The Returned Lords of Grosvenor Square: A Regency Romance Boxset

by Rose Pearson

That remark stung, even though Marianne knew it had not been intended to. She did not feel any of the excitement her own maid felt, struggling to feel anything at all for her betrothed other than worry.

  “I must say, I was glad to hear that Lord Galsworthy has a house near to your father’s,” Hetty sighed, happily. “It will be good for you to stay near to the master whenever you are in London. Although I hear that Lord Galsworthy has a wonderful estate near the coast. Imagine! The sea! I haven’t ever seen the sea before.”

  “Hetty,” Marianne said, with a good deal more sharpness than she had intended. “I do not think that you need to consider such things, as kind as it is of you to consider my future.”

  “Oh, but it is all I have ever hoped for you, my lady,” Hetty continued, reminding Marianne just how long Hetty had been with her. “I have always wanted to see you happy and settled, and this Viscount Galsworthy seems to be just the ticket! Handsome, wealthy, and more than able to look after you… I’d say that’s one of the best matches you could have made, my lady.”

  Marianne’s lips tightened for a moment in a long, thin line. It was not as though she had been given any choice in the matter. In fact, she could still recall the day her father had called her into his study simply to tell her that she was to now consider herself engaged.

  That had been something of a shock. She had only been introduced to Lord Galsworthy on one occasion the previous week, which she had then realized had been deliberate on the part of her father. As she’d stood there in her father’s study, a cold hand of fear had clasped around her heart. She knew nothing of Lord Galsworthy and certainly had no expectation of what he would be like as her husband. Was he cruel? Did he have a kind heart? How was she to know? Whilst she had always considered her father a good parent, he had never shown particular interest in her wellbeing, such as it was. Therefore, he had not understood the fears which had immediately assailed her, for he had expected her to behave with gracious thanks and quiet excitement. When she had stated that she did not know the man, that she could not tell what kind of husband he would be, her father had simply waved a hand and assured her that she would rub along quite nicely with her husband, he was quite sure, and that had been the end of the matter. She was to wait for Lord Galsworthy to propose to her, she was to accept and then the news would be made public. Both families were aware of what was expected but the onus still lay with Lord Galsworthy.

  How long Lord Galsworthy had known of their betrothal was still something of a mystery to her, for he had not expressed any particular interest in her at their first meeting. It had only been a week after their first introduction that he had sent her a note asking to call upon her. How surprised she had been to discover that he soon intended to go to India, to survey his holdings for himself! It had made sense, she had considered, for he had only just completed his year of mourning for his late father, and had not yet gone to see his holdings in person, but for him to remove so soon after their betrothal had become known to her had been a little astonishing. He had assured her that he would return soon and she had promised to write to him faithfully. They had only had one month of courting – a month filled with reluctant conversation and an air of uncertainty which had wrapped itself around both their shoulders – before he had taken passage to India. Of course, she had done as she had promised and written faithfully every fortnight, ending with the words ‘Earnestly awaiting your return’ – but she had never received the same in reply. He had sent her some letters, of course, but they had never once suggested that he too was looking forward to being in her presence again.

  It was quite clear, in Marianne’s mind, that this marriage was not something of Lord Galsworthy’s choosing but, like most men of his title and standing did, he had simply accepted it as the future he had no choice over.

  She disliked that intensely. Oh, how she wished that she could have enjoyed a season in London, where she might have become acquainted with a good many gentlemen, dancing, and conversing at all sorts of occasions, before being courted by one or two. She might have had her heart stolen away by one of them and would she not have gone into that marriage with a good deal more willingness than this? But now, as things stood, she had very little choice in the matter. Regardless of what Hetty thought, she was not looking forward to her marriage to the Viscount and she very much doubted he was in any way excited by the prospect either.

  “Has he proposed to you as yet, my lady?”

  Again, Hetty’s words tore at her heart. “No, Hetty, he has not,” she said bluntly, wishing to goodness her maid would stop asking questions. “I think I should like to walk in silence for a time, to contemplate matters. That is more than enough questions for the moment.”

  She glanced over her shoulder to see Hetty looking away, clearly a little embarrassed at having been reprimanded so. “Of course, my lady,” came the now quiet reply, leaving Marianne to walk in silence.

  Unfortunately for Marianne, Grosvenor Square was not particularly quiet, and her mind was now entirely caught up with the knowledge that her betrothed had not yet proposed to her, as had been expected. Before he had removed to India, they had been given a month to allow their courtship to develop but he had not taken the opportunity to propose to her. Those words were still unspoken.

  How she recalled the lack of feeling between them. There had not been any particular smiles, no laughter and certainly a sense of strain when it came to their conversation. Mayhap, she reflected, he had been in as much shock as she over their betrothal, which had led to a lack of affability. Whatever the reason, Marianne was anxious about his return, praying that he would, finally, propose to her. She could not imagine their betrothal coming to an end, knowing the anger that would fall on her were such a thing to occur. Her father would be furious and shame would be piled on her shoulders until she would be almost unable to withstand it. No, such a thing could never occur. The Viscount would have to propose very soon, surely, for the sake of both their families.

  “We should return soon, my lady. You have been out overly long.”

