The Genuine Article

by Patricia Rice

  “Lily was fixing her hair when I left. I think Mama is feeling better now that she has found some old friends with whom she might chat while we dance. I think she was wor­ried no one would recognize her after so many years away.”

  Again, Jessica’s observation was exceedingly astute, Marian realized as she hurried down the stairs. Her steps were quick for a purpose. They had only the one male ser­vant to serve as footman and butler and guardian of the house in general, and they were all half afraid of him. Hired London servants were so much haughtier than the simple country folk back home. It would not do to keep him wait­ing by the door longer than was deemed necessary.

  They had hired a carriage along with the house for the season. The house was not in a fashionable neighborhood and the carriage was quite plain and ordinary, but there had been no sense in going too far in debt to pretend they were what they were not. Their lack of dowries had been the main reason for Marian’s decision to use subterfuge in her own presentation. They must be judged on their looks and characters and breeding alone. Knowing full well she was deficient in all categories but one, she felt justified in blur­ring the image a little.

  Allowing Lady Grace to nap late had delayed their ar­rival until after the usual stream of carriages at the door. The three women entered the elegantly appointed salon after the reception line had dispersed, and the footman’s an­nouncement of their arrival went virtually unnoticed. Mar­ian had no complaint about that. They would have gone unnoticed had they arrived at the height of introductions. A Lady Grace and a Miss Jessica Oglethorp were of little con­sequence in a glittering assemblage such as this. It was only their mother’s connections through her family and first marriage that allowed them entry at all. Even Marian’s courtesy title held little meaning since her father’s title had passed on to a distant cousin. She would never be a marchioness, only a Lady Marian—until she mar­ried. She glanced around unhurriedly for Lord Darley. His wife would be a viscountess and some day, a countess.

  He came hurrying forward as if he had been waiting for them. Marian felt sincere gratitude for his eagerness. She might even learn to love a man with such a generous char­acter. She just felt sorry she had to deceive him to distract him from her own true nature. She was quite certain he and his mama would not approve of a woman who read Co­leridge and Hannah More and thought the majority of the aristocracy little better than useless wind chimes.

  “Lady Marian!” he cried happily, taking her hand. As an afterthought, he added a polite bow to her family, “Lady Grace, Miss Jessica, it is good to see you.” When they nod­ded shyly and moved discreetly away, he turned his atten­tion back to the object of his interest. “You look in fine fettle this evening, my lady.” He colored slightly as he real­ized the slang was not particularly applicable to a lady.

  Marian hastened to reassure him with a shy swirl of her fan as she hid behind it. “You put me to the blush, sir. The ball is quite lovely this evening, is it not?” Simpering id­iocy did not come easily, but she was satisfied she had done it properly when he looked more at ease.

  “Indeed it is. Will you honor me with a dance or two? I hope I have caught you in time to inquire.”

  She offered her card. “As you can see, I have just ar­rived. You may have your choice, although I believe Mr. Henry requested that I save him a cotillion.”

  He dashed his name across the supper dance and looked up at her daringly. “Might I have the final waltz also, or is that saved for someone special?”

  Marian wished she could blush at will, but she could not. She merely hid behind her fan again to pretend she was blushing. “I would be honored, but you must not hold me to account if my mother grows tired and we must leave early.”

  Growing more sure of himself with every passing sim­per, he said, “Then you must hold an earlier waltz open and send word to me if she begins to tire. And if she does not, we will sit out the dance together.”

  “You are too kind. Lord Darley. You cannot know how much I appreciate your thoughtfulness.” Marian laid her hand on his arm as he offered to lead her over to her mother.

  “You may show your gratitude by agreeing to go for a drive with me in the park tomorrow. I have just bought a prime set of grays and am eager to see them sprung. I would be honored to have you by my side when I introduce them.”

  Marian batted her lashes in eager surprise. “Why, that would be lovely, sir! Tell me about your horses. Did you buy them at Tattersall’s?”

  Since horses were the one topic he could converse upon with great animation and intelligence, Darley launched into a colorful description of his new acquisitions. Such anima­tion from the usually quiet viscount drew attention around the room, but the young couple appeared oblivious to the whispering.

  Mr. Henry arrived to claim his cotillion, and several other young gentlemen took the opportunity to claim her remaining dances. Marian glanced anxiously at Jessica, who was doing her best to disappear into the woodwork, and with a pleading look from beneath her lashes, she sent Lord Darley in that direction. With a pleased smile and a polite bow, he went to do his duty by her sister.

  Relieved to know that Jessica wouldn’t be left holding up the potted palms, feeling gratitude for the young vis­count’s generous understanding, Marian allowed herself to be escorted onto the dance floor. With a man like Lord Darley for husband, she might even lose some of the sharp edges to her tongue, for who could complain in the pres­ence of a man who sought to please at just the bat of an eyelash?

  Her sense of well-being and satisfaction lasted well through the next few sets, until she happened to glance up and catch the entrance of a tall, dark-haired man dressed in casual elegance. She started nervously and looked away, for though she could not place him immediately, she was certain that she had seen the man before, and equally cer­tain that it had not been under pleasant circumstances.

