“I do not believe I was ever fawned over,” said Letitia judiciously. “Perhaps I would like that.”
“If you marry Eynsford and become a marchioness, you will be,” said Isobel with a laugh. “You do try my patience at times, Letty! Only promise you will speak to poor Phillip with an open mind and I will be happy.”
“I confess that he has been in my thoughts often,” said Letitia. “He was so solicitous during Emily's illness; his notes and presents were as thoughtful as yours, and a great deal more helpful than Dr. Wolfe's!”
They had reached the George, the charming seventeenth century inn at which the Exencours and Eynsford were staying. Isobel hustled Letitia into her private parlor.
“Wait here and I shall fetch Eynsford,” she said. “He will be delighted. Promise me Letty, that you will not disappear while I am gone. This situation must be addressed now, or you will doubtless lose your nerve and marry that horrid Bishop of yours.”
“I am not so poor a creature as that,” retorted Letitia, but when Isobel had gone she felt a great wave of nervousness wash over her. Her knees felt unaccountably weak and she sank into one of the large overstuffed chairs that graced the room. Her mind returned to Kensington and the sun-filled days in the gardens with her handsome lawyer. Then she saw the cold and haughty face of the Marquess of Eynsford as he had appeared with the Regent at the Strancaster ball, and she felt a shiver. Who exactly was this man, and why had she allowed Isobel to persuade her to talk to him? Only a fool would put herself in the way of a man so intimidating.
The door opened and Isobel stepped in, a merry smile on her face. She was followed by the Marquess. He was dressed with great style and restraint, in a dark blue coat of superfine with pale beige pantaloons and Hessian boots bearing gold tassels. His neckcloth was impeccably tied in the mail coach knot, and he sported only a single gold fob at the waist. On his face, he wore a somewhat sheepish expression. This was perhaps fortunate, for it permitted Letitia to see something of Mr. Markham in him.
“I see you are still here, Letty, and I am grateful,” said Isobel. “I have been lecturing poor Eynsford once again on the evils of his behavior towards you, so he is now in a suitably chastened frame of mind.”
Letitia found herself quite unable to stand or say anything in response to Isobel's speech. The Marquess came over and gravely raised her hand to his lips.
“Thank you for affording me the opportunity of this interview,” he said soberly. “I know I do not deserve it.”
Letitia made some vague murmuring sounds that Isobel seemed to interpret as being positive.
“The two of you would, of course, like to be alone,” she said amiably. “It would not do at all for you to talk here in a private room, but there would be nothing amiss if you chose to stroll on the Promenade. I will await you here.”
Chapter 42
With remarkable efficiency Isobel ushered them out of the private parlor and into the street, where the Marquess found himself looking at the top of Lady Morgan's bowed head.
“Lady Exencour is nothing if not determined,” he observed. “I hope you do not mind walking with me?”
“Not at all,” said Letitia, so softly that he had to lean towards her to catch her words. This is ridiculous, she thought. It is not as though this man is unknown to me. She raised her head and spoke more clearly. “It will be a pleasure to enjoy the fresh air,” she continued. “I have not been out much of late.”
“You must allow me to tell you how happy I am to hear of Miss Winwood's recovery,” said the Marquess, offering his arm and strolling slowly towards the Strand. “I am sure her illness was very difficult for you.”
“It was indeed,” said Letitia. “There were times I was terrified I would lose her. Your gifts of fruit and flowers were greatly appreciated, my lord,” she said.
“I wish I could have done more,” said the Marquess. “I felt quite useless when Isobel read me your letters.”
“Knowing that you were concerned was a great help to us both,” she said. Emily enjoyed the beautiful blooms so much, and the fruit from your pinery still more, even though she was frighteningly ill.”
They walked a moment in companionable silence, and Letitia found that she was warming up to the Marquis. His next words, however, were not so soothing.
“I understand that I have to congratulate you on your engagement to the Bishop of Mainwaring,” he ventured in a neutral voice.
Letitia jumped and looked up at him with startled eyes. Eynsford's face was carefully blank, with nothing to be gleaned from studying it.
