Her teasing struck the wrong note. He released her and moved away, turning his back to toy with a trinket on the dressing chest. ‘I know you were married to an old man who was too ill to satisfy you, and you may have thought it permissible to take lovers to supply the lack—but you will not find me so easy to deceive, Mariah.’
Mariah was stung. How dared he presume that she had betrayed Winston? For an instant she was tempted to punish him, but she bit back the foolish, careless words that must provoke a quarrel.
‘I refuse to quarrel with you, Andrew. You may have no opinion of my character, but I assure you I do not give myself lightly. I may have flirted a few times, but I took no lovers while Winston lived—and I should not dream of betraying you.’
Andrew swung round to face her, his eyes burning with a deep fire that shocked her. ‘I think I might kill you if you did,’ he said, his voice shaken by passion. ‘We should go down to the parlour, Mariah. Our luncheon will be served shortly—and I cannot vouch for my actions if we stay here a moment longer.’
Mariah was tempted to tell him that she hungered for his touch, not food, but his assumption that she was a wanton had made her cross with him. He would no doubt discover his mistake if she took him to bed, but he had hurt her feelings and she needed time to recover her composure.
‘Pray go down and I shall follow in shortly. I should like to tidy myself a little before we eat.’
He hesitated, seeming unsure for a moment, then inclined his head. ‘As you wish, Mariah. You will find anything you need in my dressing room.’
‘Thank you.’ She smiled at him. ‘I can manage, Andrew. I shall not get lost, I assure you.’
‘No, of course not. I need a word with Crawford. Take your time. I shall hold luncheon until you are ready.’
‘I shall not keep you waiting long.’
After he had gone, Mariah went back to the dressing room. There she found water, a mirror, combs and other things necessary for her comfort. She smoothed her hair and her gown, satisfied that she looked as she ought, then glanced round her once more. Already, she felt at home in this room; she liked the aroma of masculinity and the feeling of permanence that had been lacking in her life. Tempted by a need to know a little more of the man she was to marry, she opened the first of the large drawers in the tallboy and discovered the shirts and a variety of stocks folded neatly inside. Knowing that she was prying, yet driven by a need to discover more, she opened the second drawer, which contained more shirts and inexpressibles, then passed on to the largest drawer at the bottom of the chest. As she saw the various items of clothing carefully laid between layers of tissue and scented shavings of some woody herb, she caught the gleam of silver. Turning back the layer that covered it, she saw a small shield, which, when she took it out, revealed a regimental crest, but no dedication.
A chill trickled down Mariah’s spine as she held it before swiftly tucking it back into the drawer. Why had it been hidden away like that? Was it a part of the missing silver, which had been stolen from the regiment?
No, that was a wicked thought! She would not allow it to poison her mind. Andrew would never steal from his own regiment. Of course he would not. She could not imagine why he would hide something of the sort, for if it had been presented to him for bravery or some such thing it ought to have been out on display.
Going back into the sitting room and then out onto the landing, Mariah forced herself to think calmly. If she loved Andrew, she must believe that he would never do anything underhanded. She did love him and therefore would not allow herself to doubt him or to imagine that the silver shield was part of a larger hoard of stolen silver.
She retraced the way they had come earlier and went down a small flight of stairs to the main landing, which she followed until she came to what she knew to be the family dining parlour. There was a grand one on the ground floor used for large parties; it opened out into a salon and together, when cleared of furniture, the two became the ballroom they would use for their dance. However, the small parlour on the second floor was used for intimate dining.
Andrew was standing with his butler as she entered. He looked at her, lifting his brows as if to ask if all was well.
‘Tell Mrs Crawford we are ready to eat now,’ he said. ‘I think that is all for the moment, Crawford.’ His gaze narrowed intently as the butler left. ‘Is anything wrong, Mariah?’
‘What could possibly be wrong?’ she asked and laughed. ‘I have been getting to know my home, Andrew—and I must confess that I could not resist opening a few drawers to see what was inside. Do you mind?’
