“You broke my heart.”
Chapter Twelve
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Alexander didn’t know what made him confess it. Perhaps it had been Marianne’s righteous fury after he grabbed her arm, tried to force her to listen. He was still shocked at himself for behaving that way; he had been raised to believe violence against women was utterly beyond the bounds of civilised behaviour.
Marianne’s face, as she turned slowly back to face him, was hard to read. She had paled from her flushed rage, but he realised when she spoke that she was no less furious.
“Do you think I willingly married a man more than three times my age?”
Opening his mouth to answer in the affirmative, Alex saw the glint of fury in her eyes and closed it again.
“Oh, I see.” Her voice softened and she looked truly disappointed. “You never knew me at all, did you? What did you think, that I led you on for my own amusement and then married the richest man I could catch?”
He couldn’t remember feeling so small since he was six years old and summoned to meet his grandfather for the first time. The old man’s piercing gaze had stripped him to the bone, and he felt just as flayed by the beautiful woman standing in front of him now, shaking her head slowly over his arrogant assumptions.
To his surprise, Marianne returned to sit down, though she moved to the other side of the window seat, leaving a full foot of space between them.
“For the sake of the affection we once held each other in,” she said, “and because I believe you when you say I broke your heart, I pray you will allow me to tell you the truth about my marriage to Creighton.”
Childishly, he didn’t want to hear it. If she was telling the truth, it meant his resentment of her, his unkind thoughts about her, were wrong. That he was wrong. It was an unpalatable truth for any man to bear, but particularly one of his rank and his military experience. In all those years on the battlefield, his instincts had never led him astray.
Yet now…
“I hated him.” Marianne’s voice made him look up at her and meet her eyes despite the guilt which made him want to study his shoes. If she was willing to speak of something which must have been deeply unpleasant, at the very least he owed her the courtesy of listening.
“From the moment I first laid eyes on Creighton, I disliked him. He licked his lips when he spoke to me and looked on me as though I was a possession to be owned -- a thing he coveted. My father’s gambling debts made it an easy transaction; I was bought and sold with the handing over of a bank draft. Like a piece of livestock, or an ornamental vase.”
Alex felt vaguely sick. Marianne showed no emotion as she spoke, merely reciting the facts in a flat tone, despite the ugliness of the circumstances she related.
“Though I objected vociferously when the engagement announcement appeared in the newspapers, my opinion was not sought and my consent not required. Indeed, when I was summoned to my father’s study one morning, I had not the slightest idea I was going to my own wedding. With a special licence in hand and a vicar who did not care in the slightest about my protestations, Creighton made me his countess.”
“Marianne,” Alex said, his voice choked, “please… don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Her tone hardened, her fists clenching against her skirts. “Don’t tell you about the way two of his footmen forced me upstairs to a guest suite in my own home where my husband of but half an hour raped me with my father’s full approval? Of the many indignities I suffered at Creighton’s hands -- most particularly every month when my courses came and he would beat me for not conceiving an heir?” There were tears in her eyes, and Alexander hated himself for making her relive the memories which obviously caused her such pain.
“Christ!” Alex couldn’t sit still any longer. Erupting to his feet, he ran his hands through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. If Creighton was still alive, he’d challenge and shoot the bastard himself, but there was no one to take his anger out on. “Marianne… I’m sorry. I’m sorry that happened to you, and I’m sorry I thought the worst of you. I’m sorry.”
She sat with her hands folded primly in her lap now, gazing up at him from her blue eyes, looking like a perfect porcelain doll. Finally she inclined her head a fraction. “We have both been at war,” she said, her voice softer now. One delicate hand lifted, gesturing towards his face. “You merely have a more visible scar than I, that is all.”
An hour ago, he would have become enraged hearing anyone claim any experience might compare to the battles he had endured, the awful things he had seen in the war. Now, after hearing Marianne’s unemotional recital, he knew better. “At least I had days and even weeks where there was quiet and peace,” he said. “Your battles were fought every night.”