“I am indeed engaged to that gentleman,” said Letitia cautiously.
“Would it be impertinent for me to ask why his suit prospered when mine did not?” asked the Marquess.
Letty looked up at him again. His face was grave, but she thought she detected a slight twinkle in his eyes. This both pleased her, for it reminded her of Mr. Markham, and angered her. How dare he laugh at her predicament?
“He was supportive at the time of Emily's illness,” she said rather sharply. “And I have no doubt that he is, indeed, the Bishop of Mainwaring.”
A short silence fell. “I deserved that, I suppose,” said the Marquess judiciously. “Do you feel better now?”
“A little,” said Letitia.
“I would have liked to be near you during Emily's illness,” said Eynsford. “I thought about you constantly; I am afraid I was a very poor guest to Lord Glencairn.”
“I do not doubt the sincerity of your concern for my daughter,” admitted Letty.
“But you still doubt the sincerity of my feelings for you?” asked the Marquess.
“You must agree, my lord, that your behavior was far from candid,” said Letitia. “Can I be blamed for believing the worst, particularly when I found out who you actually are? The Marquess of Eynsford’s renown is not based on his honest intentions towards widows.”
“My wretched reputation!” exclaimed the Marquess. “You must realize that there is a great deal of gossip about me, but little of it is based in fact.”
“Then you are not engaged to the Earl of Ravenscroft's second daughter?” asked Letitia artlessly.
“Certainly not,” said the Marquess firmly. “I danced with her twice as a favor to her father. That is all there was to it.”
“And Lady Mowbry?” continued Letitia.
“I have not seen Lady Mowbry for many months. At one point in time we amused each other,” said Eynsford. “That is no longer the case.”
“And all the talk among the ton?” asked Letitia.
“Is just that--talk,” said the Marquess. “I am afraid my actions are of greater interest than they should be to Society.”
“Then how could you possibly put me in the position you did?” demanded Letitia. “Surely you knew that if anyone found out my reputation would be ruined! A widow with small children and no money cannot afford such a thing to happen. You have said you care for me, yet you callously put me in jeopardy!”
The Marquess came to a halt and stood looking down at Letitia, her hand clasped in his. “Lady Morgan, I can only plead that I was made quite stupid by my feelings for you. I see now that my actions were foolhardy and that you, rather than I, would have suffered their consequences. But at the time, all I could see was that you were kind, warm-hearted, beautiful, and interesting. My feelings overcame all my notions of propriety. But I cannot regret it too greatly, for otherwise I might not have come to know you as I do.”
“If you had waited until I was out of mourning, sir, we might have met at any number of parties,” observed Letitia tartly.
“But then you would have met the haughty Marquess of Eynsford, and I would have met a widow just re-entering Society, concerned about the tittle-tattle of the ton,” said Eynsford. “I might never have known you for the woman I came to so greatly admire and esteem. And if I had courted you before the eyes of the world, the gossip mongering and jealousy could have been more than enough to drive us apart. I regre
t that my actions caused you distress, but I do not regret knowing you better.”
Letitia knew the truth of his observation, and this speech evidently pleased her, for she allowed the Marquess to once more draw her hand through his arm and lead her along the path.
“Am I correct in thinking that your heart is not engaged by Dr. Wolfe?” asked Eynsford bluntly.
“My heart is not engaged,” admitted Letitia, “but I have given my word and my cousin, to whom I owe much, greatly desires the marriage.”
“You would sacrifice your own happiness to please Bainstall?” asked the Marquess in some surprise.
“Emily’s illness impressed upon me that I am unable to truly provide for my children as I must,” said Letitia. “I do not wish to be a burden upon my friends, and Dr. Wolfe is an eligible gentleman with a kind heart.”
“But an unfortunate manner,” said the Marquess blandly.
Letitia attempted to stifle a giggle, but it escaped her anyway. Eynsford looked down at her with a smile on his face.
“So you find him quite as ludicrous as I do,” he said.
Letitia looked up at him, her eyes dancing. “Quite,” she said. “It is sad, but I cannot take him seriously.”
