“Nonsense, my dear,” Lady Foxworth said. “Everyone does it. It is the way of things.”
“It is not the natural way,” Mary said. “And if he had ever had any interest in me, then he would have asked me to dance without being prompted to do so.”
“Please stop turning this into an ordeal and just enjoy yourself,” Lady Foxworth said.
Mary sighed. “Very well,” she agreed, “but only because of all the effort that you have gone to on my behalf.”
“Thank you.” Lady Foxworth gave Mary a wide smile.
“I should probably warn you not to get too excited,” Mary said. “Before Mama and Papa left for India, they told me to follow my heart, and I intend to do so.”
By the time Mary returned to her bedchamber two hours later, she was exhausted. Chadwick had proven himself to be delightful company, and she’d danced with three other gentlemen after him, each with a similar result: not one of them had heated her insides or made her skin tingle in response to their touch. They did not compare to Signor Antonio—a mystery man whom Mary would never be able to forget.
“Did you have a pleasant evening, my lady?” Mary’s maid, Amy, asked as she helped Mary disrobe.
“Partly,” Mary told her honestly. She hesitated a moment before saying, “I met a gentleman who was very much to my liking.”
If this surprised Amy, she did not show it. “What wonderful news!”
“Unfortunately, Lady Foxworth has forbidden him from ever seeing me again.” Aware that this wasn’t entirely true, Mary said, “Or at least until he reveals his identity.”
“You do not know who he is?”
Mary shook her head, her teeth catching her lip in contemplation. “He wore a mask and a hooded cloak.”
“And yet you still found him appealing?”
“Yes. I cannot seem to stop thinking about him and wishing that we would have had more time together.”
Fetching Mary’s nightgown, Amy proceeded to help Mary into it. “It seems to me that this is the perfect way in which to fall in love with someone. Your eyes have not yet been distracted by looks, allowing your heart to make an unbiased decision.”
“I suppose so,” Mary said as she thought of the time she’d spent in Signor Antonio’s company. “But that is neither here nor there since I doubt I will ever see him again. He wants to remain anonymous for some reason while I . . . Even if he turned out to be a duke and made me an offer, I am still not sure that I would be able to accept.”
Folding Mary’s gown, Amy placed it carefully in the trunk at the foot of the bed. “Because of your work?”
“You know how important it is to me, but the ton will never approve of what I am doing and neither will a gentleman. If I marry, my husband will demand that I give it up so as not to cause a scandal.”
“If he loves you, he might help you continue as you have been doing thus far, disguised as Lucia.”
“It is highly unlikely and certainly not a risk that I am willing to take without a great deal of consideration first. Not as long as I need the income.” Seating herself on the low bench in front of her vanity table, Mary began removing her earrings.
“Speaking of which,” Amy said, crossing to Mary’s bedside table, “this letter arrived for you earlier this evening. It looks as though it is from Lord Carthright.” She placed it on the vanity in front of Mary, then reached for a comb and proceeded to pull it through Mary’s hair.
“I was wondering when I would hear from my brother again,” Mary said as she fingered the shiny blob of wax that sealed the paper shut. Reluctantly, she tore it open, unfolded the paper and read, her stomach tying itself into knots as she did so. “He requires another five thousand pounds.” Raising her gaze Mary stared into the mirror. “The investments he made, following our last correspondence, were not to his advantage.”
Amy’s hands stilled. A few seconds passed, and then, “I know it is not my place to say this, my lady, but I do wish that you would refuse him for once.”
“There is also Carthright House to consider,” Mary murmured. “I daresay that he was ill-prepared for the expense of running such a large estate. The repairs have been extensive. I saw the need for a new roof myself when I last visited.”
“Even so, he is a grown man, my lady. Perhaps it would be wiser to insist that he stand on his own two feet.”
“My conscience will not allow it, Amy. Not when I have the means by which to help him and especially not since my help is intended to ensure that he will eventually be capable of supporting himself in a home that is worthy of his title.”
