Dapple began to strain at the bit. The mare was nearing her stable and knew she was on the last leg of the ride. Marianne slackened the rein slightly, giving Dapple a little more freedom.
The one thing she was thankful for, she thought, as she clattered into the stable yard, was that she had told no one of her feelings, not even Kit – although she suspected he had guessed – and she still had her pride to sustain her, at least for the next few hours. After that, she could give way to her feelings. But not now. Not yet. Now, she must not think of it. For the rest of the day, however impossible it seemed, she must put it out of her mind.
And yet, how could she, when the image of him holding Nicole was playing itself endlessly before her? she wondered, as the stable lad helped her to dismount; alternating with the even more painful image of him looking at the Frenchwoman with an expression of pure love? Nicole, whom he must have known long before he had met Marianne; Nicole, whom he had thought he had lost to the guillotine.
It would have been a romantic story if it had not been so devastatingly painful, Marianne thought.
But she must not dwell on it. She must be able to offer Miss Stock a dish of tea when they went indoors as though nothing was wrong, and then listen to Kit and Adèle’s plans for their wedding with interest, so as not to spoil a happy occasion for two of the people she cared about most in the world.
She felt her anguish imperceptibly lessen as she led the way into the Hall, soothed by her familiar surrounding. She had lost the terrible numbness that had gripped her, and felt equal to at least pretending to be calm. She invited Miss Stock into the drawing-room, and soon afterwards they were joined by the Reverend Mr Stock, Mr Travis, Kit and Adèle.
‘Marianne. You’re back early,’ said Kit, giving her a quizzical look.
‘Yes, was it not a shame?’ asked Miss Stock, fortunately saving Marianne from the necessity of speaking. ‘Lord Ravensford had to attend to some urgent business, and our tea party had to be put off.’
‘A good thing you didn’t go, then,’ said Mr Travis to his son. ‘You’d have had a wasted journey, and so would the good Reverend.’ He turned to Miss Stock. ‘Your brother has been giving us the benefit of his wisdom in arranging the order of service and in choosing the hymns,’ he told her.
‘Oh, good, Sebastien. I’m so glad you’ve been of use.’
‘And then it’ll be your turn, eh, miss?’ said her father teasingly, turning to Marianne. ‘With that new ball gown Madame LaTour’s making for you, you’ll soon find a husband, eh, Marianne?’
Her father’s well-intentioned joviality could not have come at a worse time. She flushed, but fortunately her father took it for maidenly modesty and turned his attention back to the Reverend.
‘You’ll stay for dinner, Reverend?’ he asked. ‘And Miss Stock, of course,’ he said, making a courtly bow in Miss Stock’s direction.
‘Alas, no,’ said the Reverend Mr Stock with genuine regret: the smells emanating from the kitchen were already making his mouth water. ‘I’m afraid I am seeing Mr and Mrs Thwaite at seven and I mustn’t disappoint them.’
‘Another time, then,’ said Mr Travis courteously.
He went out into the hall with the Reverend and his sister, to see them on their way.
As soon as he had left the room, Kit went over to Marianne. ‘Is anything wrong, Mari?’ he asked.
She put a smile on her face. ‘No. Of course not. What could be wrong? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must change out of my riding habit. I would have done it sooner, but I did not like to abandon Miss Stock.’
And with that she left the room.
Kit, puzzled, looked after her.
‘What is it?’ asked Adèle, going over to him and taking his arm.
‘I don’t know. It’s just that, there seems to be something wrong with Marianne. I wonder if Luke was really out, or –’
‘You cannot solve a lover’s quarrel,’ she said gently. ‘If Marianne and Luke have indeed had a falling out, they must solve it on their own. You cannot do it for them, Kit, no matter how much you might wish it.’
Kit sighed, covering his hand with his own. ‘You’re right, my love. We have had our fair share of problems, and our love is stronger because of them. Marianne and Luke must find their own way, too.’
