by Mary Balogh
“I’m flattered to know it, but I doubt if he pays that much attention.”
Chloe stared at her, as if some brilliant notion had suddenly occurred to her.
Marianne was uneasy. “What is it, Chloe?”
“I think I have an idea which may solve everything.”
“What idea?”
“I can’t say anything yet, not until I’ve spoken to Father. If I hurry home now, I’ll catch him before he goes out to dine at his club. I’ll call upon you again in the morning. Oh, and I’ll bring Jerry with me, so that you can judge for yourself what he is like now.”
“Chloe—”
But Chloe had already gathered her fuchsia skirts and hurried from the room, the valentine card clutched tightly to her breast.
Marianne stared after her, wondering what on earth this sudden idea could be.
———
There was sunshine the next morning, and the snow sparkled beneath a clear blue sky. Marianne’s ankle was still painful and swollen, but she refused to languish in bed, and so sat by the fire instead. Her maid had pinned her hair up on top of her head, with soft curls framing her face, and she wore a peach dimity gown with a warm cashmere shawl over her arms.
Her father was not at home when Chloe arrived, and as promised, brought Jerry Frobisher with her. They were shown directly up to Marianne’s room, but Jerry lingered uneasily in the doorway, unsure of the reception he might receive.
He was of medium height and athletic build, with dark hair and brown eyes, and he was very good-looking, although not in the same arresting mold as Piers. His fashionable coat was sky-blue, and his tight-fitting trousers gray, and there was a pearl pin on the knot of his starched muslin cravat.
Chloe hastened toward Marianne in a flurry of lime-green bombazine. “How are you this morning?”
“My ankle is still complaining quite considerably, but the rest of me is very well,” Marianne replied with a smile, her glance moving toward the doorway. “Good morning, Sir Jeremy.”
“Good morning, Miss Cromwell.”
Chloe turned to hold her hand out to him. “Come, Jerry, for Marianne is our ally in this.”
Marianne’s heart sank a little. Their ally in what, exactly? Please don’t let Chloe have dreamed up something that would lead to a scrape.
Holding his hand, Chloe returned her attention to Marianne. “Have you decided about the Forrester match?” she asked suddenly.
Marianne was a little taken aback at such an unexpected and direct question. “No, not yet.”
“Then I think my little plan will give you an excellent opportunity to consider it all at leisure.”
“Oh?”
“You will recall that I said yesterday I’d had an idea which might solve everything?”
“Yes, I remember,” Marianne replied cautiously.
“I had to speak to Father first, of course, for I knew hj would be opposed to it, but after a great deal of sobbing, wheedling, and pleading on my part, he eventually gave in and agreed. Marianne, when Father and I return to Severn Park, you must accompany us, and what is more, Jerry and another gentleman will join us there.”
Marianne stared at her. “Your father agreed to that?”
“Yes. You see, we will be there for Saint Valentine’s Day, and I reminded him that he and Mother were married on that day, and that they were only able to do so after a great deal of opposition from Mother’s family, who thought him far too much older than she was. I said that it was unfair of him to condemn Jerry out of hand, without first having taken the time to get to know him, and I said that you were in favor of Jerry.”
“You did? But Chloe, I don’t really know Sir Jeremy.” Marianne looked apologetically at him. “Forgive me, sir, but it’s true. We’ve met socially, but I can hardly say that I know you, can I?”
“Er, no. Not really,” he agreed, glancing at Chloe.
Chloe had no intention of allowing such minor details to stand in the way of her grand plan. “Marianne, it was your comment which gave me the idea in the first place. You said that if there was anything you could do to help, then you had only to be asked. I’m asking now.”
“Yes, but—”
“If you are there at Severn Park with us, you will be able to work upon my father.”
“Work upon him? Chloe, you credit me with far more influence than I actually possess.”
“Father thinks you very sensible and reliable, Marianne, and that is what counts. AH I wish you to do is praise Jerry whenever the opportunity arises.”