  She had been more than charming to all the young men she had met these last weeks, even the ones with no wealth and no brains. Marian attributed her feeling of unease to nerves. Things had been going too smoothly. She was leap­ing at shadows.

  She watched the new arrival surreptitiously when she could. In a room full of stiffly correct swallow-tailed coats, starched linen, and elaborate cravats, he seemed at ease with his coat unbuttoned and his cravat in a single fold and his collar all-too-obviously unstarched. His height and grace of manner made him appear as elegant as any man around him; that in itself was intimidating. Marian had to work hard to achieve any semblance of elegance herself, and she did so by copy­ing the standards of those she most admired. This man ob­viously set his own standards.

  She would not be cowed by a man who was patently out of her class. He must be a duke or a marquess or some such, far too superior for even this crowd. She did not know why he had come, but he would most certainly leave soon and she would not ever see him again. She smiled winningly as Darley came to claim his supper dance.

  Marian did not see the immediate frown upon the elegant man’s face as he watched Darley lead her into the set.

  * * * *

  Reginald turned to the tall woman beside him. “That is the young woman about whom you spoke? There is some­thing familiar about her, but I do not think we’ve been in­troduced.”

  Lady Agatha Darley smiled with satisfaction. “She only arrived after you had left to visit your family. She is the daughter of the late Marquess of Effingham. I believe her mother’s lines are through the Earl of Avon. Eminently suitable, don’t you think? Perhaps a little older than I could have wished for Geoffrey, but I understand her stepfather kept the family in straitened circumstances. Now that he is gone, the mother has come to town to marry her daughters off. Not for everyone, I think, but Geoffrey has no need to marry for money. That is in his favor. She seems quite a charming, pleasant young woman.”

  Reginald frowned and narrowed his eyes as he watched the young couple circle through the dance. The pair were nearly of a height, and he could see the foolish grin on Darley�
�s face as he looked into his partner’s eyes. As the woman’s face came more into view, he took a sharp breath. There couldn’t be two of them alike in this world. Flashing dark eyes and heavy chestnut hair were not that common in these parts, nor was the dark complexion. Even the richness of her gown could not disguise the sharp-tongued wench he had encountered at the inn.

  Charming and pleasant were certainly things that she was not. In how many other ways could she have deceived the good-natured Darleys?

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  Darley courteously summoned one of his friends to escort Jessica into supper with them so that she wasn’t forced to sit with her mother and her cronies. Jessica managed a shy look of delight before turning her at­tention to the young man in painfully high collar who was to be her escort.

  The young man blushed red when she turned beguiling blue eyes to him, before assuming an air of cool aplomb as he seated her and asked what delicacies she preferred from the table.

  Marian noted their antics with amusement from the corner of her eye while ostensibly keeping her entire attention on Darley’s rhapsodies over some other man’s stable. She was quite inclined to despise this Reginald Montague on sight simply from the extensiveness of said stable.

  Perhaps she could educate Darley somewhat in the arts. He obviously had a superb memory if he could recite bloodlines clear back to whatever that confounded race­horse’s name was. Perhaps he could learn the classical artists and she could interest him in collecting. That might give them some common ground to converse on. It would be even better if she could persuade him to read, but she had learned at an early age that gentlemen weren’t inclined toward the literary arts.

  Planning Darley’s improvements, Marian wasn’t aware of the approach of the elegant gentleman she had noted ear­lier in the evening. Caught up in her conquest, she had managed to forget all about him. His arrival at their table after Darley’s entreating wave dashed all possibility that she would ever be so gifted as to forget him entirely. The gray-green eyes glaring down at her from his towering height slowly turned to just an icy gray as Darley made the introductions.

  Reginald Montague.

  The braying ass from the inn.

  Darley’s closest, dearest friend.

  Disaster. Marian tried not to close her eyes and resort to prayer as she smiled innocently into those furious eyes. She was mentally counting her markers, racking losses against gains to see how she stood and if she had a chance of win­ning this hand. The odds looked about even, depending on how much of a gentleman Montague might be. If he told Darley of their encounter, all was lost. If he held his tongue and just disapproved of her, she might counter this disap­proval of a male friend with the feminine wiles of a poten­tial countess. She knew Darley’s mother approved of her. That would load the odds in her favor.

  She had to make him hold his tongue. She had spent three weeks setting her cap on Darley. She didn’t have a great deal of time left to lose. There were second and third runners in the contest for her hand, because she was a practical woman, but none of the others were as appealing as Darley. She wouldn’t let this disagreeable Corinthian stand in her way.

  “Lady Marian.” Montague acknowledged the introduc­tion with the barest of nods and none of the effusive greet­ings to which Marian had become accustomed. She wasn’t a great beauty, but she was a new face, and the gentlemen seemed to react with pleasure to anything or anyone differ­ent from the usual. It wore off quickly, she knew, but gen­erally most of them managed to be pleasant through the introductions. This man hadn’t even the common decency to smile through that.

  “Mr. Montague.” She managed a syrupy voice and a light smile. “Lord Darley has been telling me about your stable. You are indeed a fortunate man as well as possess­ing a skilled eye for horses if all he tells me is true.” A compliment like that on top of a subject about which most men were usually mad, generally put them at ease. She sat back and waited to see how he would react.