“Then perhaps it would be for the best if you did not marry him,” observed Eynsford.
“Perhaps,” said Letitia. “But if I break off the engagement my cousin will be enraged, and I shall still be in the same bind I am now.”
“Perhaps a way could be found to circumvent your difficulties,” said Lord Eynsford. “If you were to marry another gentleman, one as eligible as and perhaps less unctuous than Dr. Wolfe, then your cousin could hardly complain, and you would be better served.”
“And where can such a gentleman be found?” asked Letitia. They had reached the strand, and she stood looking out over the water, the gold curls that peeped out from her bonnet shining under the hot sun.
Lord Eynsford put his hands on her shoulders and turned her gently towards him. “I know you had reason in the past to suspect my motivations,” he said softly, “but I hope I have convinced you that I am sincere. My offer of marriage still stands, as I told you before. I would be the happiest man in England if you would consent to be my wife.”
Letitia looked up into his piercing blue eyes and saw only sincerity. A smile rose to her lips, but a perplexed expression remained in her eyes.
“My lord...” she began.
“If you call me ‘my lord’ one more time I shall do damage to something,” observed the Marquess. “It is quite intolerable on your lips.”
“What shall I call you, then?” asked Letitia. “‘Mr. Markham’ is not a name designed to make me think well of you.”
“You must call me Phillip,” said the Marquess, “for that is what I would wish you to call me as my wife.”
“Very well...Phillip,” said Letitia. “I am not at all sure that I can marry you, although I must admit I have strong feelings for you. Try as I might, you were seldom out of my thoughts these past weeks.”
“Then you must marry me, or your thoughts will not be your own,” observed the Marquess.
“But I must be able to trust my husband,” said Letitia fretfully.
“Letitia, you know me as no one else does, and I think you also know you can trust me. Do you truly believe that I would ever willingly hurt you?”
Letitia looked up into his face once again and caught her breath. She realized in a sudden rush that, no matter what deception had led to their friendship, he was the kind and thoughtful man she had met in Kensington Gardens. He looked down into her perfect face, and oblivious of the others in their vicinity, lowered his lips to hers. Letty gave a little sob of happiness, and flung her arms around his neck, returning his embrace eagerly. Eynsford was engulfed with passion as his lips claimed hers, yet in such a public place they could not lose themselves in their private joy. As one, they broke the kiss, and, slowly turning, once again walked arm in arm.
“I wonder what Dr. Wolfe will say?” Letty asked mischievously.
“He will no doubt wish to bring a breach of contract suit against you,” remarked Eynsford in an amused voice. “How fortunate you are that your new suitor is so admirably qualified to defend you from him, and that his natural inclination to curry favor with those above him in the order of precedence will soon overcome his irritation.”
Letty laughed with him, and they turned their steps back in the direction of the George.
Chapter 43
Two hours later Letitia, Isobel, and the Marquess of Eynsford re-entered Letitia’s rooms, where they found Bainstall, the Bishop, and Lord Exencour still closeted in the sitting room. The Baron had a look of extreme annoyance on his face, the Bishop had the appearance of a man greatly alarmed, and Lord Exencour sat casually on the sofa, one arm extended across the back, his quizzing glass raised to survey his wife and friends.
They presented an interesting sight. Isobel was flushed, her eyes sparkling with pleasure. The Marquess looked as happy as any gentleman could as he held in his hand one of Lady Morgan’s. Letitia, in turn, was the picture of a delighted lady, her eyes bright, her lips parted in a charming smile, while a frivolous, clearly new chip bonnet with lace under the brim, and trimmed with lavender ribbons covered her hair.
“Letitia!” said Bainstall reprovingly. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Only fancy,” responded Isobel. “We encountered Lord Eynsford in the town; I vow I was never more surprised in my life. We had a delightful stroll about the shops and he helped us to choose this bonnet for Letitia. Is it not all the crack?”
The Bishop turned stricken eyes on the bonnet, but Lord Exencour surveyed it intently through his glass.