Chapter Twelve
Marianne found it very difficult to concentrate over the next, dragging, days. The time should have been enjoyable, consisting as it did of making preparations for the ball, and not just any ball, but a ball that was being held to celebrate her brother’s betrothal. But she could not prevent her thoughts returning again and again to Luke. If only she could have disliked him it would have made it so much easier, giving her a vent for her turbulent emotions. But even now she could not dislike him, because he had never lied to her. He had never told her he loved her. He had never deceived her.
Or if only she could have disliked Nicole. But how could she dislike a beautiful young woman who had never intentionally done her any harm, and who had not only endured the terrors of revolutionary France but had also narrowly escaped the guillotine?
No; even in her pain she could not be so unreasonable.
The one thing which made it easier for her was the fact that she did not have to see Luke and Nicole together. In fact, she did not even have to see Luke. Kit was too preoccupied with his own concerns to visit his friend, and as Luke himself did not come to call she was spared the painful necessity of congratulating him on his happiness whilst she was suffering inside. She had been half-expecting it to begin with, jumping every time she heard the sound of a carriage and steeling herself to face the coming ordeal with calm. But he never came.
The reason for that, however, was soon explained. Miss Stock, visiting with the Reverend Mr Stock, revealed that Lord Ravensford had gone to London.
‘Although what he can be doing there I’m sure I don’t know,’ said Miss Stock, who enjoyed a harmless gossip. ‘Perhaps it is connected with the business that compelled him to cancel our tea party.’
Marianne’s mind jumped to the most likely cause of his business, thinking that he must have gone to London in order to get a special licence so that he and Nicole could be married immediately.
She was numb.
‘Perhaps you are mistaken,’ said Adèle to Miss Stock, noticing that Marianne had gone suddenly pale.
‘No, my dear, for I had it from my cook, who had it from Lord Ravensford’s Mrs Hill. He has gone to London on some urgent business, my cook says. But never you mind, my dear Adèle. Mrs Hill says he will be back in time for your engagement ball.’
Excusing herself once the Stocks had left, saying she had a headache, Marianne sought her room, too distressed to be in company. It’s for the best, she told herself resolutely, in the privacy of her own room. When he has the special licence they will be married, and then I can accustom myself to it. Once it is a fait accompli I must.
But her heart was dying inside her.
Lord Ravensford returned. No marriage took place.
Marianne did not know whether this made it easier or harder. In a way it made it easier because, although she kept telling herself that she would adjust to the situation once Luke was married, she knew it was not true. She knew she would never accustom herself to it. But in a way it made it harder, too. The constant state of tension she was in was making her miserable. Every time she heard Luke’s name mentioned she thought she was going to hear of his marriage and her heart started to pound, and every time the word “wedding” was mentioned – which, as her brother was shortly to be married, was at least a dozen times a day – she thought it was Luke’s wedding she was going to be called upon to talk about.
But the days passed and no word of any wedding came.
It was a puzzle. But perhaps he had decided not to marry at once, after all, she told herself. Perhaps he had decided he would rather wait until he could return to his own estate.
The idea gave her some relief. If he and Nicole married on
his own estate she would not need to see them together, and would not even need to offer them her congratulations. And once he was out of the neighbourhood then Marianne felt there was at least a chance that, in time, she would be able to – if not forget him – at least accept in some measure that he would never be a part of her life again.
She would have to.
In the meantime, she had to pretend, for her brother’s sake, and for the sake of Adèle, that she was happy and contented. She would not spoil their happiness for all the world. But it was extremely hard.
‘Ah! Mademoiselle! You look beautiful! Your husband-to-be is a lucky man, n’est-ce-pas?’ said Madame LaTour to Adèle, a week after the abortive tea party, as she put the final touches to Adèle and Marianne’s ball gowns.
Adèle swished from side to side, happily regarding herself in the cheval glass.
‘What do you think?’ Adèle asked Marianne. ‘Will Kit like it?’