  He merely gave a curt nod and turned to Darley. “Will I see you at the club later?”

  Marian wasn’t much ac­customed to being treated with rudeness. She wondered if she kicked his shin under the table would he even notice. With a rump as stiff as his, he probably had no feelings below the waist.

  She almost giggled at the thought. Some of her laughter must have escaped, because he quickly turned a wary eye in her direction. Marian pretended not to notice as she turned to Jessica’s young gallant, compliment­ing him on his elegant attire. He turned red but set out upon a learned discourse on the topic of available tailors.

  Once Montague had departed, she gratefully returned her attention to the viscount. At least Lord Darley conversed intelligently without stuttering and stammering. Poor Jes­sica. Marian really was going to have to look into a proper suitor for her sister just as soon as she had Darley firmly at­tached, which wouldn’t be ever if Montague had any say in the matter.

  Marian listened with dread as Darley sang the man’s praises. What hope was there for a mere woman against a man who knew the best tailors, stocked the finest wines, owned the fastest horses, and in general was the male epit­ome of perfection? It was quite apparent whose word would be believed first should it come to a confrontation.

  Drat her dreadful tongue. She had held it carefully for three entire weeks. Would that she had held it one day ear­lier. She could see disaster looming with every pearl of praise falling from Darley’s lips. She had to bite down hard to keep from asking why—if Montague were so superior— Darley did not just marry him. Obviously, they were well suited.

  Finally, Marian could not take any more of it without of­fering something in her own defense. Biting her bottom lip and lowering her eyes to the table, she affected a small sigh. Into the brief lull of talk that ensued, she murmured, “I could never aspire to the heights of such a paragon of perfection. You must find me very poor company indeed in comparison. I do not think I could learn half so much as a man like that must already know.”

  Darley looked horrified. He reached for her hand and patted it. “Don’t be such a goose. Of course you cannot. You are a woman. But if Reginald is a paragon of perfec­tion, then it is only of his gender, for you are the epitome of all that I hold dear in the fairer sex.”

  Had she been herself Marian would have ripped his tongue out while informing him that a female—any fe­male—was five times more preferable to a puffed-up ass who knew nothing but horses and tailors. But she gave him a gratified smile, took his hand, and allowed him to escort her from the supper room. She was quite certain her tongue would bear scars before the season ended.

  To Marian’s relief, there was no further evidence of the disagreeable Mr. Montague’s presence after supper. And her mother was rested enough to stay for the final waltz, so she spent a whole interval talking with Darley as well as claiming the last dance. Gossip was already swirling. She smiled into his eyes, melted into his arms, and willed him to see her as his viscountess. She was quite certain she would be very good at the position.

  * * * *

  Reginald Montague sat sipping brandy, glaring at the noisy gaming tables around him while he waited for Darley to tear himself away from the ball and his latest folly. The viscount was too good a man to ever see the scheming qualities of another soul, and he was too diffident around women to see beyond their pretty paint and manners. The last two mercenary witches who had tried to dig their claws into him had been routed easily by Lady Agatha. This time, the little fraud had managed to fool even that daunting lady. How many others had she deceived? Was he the only one aware of the lady’s true nature?

  If lady she were at all. Remembering her manner of dress and the fact that she had been all alone in an inn of a less-than-respectable nature, he had to doubt even that quality in the woman. The pretty young thing she had called sister seemed innocent enough, but then, looks were not the best cover to judge by. Even this spurious Lady Marian passed easily as a lady of quality in her fashionab
le gown, but her bold looks and saucy mouth betrayed her. The show she was putting on for Darley’s benefit was very well done, so well done that Reginald thought she might be an actress. Perhaps he could investigate her true background. That would be the wisest course to take: confront Darley with cold facts instead of subjective opinions.

  Having decided that, Reginald waited with less impa­tience for his friend’s appearance. He hadn’t been looking forward to informing Darley of his inamorata’s despicable behavior. Now he could keep his personal opinion out of it. He would set Bow Street on the matter tomorrow. It shouldn’t be difficult to determine lies from truth if she wasn’t Effingham’s daughter. He might even present the facts to Lady Agatha first and let her lead the way. Darley more or less always bowed to that lady’s opinions.

  By the time Darley arrived, Reginald was complacent with brandy and good intentions. When his friend took the seat across from him and demanded, “What did you think?” Reginald managed a good-natured smile.

  “I thought about the beefsteak I had for dinner, which horse I prefer in the spring meet, whether to attend Lady Jersey’s fete or the boxing match, and any number of fasci­nating topics.”

  Darley scowled and sipped the port the waiter brought to him. “I mean Lady Marian. What did you think of Lady Marian? I know you did not stay long, but surely you could see she was an absolute diamond.”

  More like coal, Reginald ruminated, but to say so would only get his friend’s back up. He answered honestly, “She is quite attractive.” For a brunette, he amended to himself. Fashion didn’t favor brunettes. He, himself, was inclined to be less concerned with coloring than character, but he was more peculiar, as well as particular, than society in general.