The Marriage Lesson

by Victoria Alexander

  She noted Thomas lounging in another ballroom doorway, watching their departure. Good. Even if Lord Moxley wasn’t the type of man she’d be at all interested in, it did no harm to allow Thomas to think she enjoyed the man’s company. Short and stout and boring though he may be. Even so, Thomas’s smile was a bit too amused, as if he knew full well short, stout and boring did not appeal to her.

  “Now, then, my lord.” She halted near a brace of candles where even the least indiscretion would be well illuminated—no doubt the reason few other couples lingered near the spot. She smiled pleasantly. “What did you wish to discuss?”

  “My lady.” He took her hand and an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. “Marianne. I should like . . . that is, I would be delighted . . . or rather . . . ” He drew a deep breath. “Would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

  “What?” She snatched her hand from his. “Don’t be absurd.”

  “Absurd?” His face fell.

  At once she regretted her words. He was a nice enough man, even if he wasn’t for her. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean absurd. You simply caught me by surprise.”

  “I do apologize.” His expression brightened and he stepped closer. “I know I should be asking your brother for your hand, but as he is not here, I thought I would settle everything between us and then speak to Lord Helmsley.”

  She moved back. “Lord Helmsley has nothing to say about it. This is my decision and I scarcely think we’ve known each other long enough to even consider marriage.”

  “That is absurd.” Moxley snorted. “Most couples of my acquaintance don’t know each other well at all until after they’re wed.” Again he stepped closer.

  “My lord.” She thrust out her hand to stop him. The only way to dissuade him was obviously with the truth. “I am flattered by your offer, but I must decline. You see, I have no intention of marrying.”

  He brushed away her comment. “Nonsense. Every woman alive wises to wed.”

  “Not I.”

  He studied her for a long moment. “I realize I am not as handsome as others I could name—”

  “Oh, no, it’s nothing—”

  “However, my title is old and distinguished.” He frowned. “You do realize I’m the fourth Viscount Moxley, do you not?”

  “Actually, I hadn’t, but—”

  “My income is respectable, although not overly impressive.”

  “That isn’t at all—”

  “Then there is no impediment to a match between us.” He beamed with confidence. “We shall be quite comfortable, with my adequate fortune coupled with your dowry—”

  “My dowry?” she said slowly. “What do you know of my dowry?”

  “Well, I know it’s impressive.” Moxley smirked. “Damned impressive.”

  She stared at him with growing annoyance. No doubt gossip accounted for his knowledge. “I would not rely on the veracity of idle rumor for my information if I were you, my lord.”

  Surprise widened his eyes. “Of course not. That would be foolish, particularly when it comes to something as important as marriage.” He paused for a moment, as if debating the wisdom of his next words. “I can assure you my information comes from a highly reputable source who has only your best interest at heart. I’m certain he would prefer his involvement in our courtship—”

  “There is no courtship.”

  “—remain secret, particularly now that it has blossomed to romance—”

  “There has been no blossoming,” she said indignantly. “And there definitely is no romance.”

  “However”—he leaned closer—“since we are to be wed—”

  “We are not going to be wed!”

  “I’m certain it would do no harm to give credit where it is due. Lord Helmsley informed me of the details of your dowry.”

  “Lord Helmsley?” Thomas?

  “Indeed.” Moxley nodded his head eagerly. “He also pointed out the benefits socially and politically of a liaison between my family and yours.”

  “Did he?” She chose her words carefully. “And precisely how did this discussion of my relative merits as a match come about? Late at night over spirits at his club, I suppose.”

  “Not at all.” Moxley waved off her question, apparently oblivious to her rising anger. “He sent me a note.”

  “A note?” She struggled to keep her voice level. “He sent you a note?”

  “Indeed he did. And I must tell you, I was most surprised and delighted to receive it. I did not know Lord Helmsley thought so highly of me. I was honored to be one of such a select group.”

  “A group?” She could barely choke out the words.