‘He’ll be enchanted,’ said Marianne with a smile.
Adèle did indeed look lovely in her ballgown, the white silk skirt of which swished around her feet. The jonquil stripes on the bodice and sleeves suited her olive complexion.
‘And you, Mademoiselle, you like your gown too?’ asked Madame LaTour.
‘Yes. Yes, it’s lovely,’ said Marianne.
Her gown, with its delicate blue stripes, brought out the full beauty of her eyes, and flattered her figure in the most delightful way. The tight waist accentuated her slender figure and the scoop neckline revealed the most delectable morsel of creamy skin. But its delights were quite lost on her today.
‘It suits you,’ said Madame LaTour with her head on one side. ‘But it is un peu too big. You have lost weight since last time I saw you, I think.’
She adjusted the bodice slightly before sitting back on her heels with an air of satisfaction. ‘Now, we need only a ribbon to trim it, like so . . . ‘ She held a ribbon up against the gown, ‘and then it will be complete.’
‘It’s so good of Godfather, to spend all this money on my clothes, and on the ball,’ said Adèle to Marianne, as they changed back into their day dresses. ‘I know, things, they have not been easy for him.’ She tried not to look at the peeling piece of wallpaper in the corner of the room as she spoke.
‘What better to spend it on than your betrothal?’ said Marianne. She looked out of the window. ‘I used to be passionately devoted to the estate, and when I thought that Papa had had to sell off a large parcel of land to pay Kit’s gambling debts I was angry. But when I discovered what the money had really been used for I was glad. And I am glad now that papa is to sell off another parcel of land so that he can restore the house to its former glory – or even better, for I’m sure he means you to take a hand.’
Adèle blushed prettily at the idea of furnishing and decorating her future home, and at Marianne’s obvious belief that her natural taste would be an asset during the renovations.
‘And he means to hire a full complement of servants, too,’ went on Marianne, ‘so you will be comfortable in your married life.’
‘I am so grateful to him,’ said Adèle simply. ‘He is so good to me.’
‘And so he should be. You are going to be his daughter, you know!’
Adèle gave a happy smile. ‘Oh, Marianne, it is like a dream come true.’ She hesitated. ‘I hope, one day, you can be as happy.’
Marianne hesitated, then deciding it was better to avoid the painful subject she said, ‘Come, let’s go downstairs. We still need to help Henri finalise the plans for the ball supper. And then there are the musicians to arrange.’
* * * *
Only one last effort, thought Marianne as she looked at herself in the cheval glass, and then the ball will be over and things will return to normal. I will not have to see Luke again.
She pinched her cheeks to put a little colour in them, for her father had commented once or twice recently on how pale she was looking, and she did not want to give him any cause for concern, and then went downstairs.
Kit and Adèle were already waiting in the hall, together with her father, and as she reached the bottom of the stairs her father had just time to say, ‘Marianne! You look lovely, my dear,’ before the guests began to arrive.
The Cosgroves were the first to enter, wreathed in smiles. They greeted Marianne and her father warmly, then turned their attention to Kit and Adèle, delighted to hear how Kit had rescued his love from the jaws of revolutionary France. Jennifer, on her best behaviour because she had been allowed to attend the formal ball, was eager in her congratulations, and Jem clapped Kit on the back.
Then came the Stocks, and behind them the Pargeters and Kents; until soon the house was ringing with the lively chatter of dozens of guests.
‘Well, my boy, I think it’s time for you to lead your lovely young bride-to-be out to dance,’ said Mr Travis, turning to Kit.
Marianne breathed a silent sigh of relief. Lord Ravensford had not arrived, and it seemed he did not mean to come. Although her heart sank, her courage rose. It would make it much easier for her to enjoy the evening if she did not have to see Luke with Nicole. That would have tested her to the limit, and been very hard to bear. But now she could relax, and put all her energies into making sure that Kit and Adèle had a night to remember.
