by Rose Pearson
“Let me call for tea,” she finished, tugging at the bell pull before seating herself again. “That usually lifts your spirits.”
Marianne shook her head. “I do not think that it will do so today, no matter how many cups I drink,” she muttered ruefully. “Oh, Harriet, it is all such a tangled mess!”
Harriet frowned. “But why?”
“Because,” Marianne said, forcing the words out. “Lord Galsworthy told me he wished for us both to be open and honest with one another, feeling as though we had not done so thus far in our acquaintance and, at his words, I felt my heart lift.” She shook her head, angry that she had allowed herself to be so fooled. “We even had a pleasant – nay, an enjoyable – conversation, and he apologized most beautifully for not sending a note the moment he returned to England.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Harriet brighten as though such an action spoke of an affection for Marianne but knew that it was not so. “I welcomed it,” she continued, looking down at her hands as though it might prevent her from feeling so much pain if she did not look at her sister. “I thought it might allow us to find a degree of happiness, a degree of contentment in our marriage. If we furthered our acquaintance, then there was the possibility that…” Trailing off, she found herself unable to speak any more, her own foolishness screaming at her that she had brought this agony upon herself.
“You thought he might come to care for you,” Harriet said softly, evidently seeing what Marianne was trying and failing to hide from her. “You began to feel something for him also?”
“I did,” Marianne whispered brokenly. “Oh, Harriet, I am foolish indeed! When we conversed, when he smiled and laughed, I found my heart warming with a fondness for him that had not been there before. His apology only added to it, his genuine wish to be honest and open with me making me feel as though our future could be a happy one. And then, he broke it all apart in a single moment.”
Harriet closed her eyes, drawing in a long breath before opening them again as if to steady herself and consider what she was to say. “Is there the possibility that you might have misunderstood him, Marianne?”
“No.”
Marianne shook her head blindly, tears blurring her vision. “He stated, quite unequivocally, that he was resigned to our marriage.” She looked up, tears spilling on to her cheeks. “Resigned, Harriet. It was as though I am a terrible, dark fate that he cannot escape from, that he has finally chosen to accept.” Suddenly, the reason for Lord Galsworthy’s sudden departure to India became clear. “He tried to run from it but has discovered he cannot,” she whispered hoarsely. “How can I carry on a life with him knowing that, in his heart, that is how he feels about our marriage?”
For a good few minutes, Harriet said nothing. In fact, she sat back in her chair and shook her head, a long slow breath escaping her. Marianne, who had expected her sister to be able to offer some sort of advice, to perhaps even defend Lord Galsworthy, wiped at her cheeks and tried to compose herself. This unburdening of her heart had been cathartic, for she had shared her pain with her sister and now felt the better for it.
“My dear Marianne,” Harriet said eventually, reaching across to take her hand for a moment. “I am truly sorry that you were injured so.”
Marianne managed a watery smile. “You are not going to defend him?”
“No, not in any way!” Harriet exclaimed, looking a little offended. “What he said to you was both rude and cutting, and I cannot excuse it. No, my dear sister, I can see your pain and I am sorry for it.” She tipped her head a little and looked at Marianne carefully. “Is your betrothal at an end, then?”
Marianne shook her head. “No, it is not,” she responded bitterly. “I told Lord Galsworthy in no uncertain terms that I expected a proposal very soon. He tried to apologize, you see, tried to state that he had not meant such a thing. Something about how he had once felt about our marriage but attempting to assure me that he did not see it in such a light any longer.” Settling her hands in her lap, she looked up at Harriet, her eyes clear of tears. “The proposal, which he has yet to perform, is evidence that he is truly no longer held back by his reluctance to enter into this marriage, although I confess that I do not believe that he no longer feels that way. A gentleman does not run away to India to escape from his betrothed if he is not genuinely reluctant to wed!”
Harriet made to say something but waited until the tea tray was brought. “Mayhap he will surprise you,” was all she could say without being able, it seemed, to say anything more encouraging. They drank their tea quietly and soon Harriet reminded her that they would have to prepare for dinner very soon, which Marianne accepted with a good deal of heaviness in her heart. She was tormented by what Lord Galsworthy had said to her, hating that she had allowed her heart to soften towards him, only to be broken down by a single word which had left her utterly devastated.
Foolish, foolish girl for having even the slightest fondness for the gentleman!
“I should go up to change,” Harriet said, breaking into her thoughts. “Our guests will be arriving in a few hours and you know how particular Father is.”
Marianne nodded and got to her feet, only for the door to open and the butler to step inside, holding a card in his hand.
“My ladies, there is a gentleman who wishes to call upon you both, despite the late hour for afternoon calls.”
Marianne took the card and read it, aware of the butler’s disapproval of any gentleman who called after visiting hours. Her heart jumped into her throat, only to race back down into her chest, handing the card to Harriet. It was none other than Lord Henry Redmond.