“You make me sound like a jack-in-the-box. Whenever Sir Jeremy is mentioned, out I pop with my eulogy at the ready. Your father isn’t going to be convinced in the least.”
“He will be, because you will mean what you say,” Chloe declared.
“But I’ve already explained that I don’t know Sir Jeremy,” Marianne repeated patiently.
“All you need to know is that he is a new man, that he loves me, and that we should be allowed to marry with my father’s consent.”
There was no mistaking Chloe’s desperation to have her way in this, and so Marianne looked appraisingly at Sir Jeremy. “Are you a reformed character, sir?” she asked.
He shifted his feet awkwardly. “Yes, I am, Miss Cromwell, for I love Chloe more than I ever dreamed it was possible to love. My bad old ways are behind me now, and all I want is to be able to make her my bride. It is important to her that she has her father’s blessing, and so I am prepared to do anything she wishes in order to bring that about.”
“Would it not be simpler to elope?” Marianne inquired bluntly, deciding to test him.
Chloe was dismayed. “Marianne!”
Marianne ignored her, but kept her gaze firmly upon Sir Jeremy. “Well, sir? Why don’t you persuade Chloe to run away to Gretna Green with you?”
“Because she wishes to have her father’s blessing,” he replied. “Her happiness is what counts, Miss Cromwell, and so an elopement of any kind is quite out of the question.”
Marianne continued to hold his gaze, trying to assess him. His replies were more than gallant and satisfactory, and in spite of her doubts about his character, she could not help liking the candor in his eyes. Yes, Sir Jeremy Frobisher was a new man. She smiled then. “You have my support in your suit, sir.”
Chloe gave a squeak of delight, and bent to hug Marianne as tightly as she could. “I knew you’d approve of him, Marianne!” she cried.
Marianne hugged her in return. “I’m sorry to have asked about an elopement, but I thought I would learn a lot about Sir Jeremy from his response.”
Chloe positively glowed as she straightened and went to take Jerry’s hand again.
Marianne thought of something. “Who is the gentleman who is to come too?” she asked. “Do I know him?”
“Maxwell Odrington,” Chloe replied.
“Maxwell Codrington,” Jerry answered at exactly the same time.
Chloe gave him a look. “It’s Odrington, Jerry,” she pointed out.
“Eh? Oh, yes. I’m afraid I’m always getting it wrong.”
Marianne glanced curiously from one to the other, for there was something distinctly odd in their manner. But what could be odd about it? Maxwell Odrington was her second cousin, and she had always liked him. They had been paired off in the past to make up numbers, especially at dinner parties, and they were on very amicable terms. She looked at Jerry. “Are you and Maxwell well acquainted, Sir Jeremy?”
“Oh, yes. We go back years.”
She wondered how it could be that he still made a mistake about the name of someone he’d known for years, but she said nothing more.
Chloe swiftly moved on to the traveling arrangements. “We will leave in a week’s time, Marianne, and Jerry and Maxwell will follow within a day or so. We should all be there just before Saint Valentine’s Day. I understand that Maxwell has affairs to attend to which prevent him leaving with us. Your ankle will be better by then, won’t it?”
“I sincer
ely hope so,” Marianne replied with feeling.
“Good. I mean to make it quite impossible for Father to reasonably withhold his consent for me to marry Jerry. Everything must go smoothly, without so much as the tiniest ripple to spoil it. I want Father to find the whole visit an exceeding gracious and civilized affair.”
Marianne smiled. “Which it will be, since we are all gracious and civilized beings,” she said.
Chloe bit her lip ruefully. “You know what I mean. I want it all to be special, and so you and Maxwell must get on well throughout your stay.”
“Maxwell and I always get on well,” Marianne pointed out, but then a thought occurred to her. “Actually, I was under the impression that Maxwell was in Scotland at the moment.”
Jerry shook his head. “Oh, no, for I was with him at his lodgings in Conduit Street only yesterday.”
Chloe cleared her throat. “Brook Street. His lodgings are in Brook Street,” she said.