Kit, however, seemed surprisingly reluctant to leave the foot of the stairs and formally open the dancing with his betrothed. Instead of falling in with his father’s suggestion he fidgeted and looked at the door. ‘Not just yet, Papa.’
‘Not just yet?’ asked Mr Travis in surprise, wondering why his son should be so reluctant to dance with Adèle, who was looking positively radiant.
‘No. There’s something . . . someone . . .. Ah!’ He gave a sigh of satisfaction, his eyes riveted on the door.
Marianne, too, turned towards the door, which had opened one more time, to admit a party of four people, all beautifully dressed.
‘Luke!’ she breathed. Against all reason her heart leapt as she saw him, and then fell as she saw that, on his arm, was Nicole. But there were two more people with him . . . two people who looked . . .
‘Mama! Papa!’ With a cry Adèle rushed forwards, and threw her arms round the necks of two middle-aged people who had run towards her.
Marianne, taking in the scene with joyful surprise, felt a surge of happiness for her friend; a surge which almost, but not quite, counteracted her pain at seeing Luke standing next to Nicole.
‘You did it,’ said Kit, with a catch in his throat, turning to Luke.
‘Yes.’ Luke’s dark smile was genuine, with no trace of his usual mockery.
‘You did this?’ asked Marianne, turning towards him, all else forgotten in the joy of the moment. ‘Oh, thank you, Luke!’
His eyes danced. ‘You never suspected? I was sure you must have guessed what had been keeping me away.’
‘No . . . I . . . that is . . . no, I had no idea,’ she said, with another delighted glance at Adèle, who was chattering away ten to the dozen in French and embracing her parents over and over again.
‘Quite by chance, I discovered a possible lead to the Comte and Marie-Anne's whereabouts and went up to town to see if I could find them.’
‘So that’s why you went,’ she remarked in surprise.
‘Yes, of course. Why did you think?’
‘I – never mind what I thought. But go on,’ she said, determined not to lose the happiness of the moment by dwelling on more painful things. Her composure was not helped, however, by the way Luke’s dark eyes were roving over her, drinking her in as though he had been parted from her for a year, instead of only weeks.
‘That gown is new,’ he said. His eyes dropped to her bare neck and throat and then they dropped again, taking in the elegance of her figure which was accentuated by the gown’s stylish cut.
She flushed, perplexed at his manner. She had expected him to be distant with her; brotherly, perhaps; but not like this. Not acting as though nothing had changed betwe
en them. ‘Yes.’ She replied to his comment, hoping to keep their conversation in practical channels. That way, she hoped, she would be able to talk to him without disgracing herself.
‘It suits you,’ he said, his eyes looking directly into her own. ‘It makes you look even more beautiful.’
She flushed, and dropped her eyes. ‘Don’t.’ The word came out huskily, and there was a catch in her throat.
‘Why not?’ He looked amused. ‘Why should I not say what is true?’
‘But you were telling me . . . about Adèle’s parents.’ She made a valiant effort to turn the subject back into less painful channels. She could not understand why he was complimenting her, and she felt confused, so that she wanted to talk of other things instead.
‘Of course.’ His eyes left hers with reluctance and went to the happy scene. ‘Once in London, it was surprisingly easy to track them down. They had gone to London so that they could arrange for a rescue party to go after Adèle. They had already organised one fruitless search and were about to organise another, with the Comte going himself, when I managed to find them. You can imagine their joy when they discovered that Adèle was safe and well. After that, it was easy to arrange the journey to Sussex. They would have been here days ago, but Adèle’s mother had a slight indisposition and they had to delay their start. But now all is well. Their family is back together again.’
‘Yes, all is well,’ said Marianne, watching her friend, forgetting in the joy of the moment that all was far from well with her.
Until there came a delicate cough, and looking round she saw Nicole.
If only she could have disliked the young Frenchwoman, she thought with a stab of pain. But Nicole had such a sweet expression that Marianne, knowing all she had been through, could not take against her.
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