  Hetty’s voice was low, with only a hint of caution. Marianne glanced up at the cloudy sky, feeling the slight chill in the air as she realized that she had been out walking for a good deal longer than she had intended. Her thoughts had been entirely caught up with her betrothed, even though she had not ever intended to allow herself to think on him. Even now, she could almost feel his presence beside her, see the way his sharp hazel eyes glanced at her, holding an almost foreboding look. He was handsome, she had to admit, while turning back in the direction of her father’s townhouse. Her stomach tightened as she let herself consider his features, thinking of his strong jaw, his dark brown hair which was always so carefully set in place. As yet, she had never seen him smile, recalling how his expression was always thoughtful yet rather severe, as though his thoughts were always at the forefront of his mind but yet never spoken. For a moment, Marianne wondered what Lord Galsworthy would look like should he allow those thoughts to be shared, if he allowed himself to truly be free with her. But the thought was dashed away in a moment. Lord Galsworthy had been distant and almost cold in the month they had already spent together, and she had no hope that he would be any different once he had returned from India.

  Stepping inside, Marianne quickly removed her bonnet and gloves and handed them to the butler before dismissing Hetty. She had endured quite enough of Hetty’s conversation for the time being and certainly did not want to have even another word exchanged with the maid for the moment. Marianne was just about to make her way up the stairs to the drawing room before the butler stopped her.

  “My lady, you received a visitor this afternoon, but I informed him that you were not at home. He left a card and said that he would write a note requesting another day and time to call upon you.”

  Marianne, who had not been expecting anyone to call whilst she had been out for her daily walk, took the card with astonishment, looking at the inscription carefully. Her heart quickened for a mo
ment, aware that this was the first gentleman who had ever sought her out in order to call upon her.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, glancing up at the butler. “Ensure that any note is brought to me directly.”

  “But of course,” the butler replied, before carefully taking his leave of her. Marianne was left standing in the hallway, looking down at the card once more and wondering if this was what it felt like to truly have some sort of excitement over a particular gentleman’s company. A smile crossed her face as she slipped the card into her pocket, making her way up the staircase in search of her sister. Even though in her heart, she knew that she ought not to be feeling any kind of eagerness over the visit of another gentleman who was not her betrothed, she tossed the thought aside. Marianne let her smile linger as she walked into the drawing room, telling herself that, in the end, it meant nothing at all.

  Chapter Three

  “And how busy was town today?”

  Marianne flopped into a chair, her smile fixed as she took in her younger sister, Harriet. Harriet had been busy reading a book by the fire until the moment Marianne had walked in and had now set the book down carefully by her side. Being the younger sister, she had enjoyed this year’s London season without having any of the concerns that Marianne had over her betrothal.

  “It was not particularly crowded,” Marianne replied, quietly praying that Harriet would not begin to ask too many questions, not after she had just finished dealing with Hetty. “I confess that I did have to speak rather sharply to my maid.”

  Harriet lifted one eyebrow. “Oh?”

  Sighing, Marianne waved a hand. “She was in a rather talkative mood, I confess,” she replied, deciding not to talk about what Hetty had been discussing. “I was seeking some solitude for my thoughts.”

  Harriet laughed, the sound of her mirth bouncing off the walls and making Marianne smile. “If you wanted solitude, my dear sister, then you ought to have found your way into the library rather than step out of doors. The library is always quiet, as you know.”

  “I shall do so next time,” Marianne promised sagely. “Are you enjoying your book?”

  Unfortunately for Marianne, her sister was not quite finished with her questions, her blue eyes – so similar to Marianne’s – narrowing just a little. “Never mind about my book,” she began, tossing her head, her brown curls bouncing. “Why were you seeking solitude, Marianne?”

  Closing her eyes, Marianne leaned back in her chair in a most unladylike fashion and shook her head. “I would rather not speak of it, Harriet.”

  “Oh, but you must!” Harriet exclaimed brightly. “It is much better to have such thoughts spoken aloud, is it not? Then they do not weigh on your mind as heavily as they have done before.”

  Marianne, who realized that she had been considering the very same thing about Lord Galsworthy, sighed heavily and opened her eyes. “Harriet, you need not pursue me with questions. There is nothing that weighs too heavily, I can assure you.”

  A knowing look crept into her sister’s eyes. “This is about your betrothal, is it not? Lord Galsworthy is to return within the week, yes?”

  Groaning inwardly, Marianne nodded slowly. “Yes, that is so, Harriet.”

  “You fear you will not be glad to see him again,” Harriet murmured, appearing to be able to look into the depths of Marianne’s mind and pull out her deepest fears.

  Marianne sighed again. “Harriet, whether I am glad to see him again or not, I am resigned to the fact that I must wed him.”

  “I see,” Harriet murmured, her book now entirely forgotten. “You fear that he will not be in any way pleased to be back in your company also?”

  “I – I think I am a little concerned over this matter, yes,” Marianne admitted quietly, feeling as though she was slowly pulling her heart apart in order to reveal her fears and worries to her sister and, whilst painful, finding it to be a somewhat cathartic exercise. “What if he shows no interest in my presence whatsoever, Harriet? It is not as though he was particularly eager in his courtship before he left for India.”