‘Not in the least. I have no secrets to hide,’ he said. ‘Were you looking for incriminating love letters, Mariah?’
‘Do you have a mistress?’ she asked. ‘Should I be aware that I must share you with her?’
‘I have no mistress at the moment and no intention of taking one,’ he told her, a hint of laughter in his eyes. ‘Is this retaliation, my love? I must beg your pardon for what I said to you earlier. I had no right to say such a thing to you.’
‘No, you did not,’ she agreed and her heart lifted. ‘However, I shall forgive you. It is as well to get these things out of the way now rather than brood over them, do you not agree?’
‘Yes, I do as it happens,’ he said. ‘Will you have some wine, Mariah? I have some rather fine French wine—unless you prefer Italian?’
‘Oh, no, I prefer French,’ she said. ‘Champagne is my favourite, but I shall be interested to try whatever you have to offer.’
‘I believe you will enjoy this,’ he said. ‘One thing you have not yet seen is my cellar, Mariah. I have imported wines from Spain, Portugal, France and Italy, all of which have some merit. I shall teach you to appreciate the finer vintages. It is an interest we may share.’
‘If you will share my love of poetry I shall share your interests,’ she assured him.
As Andrew began to question her about the poets she liked and her tastes in general, her spirits lifted. She could see herself sitting here with him often when they were married, talking over the events of their day or news from friends, and she enjoyed the picture it created in her mind.
The doubts and anxieties had lifted and Mariah was conscious of feeling happy. The sooner her wedding day dawned, the better.
A little smile touched her mouth as she imagined Andrew’s surprise when he first took her—would it please him to know that she was still virgin?
‘Why are you smiling?’ he asked, handing her a glass of wine.
‘Perhaps I shall tell you soon,’ she teased. ‘Or perhaps you will discover for yourself.…’
Chapter Nine
For Mariah the next week passed in a blur of pleasure. She went walking or riding with Andrew most mornings, and he normally stayed to nuncheon at Avonlea, or accompanied Lucinda and Mariah when they visited friends. Once he took her back to Lanchester Park to meet with the man who was to undertake the covering of chairs and sofas in their apartments and to choose silks for new curtains in several rooms. She passed a very happy hour or so mulling over rich fabrics and was well pleased with her choice. On another day her personal things arrived and were taken up to her rooms, which had been cleared of the old furniture. The change was remarkable and Mariah enjoyed being reunited with favourite pieces she’d had under covers for months, especially a very beautiful desk that she had once had made for her by Mr Robert Adam.
‘I can hardly wait to move in,’ she told Andrew with a smile. ‘I have written all the invitations for the wedding. You must check my list and make certain I have not missed any of your friends.’
‘I have sent out the invitations for our dance,’ Andrew told her. ‘I think you and Lucinda should come early on the day and you may all stay overnight rather than driving home afterwards.’
‘Yes, that sounds an excellent idea,’ Mariah said. ‘Will Jane and George be here for the dance?’
‘Yes, certainly. Jane wrote by return and said she would stay until the wedding.
It will be pleasant to have the family together again.’
‘Yes, it will.’
Mariah’s eyes were intent on his face. She had a feeling that he was keeping something from her, but did not enquire too deeply. Andrew had presented her with several pretty trifles in the way of gifts: flowers, a leather-bound copy of one of Lord Byron’s poems and a pretty Bristol-blue scent flask filled with the perfume she liked most.
‘How did you know what I use?’ she asked and was surprised at the colour that rose in his cheeks.
‘I fear I am a thief. I took one of your kerchiefs that you left lying somewhere and sent it to my man in London. He took it to a top perfumery and they were able to trace it quite easily.’
‘Andrew!’ She laughed and pouted at him. ‘You are a devious man and I shall have to watch you closely.’
The idea that he had taken one of her kerchiefs pleased her and she pictured him holding it to his nose before sending it off to discover the name of her favourite perfume.
‘It was a charming thought, thank you.’
