“Can you imagine Justin’s face? Almost worth it just to see that.”
“I wish you will stop being nonsensical. Not that I’m not grateful to you, but really, that is the outside of enough.”
“Is it? Worse than marrying Justin?”
“Oh, stop! There is no comparison. I like you very well, but I would not dream of inflicting myself on you. And if you wish to think of faces, imagine your mother’s!”
His eyes positively popped with shock. “Hadn’t thought of that. She’d kick up the devil of a dust.”
“She and Grace both. It’s bad enough with Grace virtually disowning me for daring to think of marrying Justin.”
“She wouldn’t like it? I’d have thought it would suit her to a cow’s thumb.”
Marianne sighed as she turned to leave the bridge. “Oh, Alex, you don’t know her at all, if that is what you think. I can’t precisely blame her, for I can see how galling it would be to have her charity thrown back at her.”
“How so?”
“By seeing me elevated above her, of course.”
“Well, if that’s so, seems shockingly selfish to me.”
Marianne refrained from pointing out that Grace’s self-absorption was one of the crosses she had to bear, and was responsible for her taking so much control in the household.
No more was said for a while as they followed the path through a batch of trees and came out at last upon the rough area of greensward, where the oak bench could be seen at the edge of the park.
The walk had tired her more than she knew, and Marianne suggested they should take a rest on the bench. She regretted it almost at once, for the memories crowded insistently into her head, culminating in that last quarrel with Justin. On impulse, she turned to Alex.
“It is over, Alex. There is no hope. If you want to find a way to help me, as I see that you do, it would be a kindness to cease to torture me by referring to this subject.”
Alex sat half-turned towards her on the seat a little to one side, and his frown gave him a gloomy aspect. “Yes, but seems to me there’s a deal more to it, Marianne.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why should it be torture to you? If you don’t care for Justin —”
She could not let this pass. “When did I ever say I did not care for him?”
“Well, I’m damned if I see why you’d refuse him if you do.”
She tried to damp down the rise of distress, tightening against the hollow within her chest, swallowing the lump in her throat and blinking back the wetness at her eyes. But she could do nothing about the huskiness in her voice. “Oh, why can’t you see, Alex? Why can’t anyone see? It’s not that I don’t care enough. I care altogether too much!”
Remorseless, as it seemed to her, Alex pressed for more.
“You love him? You admit that?”
“Of course I love him. I’ve loved him from the first. But…”
She sighed, unable and unwilling to say it aloud. The words were taken out of her mouth.
“But you think he don’t love you.”
She could barely get it out. “Not in … not in that way. Oh, I know he does not. He would have — a long time ago, I thought — but it wasn’t so. I’ve known for years.”
In a deep corner of her mind, she’d hoped for refutation. But in the saner part, she knew it could not come. How should Alex know his cousin’s mind? He’d mistaken their affection as friends for something warmer. After all, he hadn’t known how deep her feelings ran. How should he? It was inconceivable that Justin would confide as much, even to his trusted cousin.
Her cheeks were wet again, and she discovered Alex’s handkerchief once more being proffered. She could not remember giving it back to him.
She held it to her eyes, trying to pull herself together and control the flow.
A strong arm came about her. “That’s it. Have a good cry. Make you feel better.”
A watery chuckle escaped her, so incongruous was it to hear such words from Alex. Almost without conscious thought, she sank against him and laid her head on his willing shoulder.
It was comforting to lay her burdens down, even for this little time. Her tears ceased, but she remained where she was, her eyes closed, as a measure of peace seeped into her bosom. The sun was as warm as Alex’s supporting arm and that portion of his chest upon which she lay, and she sighed with relief.
Marianne had no idea how long they remained thus, but it could not have been many minutes when Alex abruptly stiffened and an icy voice spoke.
“I trust you will forgive my intrusion.”
Marianne sat bolt upright, heat flying into her cheeks. Nothing could have prevented her from shifting a little away from Alex on the bench, and she was immediately furious with herself for doing so. It made the situation look a deal worse than it was.