“Lord Carthright is a lucky man to have so generous a sister.” Amy wove Mary’s hair into a long plait.
Mary sighed. “He is my brother. If the situation were reversed, I am sure that he would do the same for me.”
The look Amy gave her in the mirror disagreed. “I doubt we will ever know since such a situation is unlikely to occur. If I were you, I would still inform your parents of his situation.”
“They are half a world away,” Mary said. “There is little they can do.”
“You are right.” Reaching for a ribbon, Amy tied the end of the plait securely in place.
“I will send a letter to the bank first thing in the morning,” Mary said decisively as she refolded the letter and set it aside.
Catching her eye in the mirror, Amy asked, “Does this mean that you will be giving up on your mystery man?”
Mary blinked. “What choice do I have? Lord Carthright still needs me and as long as that is the case, I do not see how I can possibly encourage any man to pursue me. Besides, I have already told you that my aunt has forbidden him from doing so.”
“True. But has she placed the same restriction on you?”
“To think otherwise would be deliberately ignorant.”
Amy shrugged. “If you like him as well as your blush suggests, then I think perhaps you should try to spend more time with him. He clearly has secrets of his own if he does not wish for you to know who he is. I think it may be likely that he will not only understand your situation better than most, but that he might be more accepting.”
Chapter 4
“You look terribly tired,” Lady Foxworth remarked the following day at breakfast. “Did you not sleep well?”
“Not particularly,” Mary replied. She’d been too busy thinking about Signor Antonio and about what Amy had said about trying to spend more time with him.
“Well, you did have a very exciting evening, so I do not blame you.” Spooning some sugar into her tea, Lady Foxworth stirred the hot beverage before taking a dainty sip. Dipping her head toward Mary, she then lowered her voice to a whisper and said, “And in case you failed to notice, you are still the subject of attention.”
Glancing along the length of the table, Mary caught a couple of gentlemen staring in her general direction with unfeigned interest. They nodded politely in response to her awareness, whispered a few words to each other and served her a pair of brilliant smiles. Flattered, Mary smiled back at them before turning away. “It makes no sense.”
“Of course it does, my dear. You are far more beautiful than you give yourself credit for and last night, dressed in that gown you were wearing . . . well, you can see the result for yourself, surely.”
Mary scrunched her nose. “I hope this does not mean that I am going to have to fight off a hoard of annoying suitors.”
“I certainly hope it does,” Lady Foxworth said, her teacup clattering loudly against its saucer as she set it down a touch harder than usual. “And there is no need for you to find them annoying as long as you keep an open mind.”
To Mary’s way of thinking, any man who would try to convince her to do something that she had no desire to do—like marry, in this case—was bound to be annoying. To her chagrin, Rotridge had even managed to make her go boating later, in spite of her protests. Signor Antonio would never have tried to force her like that. Her heart trembled a little at the thought of him and of what she in
tended to do.
“What are your plans for the day?” Mary asked her aunt when they were done with their meal and had exited the dining room.
“Lady Duncaster tells me that Mr. Thomas Young will be arriving today and she has very kindly offered to introduce me to him.”
“That will be exciting for you,” Mary said, aware of her aunt’s admiration for the scientist. “I suppose you will be discussing his wave theory of light?”
“Oh yes. That, and his theory on color perception, which I find most fascinating.”
“I am simply dumbfounded by all the languages he can speak. Ten, is it?”
Lady Foxworth raised her eyebrows. “Twelve,” she said.
“That is incredible,” Mary remarked.
“And useful too, as proven by his successful efforts in translating the demotic text of the Rosetta Stone.”
“He did that as well?”
Lady Foxworth nodded. “I believe he is still working on the hieroglyphs, though I have every confidence that he will eventually decipher those too. How about you, Mary? What are your plans for the day? I know you have your boat ride with Rotridge later this afternoon.”