* * *
Sometimes in the afternoons, they entertained friends to tea. A constant stream of acquaintances had been visiting at Avonlea, bringing tributes of flowers, bonbons and other small presents for Mariah and wishing her happy in her coming marriage. At other times they took turns in reading to each other or walked in the orangery, which had been repaired the morning after that infamous shot was fired.
Nothing untoward had happened, either on their walks in the gardens or on their rides to Lanchester Park. Mariah was vaguely aware that they were protected. She had once or twice caught a glimpse of a burly man with a shotgun over his shoulder, and she rather thought there were more footmen on duty at Avonlea than had been the case in the past. However, nothing was allowed to intrude and she found life pleasant and peaceful.
‘I do not think I have ever seen you look so happy, dearest,’ Lucinda said when they were sitting together in the little parlour they favoured in the mornings. Andrew had sent word that he had some business that needed his attention and would arrive at about three that afternoon. ‘There is a glow about you these days that was not there before, Mariah.’
Mariah laughed, her eyes dancing with amusement. ‘I am happy, dearest Lucinda. I owe some of that to you, you know. Had you not welcomed me when I came to stay without asking I should have gone away again and perhaps this would never have happened. Andrew took a deal of time to make up his mind.’
‘This was and is your home—or one of them,’ Lucinda said and looked up as a footman entered bearing a silver salver. ‘Yes, Jason, is it a letter for me?’
‘No, my lady. It is for Lady Fanshawe.’
He offered the small tray to Mariah and she took her letter. ‘I dare say it is an acceptance for the wedding. I believe this is Sylvia’s writing.’ She broke open the seal and read the first lines. ‘She says she is well and will arrive three days before Christmas. So she will be here for the Christmas dinner, our dance and the wedding.’ Mariah looked at her friend. ‘I fear your house will be invaded by my friends, Lucinda.’
‘I am happy to have them,’ Lucinda assured her. ‘I have only one aunt, though of course Justin has a large family, but we have plenty of rooms, dearest.’
Mariah had turned the page and gave a start of alarm. ‘No! Oh, dear, I wish he had not…’
‘Is something wrong?’
‘Sylvia says that Count Paolo is staying with her and has invited himself as her escort for the journey. Lord Hubert will not arrive until Christmas Eve. She says that she is sure I shall not mind seeing the count again and…No, he would not!’
‘Something is wrong. Pray tell me, my love.’
‘Sylvia says that Andrew wrote to her asking her to the dance and told her that she might bring the count if he happened to be staying with her. Why would he do such a thing?’
‘It would seem only polite to ask Count Paolo since he offered you such lavish hospitality at his villa and his home, Mariah. You cannot truly believe he was behind any of that unpleasantness? He is, after all, a gentleman. Andrew does not think it or he would not offer the invitation. Justin told me they believe they know the culprit—a lieutenant in the same regiment.’
‘Yes.’ Mariah bit her lip, hesitating. ‘I suppose we ought to invite Count Paolo if he is Sylvia’s guest—but I cannot help wishing that Andrew had not done so.’
Mariah got up and walked to glance out of the window. She knew that everyone was convinced Lieutenant Grainger was behind the trouble in Italy and what had happened here. Nothing more had happened and perhaps that was because Grainger knew he’d been seen. He must know he was a marked man and would not dare to come near the house himself. It all fitted very neatly—but she could not rid herself of the idea that the count was involved in the murky business somehow.
Andrew must have acquitted him or he would not have invited Sylvia to bring the count with her. Mariah wished she’d spoken to Andrew of her doubts, but she had avoided the subject, knowing that it might provoke her fiancé’s censure. She had only flirted a very little with the count, but Andrew had suspected more and so she had pushed the thought from her mind, but now it rose to haunt her.
‘You should speak to Andrew if you are concerned,’ Lucinda said. ‘However, I do not think we can refuse to receive the count if he escorts Lady Hubert. It would cause offence to both her and her husband, for the count is a great friend of Lord Hubert’s, I believe?’
‘Yes, they have business together. I suppose that is why the count has come to England to stay with them.’