Alex leapt to his feet, his voice rough with scorn. “You don’t intrude, coz, as you’d know perfectly well if you’d a grain of sense in your head.”
Justin’s gaze swept over his cousin and landed on Marianne. She felt scorched by the fury there.
“Oh, I’ve sense enough to believe the evidence of my own eyes.” He turned back to his cousin. “I suppose you will pretend you were administering comfort?”
“No pretence about it. Exactly what I was doing.”
The snap in Alex’s voice alarmed Marianne more than Justin’s anger. She pushed herself to her feet.
“Stop this, if you please. Both of you, stop it now.”
Alex’s glare moved to her face. “Won’t have him casting aspersions, Marianne, so don’t think it.”
“And I will not allow this nonsense to come between you. Are things not bad enough as it is?”
“Whose fault is that?” Justin threw at her.
“That’ll do, coz!”
Justin dropped a step back in face of his cousin’s threatening stance. He made an obvious effort to rein in his temper. “I came to tell you both there is an expedition planned and Jocasta insists upon your presence.” He waved at the bench, his tone taking on sarcasm. “But don’t let me interrupt whatever it was you were doing.”
“Any more, coz, and I’ll plant you a facer!”
“You may try!”
As the two men squared up to one another, Marianne cut in, furious. “Will the two of you stop behaving like schoolboys? There was no impropriety here, Justin, and no reason for you to carry on like a bear with a sore head. You ought to be ashamed, accusing Alex. He’s too much your friend to serve you a backhanded turn. Besides which, I am not yet your property!”
Her own words echoed in her head and she stood aghast. Justin’s countenance changed as he took in the implication, and question entered his eyes.
Alex’s raised brows told her he had made the same leap.
Appalled at her slip, and too distraught to think how in the world to retrieve it, Marianne fled the scene.
Chapter Seventeen
Jocasta had rounded up the entire party, herding everyone into carriages, and declaring it was too hot when Justin and Alexander proposed riding beside the landaulet.
“In any event, it will not do for the two of you to be smelling of horses.”
“Why, when you only propose to visit Zouch’s Monument?”
Jocasta waved agitated hands in her brother’s face. “We are meeting Mrs Ibbotson there, did I not say?”
“Who the devil is Mrs Ibbotson?”
“Good gracious, Justin, have you not been listening to anything Tom has told us? Mrs Ibbotson is his sister!”
Fortunately, Lord Tazewell was not in the parlour at that moment where the family had been requested to foregather.
“Indeed, we all remember that,” Marianne cut in smoothly. Though why she should be flying to Justin’s rescue, she really did not know. “But did not Lord Tazewell mention she lived nearer to his parents?”
“Oh, she has not come from Warwickshire. She sent to Tom this morning to tell him she was staying with her husband’s
grandmamma, and she is only at Send Place — and Send is scarcely six miles from here.”
At this point, Lord Tazewell entered the room, just as Justin was demanding to know why they should all be dragged off to Zouch’s monument when Jocasta might very well go and visit Mrs Ibbotson at Send Place.
Tazewell coloured a trifle, causing Jocasta to cast her brother a darkling look. Lord Dymond, to Marianne’s relief, saved the day.
“Well, I’m game. Haven’t seen that old monstrosity for years.”
But it was evident Jocasta’s betrothed felt an explanation was called for.
“You see, Purford, my sister declares these obligatory visits are nothing short of purgatory. She says the children are fractious and she must escape the Place. I knew she would be visiting soon, but had no notion she was already there.”
Justin visibly dragged his irritation under control. “Must it be today?”
“Yes, for there is no saying when she may find another opportunity. It seems the old lady is keeping her bed, so Harriet begged me to bring Jocasta to meet her.”
“She cannot wish to have the lot of us descending upon her. Take Jocasta. And Grace may play propriety.”