“Yes. I received a note from him this morning, suggesting that we head down to the lake together after luncheon, which allows me some time right now in which to see to my correspondence.”
“Then you have a busy day ahead of you as well, it would seem. I shall leave you to it then,” Lady Foxworth said as she started to turn away. “Perhaps you can join me for tea on the terrace after your boat ride?”
“I would love to,” Mary said, happy to have an excuse to extricate herself from Rotridge’s company if it became necessary for her to do so.
Returning upstairs to her bedchamber, Mary seated herself at her escritoire, prepared a piece of foolscap, readied her quill, and proceeded to write two letters—one to her brother, Lord Carthright, and the other to her bank, informing them to transfer the necessary funds to her brother upon his request. Sealing the letters, she sat back in her chair, pondering the idea that had been forming in her mind since the previous evening. “Amy,” she said, drawing her maid’s attention from across the room.
“Yes, my lady?” She’d been mending a loose ruffle on one of Mary’s chemises, but paused in her task and raised her head, giving Mary her full attention.
“I have been thinking about what you said last night—about giving my mystery man a chance.” Amy said nothing, but her curiosity was clear due to her arched eyebrows. “The problem is that I do not know where to find him.”
“There must be something for you to go on.”
“He called himself Signor Antonio.”
“Perhaps it is a clue,” Amy suggested. “His real name might be Anthony. Do you know of a peer by that name?”
“A couple of gentlemen come to mind, but one is not here and the other is married, so I doubt it can be either of them. But what if . . .” Biting her lip in contemplation, Mary drummed her fingers casually against the surface of her desk. “What if I were to write to Signor Antonio and leave the letter on the silver salver in the foyer. I doubt the butler will know who to deliver it to, so he will probably ask Lady Duncaster, and then she will have no choice but to help me.”
“She will be duty bound to deliver the letter,” Amy said, her eyes brightening with excitement.
“Yes. And then it will be up to Signor Antonio to decide what to do with the proposition that I intend to make him.”
“You will be going against Lady Foxworth’s wishes,” Amy pointed out.
“Are you trying to dissuade me now, after everything you have said? This was practically your idea.” Shifting in her seat, Mary reached for her quill. “Besides, it is a well-known fact that a good romance has a dragon that must be slayed in order to allow for a happily-ever-after.”
A choked sound escaped Amy. “I hope you are not referring to your aunt.”
Pressing her lips together, Mary tried not to laugh as she set her quill to the piece of paper in front of her. “Of course not,” she managed. “I am referring to the situation as a whole.”
It was just after noon when Mary descended to the dining room. She’d entrusted Amy with the tasks of posting her letters and discreetly placing the note for Signor Antonio on the salver in the foyer. Entering the dining room, she was met by Rotridge who looked as though he’d been standing guard in anticipation of her arrival.
He smiled broadly and offered her his arm. “You look just as lovely today as you did last night,” he said as he guided her toward a vacant spot at one end of the table.
“Perhaps we can join my aunt and Lady Duncaster,” Mary suggested, noting their presence at the other end of the room. “The gentleman they are talking to is Mr. Thomas Young, the scientist. I would love to participate in their conversation.”
“Perhaps we can do so later,” Rotridge said, not deviating from his path. Reaching the table, he pulled out a chair for Mary and gestured for her to take a seat. Leaning close to her, he murmured, “At present, I am too delighted by the prospect of having you all to myself.”
It was the sort of pronouncement that would make most young ladies blush. Mary arched a brow, but did as she was expected to do and claimed her seat with elegant poise. As soon as Rotridge was seated beside her however, she turned to him and said, “My lord, I know that you have the very best of intentions, but if you wish to win my favor, then I would advise you to pay attention to my interests.” Her heart beat rapidly in her chest as she waited for his response.
There was a brief moment of silence, but then he chuckled beside her. “You cannot honestly tell me that you would rather join them in favor of having a quiet tête-à-tête with me?”