  “Oh, my, yes. At first I was most annoyed to discover I was not alone in the encouragement of my attentions. Then I realized in this day and age one cannot be too careful when it comes to a match.”

  “One can never be too careful.” She clenched her teeth to bite back a more scathing comment. Surely Moxley wasn’t saying what she thought he was saying? In spite of Thomas’s plan to marry her off, he would never go so far as to peddle her like a plot of land he wished to dispose of. Why, they were at the very least friends. And recently, she’d begun to suspect, quite a bit more.

  “And to be included in such an distinguished assembly was an honor, I assure you. Why, I have scarce noted a selection of finer, like-minded gentlemen.”

  “Dull, boring and tedious,” she said under her breath. At once the quality of her admirers made sense.

  “However, at this point I can afford to be magnanimous.” He grinned or leered, it was difficult to determine. “Since obviously I have won your heart.

  She stared at him in disbelief. She was far too angry with Thomas to waste any serious venom on Moxley. Still, he was here and Thomas was not. “What is obvious is that you have not taken seriously one word I have said.” She stepped closer and leaned toward him to place her nose at a level with his. “I am not marrying you or anyone. Not now. Not ever.”

  “Helmsley indicated you would be coy.” Moxley cast her a superior smile.

  “I am not being coy!” She resisted the urge to scream. Why wouldn’t this little man understand? “I am being honest. I do not wish to marry!”

  “Are you certain?” Moxley’s forehead furrowed. “I was given the distinct impression you were looking for a husband.”

  “I assure you, it was a most inaccurate impression.”

  “Really?” He thought for a moment, his face scrunching as he tried to digest this turn of events. “I have wasted my time, then?”

  “Yes.” She blew a relieved breath. “I do apologize for that. Lord Helmsley had no right to encourage you. I assure you, had I the slightest inkling that you, or anyone else, were under the belief that I was looking for a husband, I would have set you straight without hesitation.”

  “Quite all right. Not your fault, I suppose. I would have a word with Lord Helmsley about this, but we’ve never been particularly friendly. Don’t run in the same circles, you know. There’s every possibility I misunderstood.”

  “You and a dozen others,” she muttered.

  “I do think, at this juncture, it is I who owe you an apology.” He looked up at her and her heart twisted. He might well be extremely dull and the tiniest bit pompous, but he was also rather sweet. “Although I can scarce be faulted for pursuing a lady as lovely as yourself.” He grinned.

  She laughed. “Think nothing of it.” She extended her hand and asked heaven to forgive her lies. “I have quite enjoyed our time together, my lord, and had things been different . . . ”

  He took her hand and pressed it his lips. “If only . . . ” He sighed. “May I escort you back inside?”

  “No, thank you. I’d like to remain here for a moment. I quite relish the breeze and the opportunity for a bit of solitude.”

  “Very well, then.”

  “My lord”—she laid a hand on his sleeve—“I am confident that you will find an excellent match. A woman to whom you will be�
�—she forced the words to her lips—“the moon and the stars.”

  “Do you really think so?” He stood a bit straighter.

  “I do indeed, and she will be an extremely fortunate lady.” Marianne favored him with her brightest smile.

  “Thank you.” He started toward the doors, then turned back to her, a hopeful expression on his face. “I don’t suppose your sisters . . . ”

  “I think not,” she said gently.

  “I suspected as much.” He shrugged and strode off toward the ballroom.

  She turned away, rested her hands on the terrace balustrade and stared unseeing into the night.

  So Thomas had gone so far in his quest as to solicit suitors for her. And in writing. How could he? This was far and away too much. She was willing to put up with his introductions to the Lord Moxleys of the ton, but this was unconscionable.

  Well, it was going to stop right now.

  And to think she had begun to believe . . . She squared her shoulders. It scarcely mattered what she had begun to believe.

  She resisted the urge to glance at the doorway where he’d been standing. He’d probably abandoned his guardian post, knowing full well she was as safe on the terrace with Moxley as she’d be with Aunt Louella.