“Er, isn’t that what I said? Yes, of course they are in Brook Street.”
Marianne was perplexed, for there was definitely something strange in their conduct. But why on earth would that be? The most obvious explanation was simply that Jerry was still nervous about being on trial, so to speak. Yes, it had to be something like that, for why else would he stumble over facts which quite patently must be well known to him?
Chloe was at pains to smooth the moment over. “Oh, Jerry, your memory is quite atrocious at times. I vow you might one day forget to turn up at the church.”
He smiled. “That is something I will never forget to do,” he murmured, putting his hand briefly to her cheek.
Chloe’s fingers closed fleetingly over his, and then she turned as there was a tap at the door. Marianne’s maid came in with another infusion of valerian and honey for her mistress.
Chloe decided it was time she and Jerry took their leave. “We’ll go now, Marianne, for I don’t wish to tire you out and delay your recovery. That wouldn’t do at all! I’ll call again tomorrow, you may be sure of that.”
“It was good to see you, Chloe. And you, Sir Jeremy.” Marianne smiled at him.
He stepped forward to take her hand and raise it to his lips. “Chloe and I will be eternally grateful to you, Miss Cromwell.”
“And to Maxwell,” she pointed out.
“Eh? Oh, yes, and to Maxwell, of course.”
Chloe took his arm and steered him toward the door. “Until tomorrow, Marianne.”
“Until then.”
They withdrew, and the maid advanced with the valerian and honey. Marianne pulled a face at it.
———
Outside, as their carriage drew away, Chloe and Jerry exchanged secretive smiles. Chloe looked well pleased with herself, and ignored her maid, who tried to appear invisible in a corner seat. “It’s going excellently, is it not?” she said. “It would appear to be.”
“No thanks to your memory, sir.”
“I promise to do better from now on.”
“I trust so, or you may prove our undoing.” He reached across to take her hands. “You may count upon me to carry it off handsomely, my darling,” he murmured, pulling her gently toward him.
She came willingly, and their lips met in a long, sweet kiss.
An unwilling observer, the maid felt her cheeks grow warm, and she turned her attention determinedly upon the street. She wondered what Mr. Pendeven would have said had he seen his daughter’s conduct at this moment.
———
On the afternoon before the planned departure for Severn Park and the distant Forest of Dean, Marianne decided it would be sensible to exercise her ankle, to be certain that it was strong again. A leisurely stroll around nearby Berkeley Square seemed the obvious thing, and so at three o’clock precisely, she and her maid set off north along Berkeley Street.
Marianne wore rose poplin, a tightly belted pelisse over a matching gown, and there was a filmy rose gauze scarf trailing from her cream silk jockey bonnet. She wore cream leather ankle boots, and her hands were warm in a green velvet muff.
The snow had gone now, and the February sun was almost warm. Carriages bowled elegantly past, their glossy teams stepping high, and close to the southeastern corner of the square, the calls of a young flower girl echoed over the cobbles as she sold posies of snowdrops picked fresh in the countryside that morning.
Berkeley Square was very beautiful, with fine brown brick houses, and a railed garden in the center. The garden was surrounded by plane trees, and was presided over by an equestrian statue of the king as Marcus Aurelius. The statue was not a success, for it was made of lead, and was far too heavy for the horse’s legs, with the result that they bowed alarmingly at the knees, but it was placed in a small paved area where there were shrubs and a bench, and it was to this bench that Marianne and the maid repaired after completing a circuit of the square.
They sat facing Gunter’s, whose famous confectionery and cream ices were much sought after in summertime, when it was the thing for gentlemen to bring the ices to their ladies, who sat in open carriages beneath the leafy plane trees. The trees were bare now, and in such weather it wasn’t at all the thing to eat ices, but a constant stream of carriages arrived and departed as society sampled the other delights Gunter’s created.
Marianne’s thoughts were upon the forthcoming stay at Severn Park, and whether or not she had instructed her maid to pack everything she would require. She wasn’t looking at anything in particular, just gazing around in general, and so it was that her wandering glance fell upon a stylish yellow cabriolet drawn up at the curb in front of a house a little to the north of Gunter’s.