Did his arrogance know no bounds? “You and I will have plenty of time to ourselves once we are out on the lake.”
“True, though I daresay it will hardly be enough.” His gaze drifted away from her eyes and toward the side of her head. “It is a shame that you did not choose to leave your hair down today. It looked so stunning last night, the way it tumbled over your shoulders in thick flowing curls.”
His voice had dropped to a gravelly tone that made Mary feel slightly uncomfortable. It shouldn’t, she supposed, since he had done nothing but compliment her. But there was something about his voice that she did not like, just as she hadn’t liked the way in which he’d smelled her hair the previous evening. It had felt . . . intrusive.
Aware that she would somehow have to come to terms with this if she was to spend the entire afternoon with the man, she decided to make an effort to change the subject. “Do you like to read?” she asked, hoping that they might be able to find something interesting to discuss.
“I had no choice but to do so when I attended school and university. It was such a chore really, which is why I have not bothered to read much of anything since.”
Mary’s mouth dropped. “But surely there must have been at least one book that you enjoyed during your studies.”
Reaching for his glass of wine, he seemed to ponder that for a moment. He suddenly grinned, his eyes flashing with unhindered mischief. “Now that you mention it, there was actually one particular book that could hold my interest for hours on end.”
“Oh? What was it called?”
“I cannot possibly tell you that.”
“Why on earth not?” she asked. “I am very well read, my lord, so it is possible that I have read this one as well and . . . What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I think it highly unlikely that you would have read this particular book.” His voice was a low whisper as he leaned closer to her—so close that his shoulder brushed against hers.
Mary shook her head. A plate of food was placed before her and she sat for a moment, just staring at it in confusion. “Was it political in nature?”
“Hardly.” He took a bite of his food.
Following suit, Mary tried to quell her annoyance, but couldn’t quite seem to manage it. “My lo
rd, I may be a woman, but that does not mean that I cannot discuss matters that are of interest to men.”
Tilting his head, he stared into her eyes with an intensity that made her squirm. “Very well then, I shall humor you. The book was called How to Please a Lady.”
Mary frowned. “I do not recall hearing of it before, but I must admit that I am surprised that you would find a book on etiquette so diverting.”
“Etiquette?” His eyes shimmered with mirth. “My dear, you are entirely mistaken.”
“How so?”
Shaking his head, he took another bite of his food. “It is becoming increasingly clear to me that no matter how educated a lady may claim to be, she has absolutely no knowledge of the only subject that truly matters.”
“My lord, I cannot help but feel as though you are mocking me.”
“Then you must forgive me, for that is not my intention. Indeed, you are not the one to blame for your ignorance in the one area that will determine your ability to not only find a husband, but to keep him.”
“As I have said before, I have no interest in marriage.”
He allowed his eyes to roam over her for a moment. Mary dropped her gaze to her plate and proceeded to study a piece of lettuce with great interest.
“Perhaps if I enlighten you, you will change your mind.” There was a buoyancy to his words that made them sound more casual than Mary knew them to be.
A shiver danced across her skin, but it was not the welcoming variety that she’d felt when Signor Antonio had held her in his arms during the waltz, but rather the sort that warned her to beware. “I doubt it,” she said. Finishing her meal, she reached for her wine. “Once I set my mind to something, I am not easily swayed.”
“Then we are not that dissimilar, you and I.” Pushing away from the table, he rose and helped her do so as well. “Shall we?”
Mary hesitated. Every fiber of her being warned her not to do as he asked. She decided to act on her instinct. “Please forgive me, but I do not feel entirely well.”
He gave her a dubious look. “The fresh air will do you good. Come along.” Unable to forget the look in his eyes when he’d smelled her hair, his unwillingness to let her go when she’d asked him to do so, or the strange cadence of his voice when he’d spoken of that book he liked so much, she shook her head. “I apologize, but I think you will have to go without me.”
His Scandalous Kiss: Secrets at Thorncliff Manor: 6 Page 5