“Where is our father?” she asked as Harriet set the card down. “Is he at home?”
“He is in the study and not to be disturbed for another half hour or so, my lady,” the butler intoned. “If you wish it, I can send Lord Henry away with a good excuse, my lady.”
Harriet opened her mouth but Marianne immediately spoke ahead of her. “No, you need not do so. Send him in and order a fresh tea tray. We will have a short visit together.” She ignored Harriet’s warning look, realizing that she had not thought once of Lord Henry these last few days, but finding his company now to be almost a distraction, taking her away from her miserable thoughts of Lord Galsworthy.
“Are you quite sure of this, Marianne?” Harriet whispered as the butler left the room. “What if Father comes in?”
“Then he will think Lord Henry is here on account of you,” Marianne replied crisply, praying that she did not look too pale. Pinching her cheeks, she settled herself in her chair again, only to rise gracefully as Lord Henry walked into the room.
“Miss Weston,” he said grandly, bowing over Marianne’s hand. “And Miss Weston.” Having met Harriet on a previous occasion, he greeted her as warmly as he had Marianne before seating himself between them. A tea tray was brought in almost immediately, with their old one taken away by the harassed looking maid. Marianne knew there was a good deal going on below stairs since the dinner was a grand affair with ten guests altogether.
“I do apologize for the lateness of my visit,” Lord Henry began, looking at Marianne with a good deal of warmth in his expression. Marianne felt herself smile of her own accord, the first time she had done so in several days, seeing the joy evident in his green eyes at seeing her.
“It is quite all right, Lord Henry,” she replied quickly. “We are very glad to see you.”
“As am I to see you,” he stated, not so much as glancing at Harriet. “I thought to invite you both to my Ball.”
“A Ball!” Harriet exclaimed, drawing Lord Henry’s attention for the first time. “You are to host a Ball?”
He chuckled. “The grandest you have ever seen, my dear lady. You will both join me, I pray? Your father also, although I understand he is not to be disturbed at the moment, else I would have given him the invitation myself.”
A spark of happiness ignited Marianne’s heart, her smile spreading all the more. “That sounds quite delightful, Lor
d Henry,” she began, thinking that to dance and converse with gentlemen of the ton might help her to forget her increasing unhappiness over Lord Galsworthy. “When precisely is it?”
Lord Henry began to explain, delighting both Marianne and Harriet with the details of all he had planned. Marianne felt her heart lift all the more, her mind no longer caught up with her morose thoughts over Lord Galsworthy. She liked Lord Henry immensely, she had to admit, although she was well aware that she was still very much betrothed to Lord Galsworthy.
Just as Lord Henry rose to his feet, ready to take his leave, the door opened and in stepped none other than Lord Bridgestone, Marianne and Harriet’s father. He stopped dead, clearly astonished to see his daughters entertaining a guest when they ought to be preparing themselves for dinner.
“Father,” Harriet said quickly, moving towards him. “May I introduce Lord Henry Redmond? Lord Henry, this is our father, Lord Bridgestone.”
Lord Henry greeted him with an easy manner. “I believe we have already met at the card table, Lord Bridgestone.”
Marianne’s stomach tightened, seeing her father study Lord Henry with an almost suspicious air, before, to her utter astonishment, his face broke into a broad smile.
“Yes, of course, Lord Henry! How are you?”
“In excellent health, Lord Bridgestone. I am just come to deliver an invitation to you all to my Ball in a fortnight’s time. It would be my very great honour to have you, your wife, and two such fine young ladies attend.”
At this compliment, even Harriet smiled and blushed, catching her father’s attention. Marianne watched with interest as her father considered Lord Henry for another moment before returning his attention to Harriet. It was obvious that he was considering that Lord Henry, being both titled and wealthy, might be of particular interest to his younger daughter.
“We are to host a dinner this evening, Lord Henry,” her father said, placing both hands behind his back. “You will join us, of course.”
Lord Henry looked surprised. “That is very kind of you, Lord Bridgestone.”
“You will be favouring us with your presence,” Lord Bridgestone chuckled. “At the moment, our table will seat thirteen guests and we cannot have such a number as that! I believe Lady Galsworthy will go quite into hysterics if she realizes it. No, fourteen will be a most excellent number.”
Marianne found herself smiling at this, feeling a good deal of relief that she would have Lord Henry’s company even though she would also be faced with Lord Galsworthy’s presence. It would be easier to manage, she was quite sure, if Lord Henry continued with his easy manner and delightful conversation.
“Thank you, Lord Bridgestone,” Lord Henry exclaimed, turning to Marianne with a wide smile on his face. “I am honoured.”
“Lord Galsworthy will join us also, of course,” her father continued with a pointed look in Marianne’s direction. “You may know some of the other guests but if not, I will be glad to make the introductions.” He beckoned to Marianne, who went to his side at once. “Do go and tell the housekeeper to add one more place at the table before you go to change.”