  Harriet, who was but three years younger than Marianne and had not yet found a suitable gentleman for herself, gave Marianne a sympathetic smile. “But Father says that he is a good match for you, Marianne.”

  “I am quite aware of that,” Marianne replied with feeling, “but Father has never once considered matters of the heart when it comes to my marriage. I am quite sure that is because he has never had any sort of depth of feeling in his life, whether for Mama – God rest her – or for his daughters.” She shook her head, her thoughts turning morose. “I have always prayed for some kind of fondness between myself and my future husband but, as things stand, Harriet, I know very little about Lord Galsworthy and certainly feel very little for him. I know that –”

  “What is it that you feel, Marianne?”

  Harriet had broken into Marianne’s speech and was now looking at her with surprise flickering in her eyes. Not quite realizing what she had said, Marianne hesitated for a moment before coming to understand that she had expressed to her sister that there was some kind of feeling towards Lord Galsworthy that she had not yet admitted to Harriet.

  “What I mean to say,” she explained, a flush beginning to burn in her cheeks, “is that I feel nothing more than anxiety over his return. He did not show me any particular interest when he courted me and I fear that things will be much the same again.”

  There was a short pause. “Does this mean that you feel nothing for Lord Galsworthy, other than that?” Harriet asked, softly.

  Marianne felt herself hesitate. “I –”

  “Do you find him handsome?”

  Marianne’s flush increased all the more. “He is a handsome gentleman, yes, I will admit, but –”

  “Does he have good conversation?”

  A laugh escaped from Marianne. “I confess that we did not speak particularly often and when we did, it was somewhat stilted. I have wondered whether or not that was because he himself was also quite overcome with the news, although we never once discussed it.”

  Harriet smiled, a twinkle in her eye. “Well, at least you have been considering him,” she murmured, catching Marianne’s eye. “I think that you are quite afraid of what you yourself might feel when it comes to Lord Galsworthy, Marianne, should he turn out to be a gentleman of good character, which I am quite sure he is. After all, his mother speaks very highly of him.”

  Marianne laughed again, shaking her head. “Yes, but you quite forget that mothers have a tendency to speak well of their sons, regardless of their true character.”

  A slight shrug lifted Harriet’s shoulders. “I suppose then you shall have to wait and see how he appears, Marianne. Why do you not speak to him openly about all that you feel?”

  “Because we are not particularly close,” Marianne replied quickly. “I cannot spread out my heart to him when we barely speak about anything of import.”

  Harriet tipped her head a little. “Well, if you truly wish for intimacy, if you truly wish to know his character, then you must pursue that through questions, through displaying the openness that you seek.”

  It was a thought, at least, and Marianne found herself not immediately able to respond. Even though Harriet was the younger, it often felt as though she had more wisdom and maturity than Marianne. It was as though, somehow, Harriet had been able to reveal to Marianne what she truly felt about Lord Galsworthy and the truth astonished her. She was not, as she had believed only a few minutes before, entirely closed to Lord Galsworthy. In all the letters she had written to him, in all the thoughts she’d had considering him, there had been something slowly growing deep within her. The fear that he would treat her as he had done before – as someone of little purpose who held very little interest for him – had blocked almost every other emotion, only for it to reveal itself to her at this very moment, sitting here in the drawing room opposite her sister.

  “I will consider it,” she promised softly, her gaze drifting away from
Harriet as she looked, unseeingly, across the room.

  “When do you expect him?” Harriet asked after a moment of silence. “Did he write to inform you?”

  Marianne focused her eyes back onto her sister, clearing her throat as the flush faded from her cheeks. “His ship is due sometime this week, I think, but of course I have not heard from him since the week before he began his voyage.”

  Harriet nodded, no smile on her face. “Then you must prepare yourself, my dear sister. Consider what it is you want to say to him and how you are to greet him.”

  “Greet him?” Marianne repeated, a little bewildered.

  “You must show him some affection, of course!” Harriet laughed as though she were talking to someone who had very little knowledge about the matter. “Regardless of whether you feel such a thing or not, you must show him that you are glad of his return. Ensure that he knows that the words you wrote at the end of each and every letter are true – that you have been eagerly awaiting his return and that you are truly delighted to have him back here in England. Hang onto his every word, smile brightly and press his hand if you can.”

  Marianne nodded, swallowing the lump that had quickly formed in her throat over the anxiety she felt at meeting him again. “I can attempt to do all of those things which you have suggested,” she replied, seeing Harriet waiting for her response.

  “I am quite sure that, once you show him such things, he will be quite unable to turn away from you. To return back to that distant, quiet gentleman he was before.”

  Marianne sighed heavily, pressing one hand to her heart. “I do hope so, Harriet,” she admitted softly. “I fear that he will bring our betrothal to an end and never propose, as we are all expecting him to. What then? What am I to do then should he do so?”

  Leaning forward, Harriet fixed her gaze onto Marianne, forcing away the sudden burst of panic which had shot through her. “You must not think such a thing, Marianne. A gentleman does not turn from such an obligation, especially not if it was of his father’s doing.”