“And every day,” she corrected with a twisted little smile. “I was constantly on display as Creighton’s most prized possession, you see, and God help me if I allowed so much as a hair to stray out of place.”
His voice shook as he asked “Did he beat you?” He had no right to the answer and said so immediately after he asked the question, wishing he could take it back. He’d made her suffer enough reliving the memories she’d already shared with him.
“Yes,” she answered him anyway. “Until his arm grew too weak to inflict enough pain to make me cry out, that is. Or perhaps, I just became inured to it.” She paused a moment, looking down at her hands. Her fingers clenched again, knuckles showing white, before she deliberately relaxed them to smooth at her skirt. “At any rate, then he had one of his footmen take over, a burly fellow named Stokes who seemed to take a good deal of pleasure in making me scream.”
Alex’s fists clenched. He could at least hunt down Stokes and make him see the error of his ways - but Marianne leaned forward and placed her hand on one of his.
“Revenge should have no bounds, as the Bard said, and I took mine. Perhaps making a false accusation is a sin, but I took a good deal of pleasure in accusing Stokes of stealing some of Creighton’s belongings a few days after his death. The Earl of Havers was of much assistance to me in having him taken up for theft. He has been transported to Botany Bay, I understand.”
“That’s not enough punishment,” Alex growled.
“It is enough for me.” Marianne looked surprisingly serene as she lifted her hand from his and sat back against the window. “Creighton is dead. He no longer has the power to harm me.”
“Yet you still bear his name; does that not grieve you?”
“Of course it does.” She smiled wryly. “It is why I encourage my friends to call me Marianne, and why I seek to make friends with new people as quickly as possible. I would far rather throw out propriety and go only by my first name; if I could, I would never hear the name of Creighton again.”
“You could remarry?” Alex suggested, suddenly wondering what her opinion was on the subject.
She laughed, throaty and full. “You jest! Willingly put myself once again under the power of a man who can do whatever he wishes to me and never suffer the slightest consequence for it? No thank you.” Standing, she smoothed her skirts. “Thank you for hearing me out, Lord Glenkellie. I once held you in a good deal of affection, and though you had every right to despise me for jilting you without warning, it grieved me to discover you held such a low opinion of me. I hope you understand me a little better now.”
“You have held up a mirror and shown me the ugliness in my own soul,” Alex said, “and I hope you will call me Alexander or merely Glenkellie, and permit me the use of your given name should we again have occasion to converse privately. In any case, I vow the name your husband inflicted on you against your will shall never pass my lips again in your hearing; henceforth in public you shall be Lady Marianne to me.”
“I am not entitled to that, I’m afraid. I am only a viscount’s daughter, after all.”
Alex found a small smile despite his inner turmoil, hoping to amuse her with his next remark. “One benefit of being a marquis, I have found, is that very fe
w people dare to correct you. I need only declare I am confusing you with the current Countess and you will soon find half London is giving you the honorary elevation.”
Her lips twitched, and he thought she might, indeed, be slightly amused. “As you please, Glenkellie. I learned well the advantages of high rank in setting trends among the Ton. If you wish to use yours to my benefit, I shall not protest.”
“It’s the least I can do.” He executed a deep bow, far deeper than mere courtesy called for. “If I may be of service in any other way, I hope you will not hesitate to call on me.”
“Thank you.” She curtseyed in return, and then said, “It is possible I may take you up on that offer, Glenkellie.”
“It would be my honour to assist, Lady Marianne.”
Inclining her head, she turned and walked away, leaving Alex pacing, furious with himself. What a pig he’d been, making assumptions of the basest kind with not the slightest evidence to support them! And what poor Marianne had suffered! Watching her leave, the skirts of her plain dark grey woollen gown swaying slightly as she moved, he realised she was almost certainly wearing such a plain garment to avoid attracting the attention of men. Perhaps, because of the way Creighton had demanded she display herself, garbed in the finest gowns and jewels -- always a perfect fashion plate -- wearing such a dowdy dress now was a form of rebellion.