“Quite delightful, for the work of a provincial milliner,” he pronounced. “You shall, of course, find much better in London.”
“No doubt,” said Isobel merrily. “But I thought it had a certain charm which could not be denied. When we get to London, Letty, we shall visit my milliner. You will be out of mourning soon and will need to shop for your trousseau!”
Dr. Wolfe made a strangled noise. Bainstall, made of sterner stuff, stepped forward.
“What are you doing with the Marquess of Eynsford, Letitia?” he demanded. “Your behavior is vastly improper.”
“What harm can there be in his bearing us company?” asked Isobel.
“He is holding her hand,” observed Bainstall in outraged accents. “May I ask what is going on?”
Letitia dropped Eynsford’s hand and blushed, but then stepped bravely forward. “I am very sorry, Dr. Wolfe,” she said firmly, “but I am afraid we shall not suit.”
The Bishop raised his head, a gleam of hope in his eyes, but Bainstall did not allow him the opportunity to speak.
“Nonsense! You shall marry Dr. Wolfe as you promised.”
“I regret any pain my actions may cause Dr. Wolfe, but I cannot marry him,” said Letitia. It would not be honest to do so when my heart is engaged by another.”
“I presume you mean Eynsford,” said the Baron with a snort. “A pretty marriage you shall have! This gentleman has already played fast and loose with your affections and now you mean to give him the opportunity to do so again?”
Lord Exencour looked at Bainstall with a raised eyebrow and turned to the marquess.
“That sounded uncommonly like an insult, Phillip,” he said plaintively.
“To be sure, it did,” agreed Lord Eynsford. “And yet I would be loath to find myself asking a man to name his seconds who is so soon to be my relation. Perhaps you overstated your case due to your concern for your cousin, Bainstall?”
“I am naturally concerned for Letitia's welfare,” said the Baron. “And she has given her word to my very good friend, Dr. Wolfe. I think it is very wrong of her to terminate the engagement.”
Lord Exencour gave him a sweet smile. “We have not yet heard from Dr. Wolfe, however. Perhaps the Bishop would like to give his opinion on the matter, as he is most c
losely concerned.”
The whole party turned to gaze at the Bishop, who sat on the couch gaping at them.
“Dr. Wolfe?” persisted Lord Exencour. “What say you to this matter?”
The Bishop stood and adjusted his coat. “If Lady Morgan feels she will be happier with another,” he said, “I must of course release her from her promise to me.”
“Poppycock!” said Bainstall. “The match between Letitia and Eynsford is totally inappropriate.”
“That is not my business to say,” said the Bishop, his frame swelling with the nobility of his sacrifice. “But, I must allow Lady Morgan to choose as she will. I will say, however, that for some little time I have had my doubts as to the compatibility of our temperaments, and now I see my fears were justified.”
“Doubts?” said Letitia, rather offended. “You have never voiced any doubts. You proposed to me almost as soon as we met.”
“I was led astray by your cousin’s assurances of your accommodating disposition,” replied Dr. Wolfe. “I see now that he did not read your temperament accurately. I consider myself to be well out of this affair.”
An angry look came over Letitia’s face and she seemed about to protest, when the marquess, with an amused look at his betrothed, stepped in.
“I appreciate your generosity, Dr. Wolfe,” he said. “I hope if we meet again it will be on friendly terms.”
The Bishop bobbed up and down in a pleased manner. “I would be delighted to have cordial relations with the Masham family. I wish you the very best, sir.” He bowed to Letitia and Isobel and left. Lord Exencour looked after him with an amused expression.
“And so the Bishop exits,” he observed. “I’m sure he hopes that between us, we see that he is advanced in the church in due course. Bainstall, will you stay to celebrate Lady Morgan’s engagement to Lord Eynsford?”
“I should say not,” snapped the Baron. “Letitia, I must tell you that I am excessively disappointed in you. I have shown you much kindness and you have seen fit to reject my advice. I only hope that you will not come to grief for your hasty decision.”
An Indecent Charade: Letitia's After Dark Regency Romance Page 26