He had told her he would see her very soon. He had asked her to wait for him, told her that he always got what he wanted in the end. Despite her refusals, he seemed to think that she would give in and marry him. What kind of a man persisted when a lady had made her feelings known?
Mariah felt a cold prickling sensation at the nape of her neck. An icy droplet trickled down her spine, making her shiver. She had been enjoying herself so much, looking forward to all the excitement of the parties, dances and the wedding itself, and suddenly it was as if a shadow had been cast over her.
Mariah went back to her seat. There was no point in brooding over things. The count might give her reproachful looks, but there was little he could do. The date of her wedding had been announced and the invitations had gone out. He must know that there was no chance of her agreeing either to a proposal of marriage or anything else he might offer.
It was a little awkward, to be sure, and she might experience some uncomfortable moments, but she was safe enough here. Andrew and Justin were protecting her. Providing that she took care never to be alone with him, the count could not harm her or prevent her marriage.
* * *
‘Why did you tell Sylvia that she might invite that man?’ Mariah asked when she was alone in the conservatory with Andrew later that afternoon. ‘You know I do not like him.’
‘There will be quite a few people at our wedding whom I dislike,’ Andrew said and made a wry face. ‘In society one has to show a polite face even to one’s enemies, my love. Count Paolo cannot harm you here. I shall take him off to stay with me once he arrives. After all, he is my guest, not yours. I owe him hospitality for that he showed me in Milan.’
Mariah frowned at him. ‘You still will not take me seriously when I say he was involved in Lieutenant Grainger’s disappearance. I know he is alive and you saw him that night at the inn—but I think there is more to this than you know. And I believe Count Paolo is involved. I do not trust him and…’ She shook her head as she saw the amused light in his eyes. ‘Are you laughing at me, Andrew?’
‘No, my love, why should I?’
‘You think my vanity has led me to believe he would murder for me, do unspeakable things to make me his wife.’ She tossed her head. ‘I am not imagining things, Andrew. That man is dangerous. I think he is mad.’
‘Mad to risk all for your sake—to own you?’ Andrew’s mouth hardened. ‘It is not unk
nown for a man’s desire to drive him mad—but I dare say there is more to all this than we know.’
There the subject was dropped. Andrew wanted to talk to her of carpenters and stone masons, and repairs he was having done to the east wing. From there they went on to discuss the many gifts that had begun to pour in from their mutual friends, the thank-you letters that must be written, and where they would travel on their wedding trip.
Gradually, Mariah’s mind was eased. Andrew was clearly not troubled by the knowledge that Count Paolo would be staying with them for several days. He seemed to have dismissed even Lieutenant Grainger as being unimportant in the scheme of things, therefore she was being foolish to let her doubts play on her mind. This was meant to be a happy time, a time of getting to know her future husband.
* * *
Mariah was learning so much about Andrew, things she had never guessed. They spoke of having dogs and Mariah confessed that she had always wanted one of those huge shaggy Irish wolfhounds.
‘Papa had one when I was small. It followed me everywhere and once, when I had been away for some days, it was so overjoyed to see me that it ran at me so hard Papa thought it would knock me down, but it did not. They can be fierce with strangers, but are so gentle and loyal when they love, Andrew.’
‘Yes, I believe I recall you telling me of your love of wolfhounds some years ago,’ Andrew said and smiled. ‘Tell me, why have you not purchased one for yourself?’
‘Had we returned to England to live I should have done, but since I married I have lived in Italy, France or other people’s homes. I visited the house we were to have made our home once, but could never settle there.’
‘Is that where the elegant cream-and-gold furniture for your bedroom came from?’
‘Yes. I purchased it in France on my honeymoon and had it sent to England to be stored for me. It goes well at Lanchester, do you not think so?’
‘It is perfect for you.’ Andrew looked thoughtful. ‘You have elegance and style, Mariah, but I am discovering that much lies hidden beneath the surface. Is there anything more you would wish to bring from Lord Fanshawe’s house?’
The Scandalous Lord Lanchester Page 16