Eventually, his anger at himself cooled somewhat, Alex left the library and proceeded downstairs.
“Lord Glenkellie.” The butler, Allsopp, intercepted him in the front hall. “May I direct you anywhere? The other gentlemen are in the billiard room.”
“Thank you, Allsopp,” he said gruffly, “but I am in no mood for company. I might take a walk down to the stables, see that my horse is behaving himself for the grooms here.”
“Very good, my lord,” Allsopp said, unruffled. “Allow me to fetch your hat and greatcoat.”
Impatient with the delay, Alex nonetheless stayed long enough to don the coat and hat which were swiftly produced. It was getting cold outside, and he thought the forecasted rain was likely to begin soon. Walking briskly to the stables, the chill air helped to cool the rage still boiling in his blood. By the time he found Julius settled in a large, comfortable stable with knee-deep straw to lie down in, a manger full of hay, and a bucket full of fresh water, he felt almost normal again. Rubbing the stallion’s ears, he murmured nonsense to him and was glad the sensitive horse did not pick up on his mood.
The Havers stable is exceptional, Alex noted as he looked around at contented horses in their stalls and stable lads busily polishing tack or scrubbing out used feed buckets. He need have no concerns for his horses here.
A coach rolled into the yard as he exited the stable, and he sighed.
“More new arrivals? Who are these?” he asked the head stableman, who came out to look.
“Oh no, not this coach, my lord. This is the one m’lord Havers sent to Cumbria to collect the Lady Creighton’s belongings.”
“I beg your pardon?” Alex said, startled, but the man had already hurried away, going to take the heads of the lead pair.
That made no sense. Why hadn’t Marianne travelled with her belongings? Why would Thomas have had to send for them? Perhaps this was the ‘odd circumstances’ surrounding her arrival Simons had heard about. Alex determined immediately to set his valet to further investigation. He’d learned his lesson; he would make no further assumptions about Marianne without being in full possession of the facts, he was determined.
Chapter Thirteen
)
Heart still beating fast as she hurried away from the library, Marianne paused at the parlour door for only a moment before turning away and stealing up the stairs. Allsopp pretended not to see her as she scurried past him, and she shot the butler a grateful look, knowing the apparently crusty exterior hid a kindly heart. He would disclaim knowledge of her to anyone who enquired, she was sure, though she would hardly be difficult to find.
Her rooms were empty when she entered, Jean obviously gone on some errand; not that Marianne cared. Right now, she wanted nothing more than quiet and solitude to think over the astonishing conversation she’d just had with Alexander. He’d obviously thought the worst of her, which was truly disheartening. But then, if she really had broken his heart all those years ago, she supposed he had a right to feel angry. The most surprising thing, Marianne mused as she curled up in the comfortable chair by the fire, kicked off her slippers, and tucked her feet under her, was Alexander’s evident fury when I told him of my ill-treatment at Creighton’s hands. It’s almost as though he still had feelings for me. She had more than half-expected him not to believe her, to accuse her of making it up. Yet he had listened without interruption, and shown a deepening expression of commingled horror and rage. He really had believed her.
Marianne could not quite comprehend what on earth had made her tell Alexander so much. She had never spoken the whole sordid truth of her marriage to anyone, had never planned to do so. But when she’d discovered he’d thought she had married Creighton willingly, the words had just exploded out of her, and once she started she could not seem to stop until she had told him the worst of it, though not all -- that would have taken days to tell, and she did not care to dwell on all she had suffered. Now she felt curiously light, as though by sharing the truth with ALexander she had purged a dark weight from herself.
Knowing Alexander condemned Creighton’s actions was pleasing, too, even if his suggestion she should marry again was laughable. Men who showed a kindly face to the outside world could be monsters behind closed doors. Creighton had publicly played a devoted husband who enjoyed showering his beautiful young wife with gifts, after all. How many ladies had expressed their envy, declared their wishes their husbands would be so generous?