Tazewell began to look harassed and Jocasta took a hand.
“Oh, Justin, do stop making foolish objections. Tom wishes you all to become acquainted with Mrs Ibbotson, for she rarely comes to Town.”
“You may otherwise never meet her, for it is useless to go to the Place,” added her betrothed. “By all accounts Ibbotson’s grandmother is too frail and cantankerous to tolerate visitors. I thought it an ideal opportunity.”
After this, there could be no further argument. Grace entering the room a moment later, agog and eager for the treat, neat in her muslins with a short cloak of yellow taffeta trimmed with black lace thrown over, the whole party set forward in short order. It had not been thought necessary to change out of casual morning dress and as the day was particularly fine, Jocasta contented herself with a tippet of white cambric muslin, while Marianne donned a short hussar jacket made of nankeen. All three women, however, were careful to wear straw bonnets against the glare of the sun and the men wore hats, but did not trouble themselves with great-coats over their frocks.
Marianne occupied the forward seat in the landaulet, alongside Grace, facing Jocasta and Tazewell. She was thus unable to avoid the sight of the phaeton which Justin was driving behind them, accompanied by Alex.
It was hard indeed to maintain a spurious pose of fluttering interest when Marianne’s attention kept straying to the other carriage. Had the cousins made up their differences over Justin discovering Marianne in Alex’s embrace? They looked to be chatting easily, but that might be a pose. The thought of what might have been said kept her nerves at stretch.
Had Alex betrayed her confidence? She knew him to be close with his cousin. He’d made his sentiments clear. She was inclined to think he had been on a mission when he invited her out to walk. Had Justin’s hand been behind that? No, for he would not then have fallen into foolish error. Unless — could he have asked his cousin to discover her state of mind? Or was it Alex’s notion to tackle her on the subject?
That he’d done so with intent she no longer doubted. And she had revealed what was in her heart.
Had they discussed her at all? They had not been more than a few minutes behind her. Long enough to have exchanged words that at least enabled them to give an appearance of harmony. Justin was obviously still out of temper, but she could not judge of Alex. Nothing could be settled now in any event, for the presence of Justin’s groom up behind would prevent private discussion.
She was relieved that Grace’s eager questions allowed her to take little part in the conversation in the landaulet. How long had Mrs Ibbotson been married? And how many children had she? Three already? And only four and twenty! What were their ages? She could not wait to meet the little dears, for she doted on infants. And a great deal more in this strain.
Marianne did not know whether to be glad or sorry the Dragon had been excluded, for Tazewell was looking battered by this catechism. Miss Stubbings might have curbed it, or even added to it, although she was more likely to have been obliged to ride on the box seat with the coachman. Which might be why Miss Stubbings had pleaded a headache, but Marianne suspected she had absented herself because she knew Jocasta would not welcome her presence. Marianne could wish she was herself on the box seat, since she would at least have been spared the ordeal of watching Justin.
At any other time, a drive in such sunny weather would have been pleasant, and the distance not too great to engender tedium. The Monument became visible well before they reached the lane that led to it. The carriage rolled past but from her position, Marianne could still see the edifice and was able to keep her eyes on the domed roof of the folly that was Zouch’s Monument, below which were the familiar small pillars under arches set all around the slim tower, which at least enabled her to focus her attention on something other than Justin.
A couple of hundred yards down the lane, the landaulet rolled to a halt and the phaeton slid into place next to it. The grooms jumped down and went to the horse’s heads, and Tazewell got down so that he might help the ladies to alight.
As Marianne stood up to leave the carriage, it became evident Mrs Ibbotson had arrived before them. A large coach stood near the trees. The horses had been removed from the traces and were grazing nearby. A set of rugs set with cushions had been placed under the trees and a lady armed with a parasol was seated there.
