by Rose Pearson
Trying to reassure herself, Marianne smiled tightly. “I do hope so,” she whispered, just as a rap at the door caught her attention. Turning, she called for them to enter, suddenly recalling the card in her pocket.
“My lady.”
Hetty stepped inside and Marianne’s smile quickly faded. “Yes, Hetty? What is it?”
“I heard some news from one of the errand boys that I thought I should tell you, my lady,” Hetty said at once, sounding excited. “The ship, the one that Lord Galsworthy is on, it has been spotted off the coast of England.”
Marianne’s heart dropped to her toes, her breath catching. “‘The Sea Maiden’?” she asked, seeing Harriet send a sharp glance in her direction.
“Yes, that be it, my lady,” Hetty replied, looking thoroughly delighted. “They think it be but two days until it docks, if not sooner.”
There was a sudden, strained silence as Marianne found her throat closing up, all sorts of emotions ripping through her as she tried her best to find something to say in response. The memory of how he had left her, bidding her farewell with a simple bow over her hand instead of any sort of affection, left her feeling suddenly cold.
“Thank you, Hetty,” Harriet said, shattering the quiet. “As you can see, your mistress is overcome with the news.” She sent a warning look in Marianne’s direction who somehow managed to get her lips to curve into a semblance of a smile. The last thing she needed was for the staff to know that she felt anxious over her betrothed’s return.
“I am,” Marianne managed to say as Hetty’s worried look faded away. “Quite overcome. Yes. Thank you for coming to inform me, Hetty.”
Hetty nodded, bobbed, and inquired if there was anything else that they required. Sending her away with the direction that a tea tray be brought at once, Harriet let out a long breath and shook her head. “My dear Marianne, you must try to compose yourself, particularly in front of the staff.”
“I am doing my best,” Marianne replied, aware of just how quickly her heart was beating. “I am a little surprised, that is all.”
Harriet shook her head in exasperation. “You knew he was to return soon, did you not? Now you must prepare yourself for his arrival, for I am quite certain that he will call upon you almost the moment he sets foot back in England.”
Marianne did not feel the same certainty but tried to smile, her heart pounding frantically as anxiety shot through her. “I do hope so, Harriet,” she said softly, her fingers twisting together. “But I fear that he may avoid me altogether.”
“Tosh!” Harriet exclaimed as Hetty arrived back with the tea tray. “He will be here taking tea with us both, very soon. I am quite sure of it.”
Chapter Four
“Thank you, Captain, for a safe voyage.”
The Captain chuckled, his beady eyes taking in Philip’s dull countenance and rather unsteady footing.
“You have discovered, then, that the land is not as steady as it once seemed,” he chuckled, putting a heavy hand on Philip’s shoulder. “I did warn you, didn’t I?”
Philip’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “You did, Captain. Yes, it appears as though my legs are quite unused to walking on land again. I do hope their knowledge of steady ground will return soon.” He tried to chuckle but the queasiness in his stomach doubled as he did so and so he immediately gave up the attempt.
“You will be yourself again by tomorrow,” the Captain promised, making Philip let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, my lord, for your kind gesture towards myself and my crew.” He patted the pocket that now held the small bag of coins which Philip had given him, on top of the money owed for the journey. “Should you ever wish to return to India, I beg that you seek my ship out again.”
“I will,” Philip replied honestly. The man had captained the ship well and Philip had never once felt unsafe. “But I doubt that I shall return to India again in the next few years. I have plenty of responsibilities here.” An image of Miss Weston flashed into his mind, his smile fading almost immediately. “Although I shall forever be grateful to you for bringing me here in safety.”
They bade farewell and Philip immediately made his way to the carriage, knowing that it would not take him particularly long to return to his townhouse. He had no doubt that his mother would be waiting there, desperate to see him as she had claimed in her letters. Had it not been for his sister’s presence here in London – for she had married one Lord Youngson only a few months before their father’s death – then Philip might never have gone to India. His sister had assured him that she would care for their mother in the time he was away and so his mother’s letters, begging him to return, had never truly worn upon his conscience.
You ought to go to see your bride.
Speaking of his conscience, the faint voice in his head now pricked at him uncomfortably, telling him that he ought to go to call upon Miss Weston at his earliest convenience. Grateful that the swaying of the carriage reminded him of the sea and, thus, took away some of his nausea, Philip closed his eyes and rested his head back against the squabs. He did not need to go and see the lady, he told himself, not immediately. He was still rather unsure on his feet, was he not, and certainly could not go into Lord Bridgestone’s townhouse when he might cast up his accounts at any moment! No, he would need to wash, change, and rest before he allowed himself to call upon Miss Weston.
Opening his eyes, Philip allowed himself to look out of the carriage window, relieved that he did not immediately feel ill once more. It was very strange, being so aware that the thing he had longed for the most now felt so unusual to him. Solid ground had become the enemy to his stomach and his mind, making him feel so poorly that he wanted nothing other than to lie down and close his eyes. It reminded him of his first few days at sea, where he had clung to his bunk and inwardly cried out for respite. The Captain had assured him that it would pass – and so it had. Therefore, he had to pray that this strange feeling of sickness would wear off very soon. He had no doubt that his mother would nag at him about his duty to Miss Weston from almost the very moment he arrived home.