Shuddering at the memory of the price she had paid for Creighton’s generosity, Marianne’s attention was caught by the sound of hooves on the avenue’s gravel-strewn path. Peering from her window, she saw a plain dark coach rolling towards the house, drawn by four horses, unmatched in colour but sturdy-looking. Wondering if she should go down to join Ellen and the others to greet new arrivals, she frowned curiously as the coach did not pull up at the front door but rolled around the side of the house beyond her view. Perhaps some servants arriving ahead of their employers, she finally guessed, and returned to her own musings.
Alexander’s offer of help if she should ever require it had been most unexpected, but not unwelcome. Indeed, she honestly believed he meant it - and considering the uncertainty of her future, it was very possible she might one day need to ask for his aid in some manner. She would never ask for financial assistance, of course, but as a marquis there were many things he could accomplish with a mere snap of his fingers which would be utterly impossible for her to achieve.
Hasty footsteps outside her room made her look up, and then the door opened.
“Oh, my lady!” Startled, Jean dropped a curtsey. “I do beg your pardon; I thought you were downstairs with the other ladies!”
“It’s quite all right, Jean. I just wanted a little solitude, that’s all. No, no, it’s fine; do come on in.” Slipping her feet from under her, Marianne rose.
“It’s just that your things have arrived, my lady!” Jean exclaimed. “All the way from Cumbria!”
“Oh!” Startled, Marianne watched as Jean moved aside to let a small procession of footmen enter the room, carrying an apparently unending stream of trunks and packages. “Did they bring my whole wardrobe?” she asked, startled.
“M’lord earl sent his steward with instructions that anything which belonged to you must be packed,” one of the footmen said with a bow in her direction. “Sent all Lady Havers’ trunks for them to be packed in, too.”
“Oh, how very kind!” It would have been of no consequence to Thomas, she knew, but it made all the difference to her to have all her own gowns and belongings. Two more maids arrived to help Jean unpack as the footmen filed out. Marianne joined
her maids, exclaiming with pleasure as the trunks were thrown open to reveal silks and satins in every colour of the rainbow.
“There’s a letter in this one, m’lady,” one of the maids said, holding out a folded paper.
Marianne accepted it, moving out of the way as the maids continued unpacking efficiently. Aunt Marianne was written on the outside in a neat, precise hand, and she smiled as she returned to her chair to open it. Either Diana or Clarissa, she guessed, had written the note.
Dear Aunt Marianne, I kept the two dresses you gave tome, and Clarissa entirely filled her work box with ribbons and lace, but we helped the maids pack everything else from your wardrobe. Papa did not want to open his strongbox to hand over the jewels the previous Earl bought you, but Lord Havers’ steward was quite insistent. We hope you are well and enjoying your stay with your friends and anticipate eagerly seeing you in London in the New Year, as Mama and Papa are now quite resigned the whole family must go. With love, Diana.
A knock on the door startled Marianne, and Jean left the unpacking to scurry over and open it. “M’lord Havers for you, my lady,” she advised Marianne.
“Thank you.” Tucking the note into her pocket, Marianne pushed her feet into her slippers and went to the door.
“My lady.” Thomas tipped his head respectfully. “I wonder if you would grant me a few minutes of your time, in my study perhaps?”
“Certainly.” Nodding to Jean to continue her work, Marianne left her room and fell into step beside Thomas. He offered his arm gallantly, and she accepted with a smile.
“Jean is taking care of you to your satisfaction, I hope?” he enquired.
“She is by far the most obliging maid I have ever had,” Marianne said honestly, “and I would be delighted to write her an excellent reference at any time in the future, should she require one.”
“I think she was rather hoping you might offer her a permanent post in your service, actually,” Thomas remarked.
A Marquis For Marianne (Blushing Brides Book 2) Page 8