  Her fists clenched on the cold stone. She was tired of his nonsense. His protectiveness, coupled with his arrogant belief that he knew what was best for her. If she could, she’d have it out with him right here and now. But a confrontation in public would be far too scandalous and she did have her sisters’ reputations to think of, even if she had little concern for her own. No, she’d face the lion in his own den, and when she was done, there wouldn’t be enough left of his hide for a decent rug.

  “I would wager you are having as good a time as I am.” A rueful Lord Berkley stepped to her side.

  She glanced at him. He did indeed look unhappy and obviously mistook her anger for misery. “And what is your problem, my lord?”

  He rested back against the balustrade and crossed his arms over his chest. “The same as yours, I suspect. The odd and confusing aspects of the relationships between men and women.”

  She snorted in a most unladylike manner. “They would not be odd and confusing were it not for the arrogant nature of men.”

  He raised an offended brow. “Am I included in that indictment?”

  “Possibly.” She studied him. “Have you done anything that I would consider rude and offensive and overbearing and presumptuous?”

  “I can’t think of anything at the moment. . . . But on further consideration”—he grinned—“probably.”

  She smiled. “At least you’re honest.” She paused and considered him. “Tell me, my lord, what has you so melancholy on this fine spring evening?”

  “Love.” He sighed deeply. “I fear, like you, I have fallen in love.”

  “Like me?” She straightened and stared at him. “I am not in love.”

  “Come, now,” he scoffed. “Why else would a beautiful lady be alone on a shadowed terrace, instead of inside enjoying a festive occasion, if she were not considering the desolate repercussions of love?”

  “Piffle. There are any number of reasons why a woman would chose a moment of solitude away from a crowded ballroom. Fresh air prime among them.”

  “If that’s what you wish me to believe.” He shrugged, obviously not believing her for a moment.

  “Lord Berkley.” She turned toward him, her tone firm. “If love exists at all, it is nothing more than a tool to bind women to men in a manner that causes them nothing but pain.” She hesitated. Did she really want to tell this relative stranger of her past? She drew a deep breath and threw caution aside. “My mother had what was laughingly called a love match. It brought her little more than a handful of children, and weakened her body and her spirit.

  “She died when I was quite young, and I cannot recall ever seeing true affection between my parents. It is possible, I suppose, that such expressions of fondness between them were private, but still . . . ” She shrugged as if it didn’t matter.

  “Surely you cannot rely on the memories of a child.”

  “But I do.” She fell silent, her thoughts going back through the long years. Her beautiful mother. Her indifferent father. She had long ago forgiven, or at least accepted, her father’s apathy toward his children. But she could never, would never, understand what she plainly saw as an unfeeling attitude toward his wife. “My lord, do you recall your mother’s smile?”

  “Saw it just the other day.” He chuckled. “Of course, she only favors me with it when she isn’t chastising me for one offense or another.”

  She ignored his attempt to lighten her mood. “I remember my mother’s smile vividly. Sweet, but also sad and wistful.” She shook her head. “If that is love, I want no part of it. It is an emotion to be found in stories and books and has little to do with the world we live in.”

  He frowned. “But what of your brother and Helmsley’s sister? I understood theirs was a love match.”

  She waved away his comment. “An exception. Rare as a fine diamond, and all the more precious for it.”

  “Then you are one of those women who will marry for reasons other than love?” His dry tone told her more than mere words that he had encountered such women before.

  “Certainly not. I have no intention of marrying.”

  “But all women wish to marry.”

  “If I hear that once more, I shall scream,” she snapped.

  “Ah, have I hit a nerve?” His teasing grin was infectious and she smiled reluctantly.

  “It is a subject that seems prevalent in my life these days.” She tilted her head and gazed at him thoughtfully. “Why is it so hard to understand why a woman would not wish to have her life, her future, her finances dependent on the whim of a man?”

  “Because that, too, is as rare as your diamond. Whether that makes it precious or just unusual . . . ” He shook his head. “It is not the way of the world, my dear.”