Home.
The word ought to have brought him joy, but instead, all he felt was an increasing dread. Home meant responsibility, it meant duty, and whilst he did not shirk from it, he did not wish to face it either. The things that were expected of him when it came to his estate were quite understandable and, as far as they were concerned, he both accepted and almost enjoyed them. But to marry and produce an heir was not something he truly felt prepared for. Especially when the betrothal had been foisted upon him, when he had not been given the opportunity to find a bride of his own. The shock of it had made him almost recoil, withdrawing into himself in the month he had been meant to be courting Miss Weston. To escape from her and from his duty had been his single aim, and he had done so quite wonderfully. To return to it now brought him no pleasure.
Suddenly, his breath caught. There! A face he recognized. He rapped on the roof, and the carriage came to a sudden halt, jerking him in his seat. Philip did not care. His gaze was entirely fixed on the lady walking towards Grosvenor Square.
It was Miss Weston.
She was more lovely than he remembered. The bonnet she wore did not quite manage to hide the curls which escaped from their confines, bouncing gently around her forehead as she attempted to push one back into its place. The gentle curve of her neck, her delicate cheekbones, the full, pink lips – how had he forgotten such beauty? The way her eyes roved all about her, filled with curiosity, as she took everyone and everything in, quite caught his interest. She was lovely in every which way. He ought to be delighted that such a beauty would be on his arm as his wife!
But there is more to a lady than her beauty.
Slowly, his heart began to settle from its wild, unsettling rhythm. He had allowed himself to be caught by her loveliness and had, at that moment, quite forgotten the rest of his difficulties when it came to considering her. There had been that uncertainty which had lingered on in his mind wheneve
r he had thought of her these last few months. She had never appeared as free with him as she did now. There had never been that gentle smile curving her lips, that brightness in her eyes. He had been quite sure that it was because she did not wish to marry him, that her lack of willingness over their arranged betrothal had kept any sort of happiness from them both. Their lack of conversation, their absence of smiles and witty remarks had quite convinced him that she was more than reluctant to wed him. That was why, on seeing her now, Philip was quite sure she would never appear that way with him.
His gut twisted. Knocking on the roof again, he urged the carriage onwards, turning his face away from his bride to be. She had not seen him and that was probably for the best. He would have time to compose himself, to consider what he would say to her when they met again. Having now laid eyes on her, he would not be so caught by her beauty, would not be taken aback by the light in her eyes or the fair curls that brushed her temples. They would greet one another politely and he would do his duty as he had agreed.
Of course, he would still have to propose to her, as he had not yet managed to do. His brow furrowed as the carriage pulled up to his townhouse. Why was he so reluctant? It was the simplest of things and would set the wedding plans in motion, just as everyone expected. There would be the banns called and, after three Sundays, the marriage would take place. Thereafter, they would return to his estate and resume life there, as husband and wife.
Why, then, could he not find the courage to do such a simple thing as ask his betrothed to marry him? Regardless of what he felt, regardless of what he feared, it was his duty. And his duty was to marry Miss Weston.
“Oh, Galsworthy!”
Philip smiled tightly, spreading his hands. His mother, who had been sitting quietly in the drawing room with a tray by her side and a book in her hand had dropped the book in astonishment as he had entered and now had one hand pressed against her heart.
“You did not expect me, Mama?”
“Not until five days hence!” she exclaimed, not moving from her chair. “I thought to arrange a celebration for your return! It has all been arranged, Galsworthy! Why did you not write to tell me you were to return earlier than planned?”
Blowing out a slow breath of exasperation, Philip decided not to mention that he could not exactly write a letter and have it sent to his mother from the middle of the ocean.
“Well, we shall just have to continue on as planned,” his mother continued, clearly unaware of the exasperation she was causing. “Five days, Galsworthy.”
“Of course, Mama,” Philip replied, a little disappointed at the welcome – or lack of it – that he had received from her. “I would not like to thwart your plans simply by appearing a little earlier than anticipated.” His lips twisted in a wry smile, but his mother did not appear to notice.
“Your sister will have to be informed, and Youngson too, of course,” Lady Galsworthy continued, getting up from her chair with a deeply thoughtful expression on her face. “And Miss Weston too, of course.” She shot him a sharp glance. “You have not been to see her as yet, have you?”
Philip shook his head. “No, Mama.”
“It is just as well,” his mother replied, surprising him. “You do have the air of the sea about you, Galsworthy.” Wrinkling her nose, she cast him a slightly dark glance. “You will wash and change before you call upon her, of course.”
“Of course, Mama,” Philip agreed, firmly. “But I intend to rest first. Mayhap I shall call upon her tomorrow.”
His mother gasped, one hand at her mouth. “Tomorrow, Galsworthy?” she asked hoarsely. “But you cannot, I –”
“She is to come to the celebration, yes?” Philip interrupted, growing more and more exasperated with his mother.
