘Only for show, if you like. Too uncommon for an MP’s wife, I’d say. Look for a peer’s daughter for that. Real reason is to get information about Yost. Watch his house. See what she knows, what her servants know. Servants talk, see everything.’
By God, this was callous.
Allan gripped the arm of his chair. ‘You want me to use Miss Pallant in order to spy on John Yost.’
‘That’s the right of it.’ Sidmouth grinned. ‘Inspired idea, is it not?’
Allan stood. ‘It is a detestable idea! Toying with a young lady’s affections merely for information. It is dishonourable.’
Sidmouth’s expression darkened. ‘Then do not court her. Just call upon her. You are a friend of hers, are you not?’
Sidmouth had a way of manipulating people for his own ends. He apparently had no qualms about manipulating Marian.
Allan gave Sidmouth a direct stare. ‘I want no part of this.’
Sidmouth rose and sauntered to the door, but he turned back. ‘This is not a request, Landon. This is the job you agreed to perform when I employed you. If you care about your future and the future of your country, you’ll befriend your Miss Pallant, court her, sleep with her, anything necessary to get information that prevents sedition. Do as I say and persist until you have something on Yost to bring to me.’ He strolled out of the room.
Allan sank in the chair and ran his hand through his hair.
To do his job, to serve his country, to avenge his father, he had to take advantage of Marian.
Chapter Thirteen
Marian sat at her desk and riffled through the latest set of invitations. Domina had been true to her word. Invitations arrived every day to various events and Domina often penned notes offering to include her in their party. Marian found excuses to refuse, although each time she wondered if he would be attending.
He consumed her thoughts much too often, her Captain, but it was essential she stay away from him. He worked for the Home Secretary. His job was to thwart everything she was working hard to bring about.
She dropped the invitations on the desk and pulled out a sheet of paper to pen a conciliatory note to Domina, refusing yet another offer to accompany her to a breakfast, but promising to call upon her soon.
Blanche walked in. ‘Do you need to speak with Mr Yost today?’
Marian put down her pen. ‘I do not think so. Why?’
She blushed. ‘I just met him outside when I was coming from the shops. He invited me to walk with him in the park.’
Marian h
id her amusement, wondering how long Mr Yost stood at his window watching for Blanche to return. ‘If he needs to speak with me, he certainly may, but otherwise, enjoy the day.’
‘You do not mind?’ Blanche took her duties as companion so seriously she felt guilty ever leaving Marian alone.
‘I do not mind,’ Marian assured her. ‘I have letters to write and much to keep me occupied.’
Blanche grinned at her. ‘Thank you, Marian.’ She started for the door.
Marian called after her. ‘Invite Mr Yost to dinner, if you like.’
Blanche stopped. ‘Indeed?’
‘Of course. It will be pleasant.’
Blanche returned a grateful look. ‘I will, then.’
‘Tell Cook,’ Marian added.
Blanche nodded and swept out of the room looking blissfully happy, the way a woman in love ought to look.
Marian rested her chin on her hand. Blanche renewed Marian’s faith in romance. Mr Yost was a good man with a solid independent income. Both he and Blanche deserved happiness.
Something that eluded Marian.
Her own fault. What might have happened if she’d even considered that Edwin had lied to her? What if she had opened one of the captain’s letters instead of returning them?
Perhaps she would be wed to him and sharing his bed at night. She couldn’t deny the fact that her body still yearned for him.
As did her soul.
She forced herself to pick up her pen, dip it in the inkpot and resume writing her letter.
One thing was certain, she would not be planning a soldiers’ march if her husband worked for the Home Secretary. How then would the soldiers’ voices be heard? She was determined to give them that voice. There was nothing more important to her.
She easily finished her correspondence and stood, stretching the stiffness from her muscles. She walked out to the hall just as someone sounded the knocker.
‘I’ll get it, Reilly,’ she called out. ‘I’m right here.’ She opened the door.
The captain stood at the threshold.
‘Captain!’ She felt herself flush.
He removed his hat. ‘I did not expect you to answer the door. Domina said you have refused several invitations—’