  “But it is to be my way,” she said with a confidence she didn’t quite feel.

  She’d never before questioned her desire for independence, her need to rely only on herself. No, she had blindly plunged ahead with her Country Miss stories, her means to an end, her plan for her life. But lately, in those odd moments of the day, or more often the night, when her mind was not occupied with more pressing matters, she found herself examining why she didn’t want to depend on a husband.

  Her reasons were still sound. Men, with very rare exceptions, were not especially dependable. Besides, how could she have grand adventures if she was shackled to a man?

  But why couldn’t she have both? Why couldn’t she find a man to have adventures with? To travel with her to exotic places like Italy and Egypt. A man who wouldn’t dominate her life but share it. Who would value her opinion on literature and art and everything else, even, or especially, when it clashed with his own. Who would laugh with her and be her dearest friend. And share her bed.

  A man to whom she would be the moon and the stars.

  “You do realize the path you’ve chosen is not an easy one?” Berkley said.

  “And yours is easier?”

  “Love, my lady, is the most difficult path of all.”

  “I gather, then, that the object of your affections does not return your feelings?”

  “She doesn’t know.” He sighed dramatically. “We have never met, but she has stolen not merely my heart but my very soul.”

  “My, that is a difficult path.” Marianne bit back a smile.

  His forehead furrowed. “Are you teasing me?”

  “Not at all. Granted, I am not one to give advice in such circumstances, but it does seem to me that perhaps you should meet before you declare your undying love.”

  “You are teasing me.” He sighed, then smiled. “Although your suggestion has a great deal of merit. And I am doing what I can to accomplish just that.”

  “I wish you luck on your path. Someday you shall have to expl
ain to me precisely how one falls in love with someone you’ve never met.”

  “When I understand that myself, I shall eagerly share it.” He laughed and shook his head. “You are indeed an unusual female, and I suspect you might well be able to achieve the independence you crave.”

  A wave of pleasure washed through her. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Thank you, my lord.”

  “No, thank you. You have quite lightened my mood.” He straightened and offered his arm. “Would you do me the great favor of allowing me to escort you back inside?”

  She placed her hand in the crook of his arm. “Only if you will then be so kind as to honor me with a dance.”

  He tucked her arm close to his side. “You do realize Helmsley will not fail to notice our return together?”

  “I do indeed.” They started toward the ballroom.

  “Nor will he miss our dance.”

  “Or two. Or the one I plan to share with Pennington immediately following.”

  Berkley raised a brow. “Helmsley won’t like it.”

  She flashed him a blinding smile. “That, my dear Lord Berkley, is the precisely the idea.”

  Chapter 11

  . . . for Lord W is actively seeking a suitor for my hand. I know it is his duty as my guardian, but oh, dear cousin, it dismays me to no end.

  I cannot allow his efforts to continue. I shall confront him as soon as possible, although I admit the prospect is daunting. It is conceivable he will disregard my objections along with my heart.

  Yet how can I bear the prospect of being in the arms of any man save him? . . .

  The Absolutely True Adventures of a Country Miss in London

  Thomas peered cautiously around the library. The last person he wanted to run into was Marianne. The room appeared empty and he stepped inside, wondering if he should check the sofa in front of the fire for hidden sleepers.

  He strode across the library to the cabinet housing the brandy and poured a full glass.

  Marianne was furious and he wasn’t entirely certain why. Oh, he had an inkling—no, more than an inkling—but hoped against hope that wasn’t it.

  She’d left the ballroom tonight on Moxley’s arm and returned on Berkley’s. How that had happened he had no idea, but from the moment she’d rejoined the festivities she’d refused to cast him so much as a casual glance. There was something different in the determined set of her chin and the gleam in her eye, apparent even from across the room. In addition, she’d made it a point to dance with Berkley, twice, and Pennington, also twice, and several other of his friends. And not once did he see her with any of the gentlemen he approved of.