“Yes,” his mother said, “Along with her father and sister, of course. But really, Galsworthy, you cannot –”
“Then I shall greet her there,” Philip stated, somewhat glad of the excuse to delay the inevitable meeting further. He turned away and walked towards the door, tired of his mother’s harsh words and her nagging which had begun practically the moment he had set foot in the house. All he wanted now was to relax in a warm bath before retiring to bed. He prayed that his sea legs would disappear for good by the time he arose. “Good evening, Mama,” he said firmly, before leaving the room and closing the door loudly behind him.
Some hours later, Philip found himself at Whites, an establishment he had not often frequented in his younger years. Having been a year away, and given that it was not the height of the Season, there were not many other patrons who he recognized.
On top of the fact that he was still feeling rather unwell, his growing discontent with his mother and his impending marriage had him feeling distinctly out of sorts, so he ensconced himself in a corner of the club, a good measure of whisky in his glass. This was better than remaining at home, knowing that his mother was displeased with his lack of interest in pursuing Miss Weston the moment he had returned to London. He did not want to marry and no amount of nagging and the like on her part would convince him to go to the lady.
“Is that you, Galsworthy?”
Philip looked up, surprised to see a gentleman he recognized coming towards him. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his clothing of the finest cut. Philip tried to place him, remembering his name just in time.
“Hilton?”
“Indeed,” the gentleman replied, his smile widening as he looked at him. “Might I join you?”
Philip shrugged, but Lord Hilton seemed to take this as an invitation and came to sit beside him. This was not what he had wanted – conversation and the like – but it seemed that he was to have it regardless.
“So,” Lord Hilton began, slapping Philip hard on the shoulder. “What is it that brings you to London at the very end of the Season? All the eligible young ladies are already gone from London if they are not engaged or wed!”
Philip snorted, eyeing Hilton carefully. “I have not come in search of a bride,” he said bluntly, his stomach twisting at the very thought. He dared not tell Lord Hilton that he was, in fact, attempting to find the courage to even propose to the lady he was betrothed to.
Lord Hilton chuckled before throwing back his brandy and setting down his glass on the table, beckoning for a footman to bring him another. “No? I would have thought a gentleman such as yourself would have been considering finding yourself a suitable bride. In fact, given your absence this last year, I thought you might have found one and were courting her!”
“I have been in India, inspecting my father’s – my – holdings there,” Philip replied, hating that he had made such a mistake. “Having taken the title, I thought to look over my properties in their entirety.”
Lord Hilton shrugged, making Philip feel as though he had explained himself unnecessarily. Heat crept into his face, but Lord Hilton did not appear to notice, now accepting his second brandy.
“I am a little surprised to hear you discussing matrimony when you yourself are not wed,” Philip continued as Lord Hilton set his glass down. “From what I recall, you were not enamoured of the idea!” He suddenly recalled just how much of a rake Lord Hilton had been in the years Philip had been in London. The gentleman had never once considered settling down and had seemingly enjoyed having his way with as many ladies as he could. Of course, almost every young lady had fallen in love with Lord Hilton and he had broken every single heart.
“Ah,” Lord Hilton chuckled, good-naturedly. “That is before I found myself hopelessly in love.”
Philip jerked his head up, astonished.
“You are surprised, of course,” Lord Hilton continued, laughing. “But it is quite true. Dear Miss Forthside, daughter to Viscount Stuart – Scottish, apparently – has quite captured my heart.” He tipped his head and smiled, his eyes aglow with an emotion Philip did not quite understand. “We are to wed within the month.”
Philip could not speak for a moment, quite overcome by this news. He had never once thought tha
t Lord Hilton, whom he knew to be nothing more than a rake, would somehow be looking forward to matrimony! Such an emotion, such an evident joy, was something he could not understand.
“My – my congratulations,” he muttered, lifting his glass in a half-attempt to toast Lord Hilton’s happiness.
Lord Hilton grinned. “You are not at all inclined towards matrimony, then?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I must hope that you can soon find the happiness that I have done, Galsworthy. All it takes is seeing the lady in question and your heart quite flies away!”
For a moment, a vision of Miss Weston sprang into Philip’s mind, astonishing him. His whole body seemed to come to life in a single moment, his nausea dissipating as he thought of her.
And then, with an effort, he pushed it all away.
“I hardly think so,” he replied somewhat coldly. “Although I wish you all the happiness in the world, Lord Hilton. I do not think it will be so for me.” Rising from his chair, he ignored Lord Hilton’s plea that he sit down and talk further, suddenly desperate to be alone. He did not want to think of Miss Weston, he did not want to consider matrimony, or even let his thoughts turn to the idea of love. It was not something he wanted to face, not something he even wanted to ponder at this present moment.
Praying that Gibbs, his long-suffering valet, who had weathered the journey to India and back rather better than he had himself, would have thought to put a full decanter of whisky or brandy into his bedchamber, Philip turned his feet in the direction of home. Hopefully, his mother would be abed and, with enough brandy flowing through his veins, he would be able to forget about Miss Weston and their betrothal entirely.
Chapter Five
“My lady?”
Marianne looked up from her book as her maid walked into the room, appearing a little confused.