Marianne’s gaze took in several small children playing close to the base of the tower, which looked a good deal wider and higher now they were closer, in company with a gentleman and a female Marianne took to be a nurse. Lord Tazewell, giving Grace his arm, and with Jocasta at his side, led both towards the lady under the trees. The latter sprang up and came to meet them. Justin and Alex had by this time alighted from the phaeton, and Marianne made haste to follow the others in order to avoid having to talk to them. The children were being ushered towards the party under the trees and in a very few moments, the hubbub of greetings took precedence over everything else.
Harriet Ibbotson was a comely young woman, who resembled her brother in looks but not character. She had the same brown eyes, curling dusky hair worn under a chip straw hat tied under the chin in a jaunty bow, and her plump cheeks mirrored a buxom form clad in a gown of sprigged muslin with a handkerchief tied about the neck and bosom in the old-fashioned way. Her attention was scattered; she bubbled from one subject to another without effort and was at once in raptures over the engagement and Jocasta herself.
“I declare, I had despaired of Tom coming to the point with anyone, but I am heartily glad of it now. Mama will be delighted with you, I know it. High time, Tom! But I will not tease you, for I cannot think of a better choice.”
She carried on in this manner for several moments, until checked by her husband, a quiet man some years older than his wife, whose plain frock coat and buff breeches, comfortably loose, proclaimed the country squire.
“How you do run on, Harriet, my dear. You must allow poor Lady Purford to edge in a word.”
Grace at once disclaimed, fearing Mrs Ibbotson might be crushed, but not a bit of it. She laughed heartily.
“Oh dear, am I doing it again? My tongue runs away with me. Dear Jocasta — may I call you Jocasta? — come and sit by me, do. And Lady Purford too, of course. Then we may enjoy a comfortable coze while the others enjoy the view.”
With which, she waved dismissal at the remainder of the party and fluttered down upon the cushions, fussing as she made Grace and Jocasta comfortable. Marianne saw that Mr Ibbotson and Tazewell began to make conversation with the other two gentlemen, and slipped quietly away on the pretext of watching the children at play.
To lend credence to this, she spent some time attempting to draw out a shy little girl, younger than her two boisterous brothers, but brave enough to wish to emulate their prowess in running around the Monume
nt as many times as they could without getting out of breath. Little Miss Ibbotson inevitably came to grief, and Marianne joined the tutting nurse and bent down to discover what injury had been sustained.
Discovering a strange lady beside her was enough to arrest the child’s tears, and she stared at Marianne with a finger in her mouth and one hand clutching her nurse’s skirts.
“What is your name?”
“Answer the lady, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Oh, are you Elizabeth? Do they call you Lizzy?”
The child nodded and removed the finger from her mouth, displaying a lisp as she answered. “Lithybet.”
“She can’t say it yet, ma’am.”
Marianne smiled at the child. “Well, there is time enough to learn to say it right.”
She remained talking to the girl for a while, although she could not be said to have got much by way of response, the nurse taking it upon herself to answer for little Lizzybet.
Glancing back to the trees, she saw that all the adults were fully engaged, the gentlemen having disposed themselves on the blankets with the ladies. Having no desire to join them, Marianne persuaded herself she would not be missed. Moving to the other side of the Monument, she headed for a copse of trees a little distance away.
It was restful to lean against a convenient trunk, out of sight of the rest of the party, and at last allow herself to dwell on the earlier happenings of the morning.
She felt utterly drained, as if she had gone through hoops of emotion. Only now did she realise how Alex’s questions had raked up the embers of distress she had carefully tamped down within herself. The rawness of the grief surprised her. Had she fooled herself into thinking she had managed to control it?
The desire to escape revived. Should she put into execution that scheme she’d spoken of to Alex, half in jest? Advertise for a husband? Who knew what kind of creature she might conjure up with such a project? How would she know if some seeming gentlemanly man would not turn out to be a brutal beast? And she would have put herself voluntarily at his mercy. Unthinkable. A loveless marriage to Justin had to be better than that.
A Chance Gone By (Brides By Chance Regency Adventures Book 2) Page 15