It was a very dashing vehicle drawn by a single black horse, and was in the care of one of the small liveried grooms known as tigers, who perched on tiny seats at the rear when their masters were at the reins. The door of the house opened, and the tiger turned swiftly, as if in expectation. Seeing the gentleman who emerged, the tiger touched his cap, and prepared to give the reins to him.
Belatedly, Marianne remembered that the house was the residence of Piers’ uncle, for it was Piers himself who had come out to the waiting cabriolet. He was dressed in a dark brown coat and white cord trousers, and he paused for a moment to tease on his kid gloves and then put his hat on. As he did so, something made him look directly toward the bench, almost as if he had felt Marianne’s steady gaze. He hesitated, and then shook his head at the tiger before crossing the road toward the garden.
She thought about hurriedly getting up and walking away, but that would have been childish, and so she remained reluctantly where she was.
He removed his hat as he reached the bench, and the sunlight was vivid upon his golden hair. “Good afternoon, Marianne.”
“Good afternoon, sir.”
His gray eyes flickered. “Still as frosty as ever?”
“Civility was what was agreed upon. No more and no less.”
“Ah, yes, so it was,” he murmured with a sigh. “I trust that it is in order to politely inquire after your ankle?”
“It is in order, sir, but I would prefer it in future if you addressed me by my surname.” She was amazed at how cool and collected she sounded, for inside she was in turmoil.
“As you wish,” he replied a little stiffly. “My purpose in approaching you now is simply to inform you that I will shortly be leaving London for my estates in Yorkshire, and so you will not need to fear encountering me again.”
“I am leaving town myself,” she answered.
“Ah, yes, no doubt you are. Marriage contracts require much attention, do they not?”
“Marriage contracts?”
“That is why you’re going, isn’t it?”
“Nothing has been settled yet, sir.”
“But I understood from your father that it was virtually signed and sealed with Forrester.”
She was surprised. “You’ve spoken to my father?”
“We, er, came face-to-face at our mutual club. It wasn’t exactly an agreea
ble meeting, but endured long enough for him to inform me with some alacrity that your future with Forrester was now certain.”
“My father is anticipating somewhat, sir, for I have yet to make up my mind.”
“Indeed? Well, I’m sure your father’s eagerness is understandable, for he always espoused Forrester’s cause against mine.”
“That isn’t so, sir. My father merely wishes me to be happy.”
“Something he was sure I would not make you.”
His eyes were very gray in the sunlight, almost as if he could see into her soul.
She had to look away. “He was right, was he not?” she murmured.
A wry smile touched his lips, and he didn’t respond.
Marianne rose to her feet. “I think we have been civil for long enough, don’t you?” She found it unheal able to be so close to him without reaching out. She wanted to touch him, to be in his arms, to be kissed, to be coaxed into submission… Treacherous feelings threatened to take over, and a telltale blush began to seep into her otherwise pale cheeks. She had to get away from him, for if he should realize how she really felt, she would be humiliated and crushed all over again.
As she began to walk away, followed by the maid, he called after her. “I wish you well should you accept Forrester, Miss Cromwell, and I trust that you will be equally as generous in your response to news of my betrothal.”
She halted, and whirled about. “Your betrothal?”
“Yes.”
A hot knife cut through her. “Then… then of course I wish you well. Do I know the lady concerned?”
“You do.”
“Who is she?”
He smiled a little. “I fear there are obstacles to naming her just yet.”
She looked at him. “Obstacles, sir? Surely it cannot be that you have been caught in unfaithfulness a second time? How very careless of you.”
“How typical of you to leap to that particular conclusion, Marianne.”
“One speaks as one finds,” she replied.
“Such sourness does not become you, Marianne,” he said softly. “I preferred you as you were.”
“A gullible fool?”
“A sweet, loving, adorable creature, whose trust I unwisely forfeited,” he corrected.