Marianne nodded, glancing over her shoulder at Harriet who had come to join her. “Of course, Father,” she murmured, catching Lord Henry’s eye and seeing him smile at her. Her heart warmed again, chasing away her nervous anxiety over seeing Lord Galsworthy. “Do excuse us, Lord Henry.”
He inclined his head. “Not at all, Miss Weston. Miss Weston.” He directed his gaze towards Harriet, evidently to satisfy Lord Bridgestone that he had no particular thoughts towards Marianne. Lord Bridgestone appeared pleased with this and suggested that they both have a brandy whilst they waited for the guests and Marianne and Harriet stole from the room.
“Do you think this wise?” Harriet asked, putting one hand on Marianne’s arm. “You know full well that Lord Henry is eager to further his acquaintance with you, even if he has managed to convince Father otherwise. What if Lord Galsworthy –”
“Lord Galsworthy may watch me converse and laugh with another gentleman for as long as he wishes,” Marianne replied stubbornly. “I like Lord Henry, Harriet, although I confess that I feel no particular fondness for him – but he is good company and I am glad to have him join us for dinner.”
Harriet let go of her arm and Marianne stalked off ahead, her heart twisting and turning in all directions. She knew to encourage Lord Henry was not exactly wise but the fact that he relieved some of her anxiety when it came to thinking of Lord Galsworthy was all she could consider. She would make sure to look her best this evening and show Lord Galsworthy that he had not injured her in any way, even if the truth was quite the opposite.
Chapter Nine
Philip did not much like Lord Henry Redmond.
When the introductions had been made, Philip had recognized Lord Henry at once, although he had not said as much to anyone. Lord Henry was the gentleman whom he had seen taking both Miss Marianne Weston and Miss Harriet Weston out for a carriage ride. Ice had formed in his veins as he’d greeted the fellow, a little confused and also perturbed at the sly smile on the gentleman’s face as he’d acknowledged him. It was as though Lord Henry knew that Philip and Miss Weston were betrothed and thought it almost mirthful. The way the gentleman had gone immediately from his side to the arm of Miss Marianne Weston had only increased Philip’s dislike of the man. Of course, it had pained him all the more to see Miss Weston laugh and smile in conversation with Lord Henry, hating that he could not garner the same reaction from her himself.
Miss Weston had not come to talk to Philip at all, not in the hour they had spent talking before dinner. She had greeted him, of course, but there had been no warmth in her smile, no brightness in her eyes. It had been overly formal and painfully tense as they had greeted one another although, for whatever reason, Philip could barely take his eyes from her. Even as Lord Henry had talked to her, even as he’d watched how the man had ingratiated himself with the lady, Philip had been entirely unable to look away.
The emotion he had battled that afternoon in the park had returned to him again. This time, Philip recognized it for what it was, aware that he was both angry and frustrated, but also envious of Lord Henry’s seemingly close companionship with Miss Weston. It was all so very strange. He himself had made a terrible mess of things with the lady and yet wanted to draw even closer to her despite it. It was just that he could not find a way to do so. To propose to her, when he was not at all certain that it would bring either of them any happiness, was difficult indeed. Despite this, Philip recognized that his desire for Miss Weston was still there, buried under all of his other confusing emotions. He was always aware of her, always knowing where she was, what she was saying, whom she was talking with. It was as though he could not get enough of her company and yet struggled to find even a single thing to say.
They had been seated at dinner for less than half an hour and, as the time passed, Philip found his dislike of Lord Henry growing steadily. He could not say precisely why that should be, for the man was neither rude nor condescending. In fact, he was jovial and pleasant, entertaining the company at large with his humorous remarks and interesting conversation. Every single person present seemed more than enamoured of him, even Philip’s own mother. Philip, it seemed, was the only person present who did not find Lord Henry particularly good company.
His eyes drifted towards Miss Weston, aware that she was watching Lord Henry with almost rapt attention. Her eyes were bright and there was a light flush in her cheeks, which only heightened his awareness of her beauty. He knew full well that he had hurt her terribly by his foolish and less than considered response to her, when they had first spoken that night on the terrace, but he had since found himself quite unable to find anything to either write or say to her, to bring the matter to a close. The truth was as he had said it – he had been resigned to their marriage, seeing no way out of it and quite certain that he would do his duty. However, as they had talked and laughed together, he had found his futu
re suddenly appearing a little brighter, his mind caught with all that might be for him – for them both – if there was a genuine fondness and friendship between them. Miss Weston had not been as he had remembered her. There had been that sharp fierceness which had quite unnerved him, only for her to soften as he had apologized. He had been reminded of his jealousy on seeing her with the gentleman he now knew to be Lord Henry, realizing that he would not have felt even a single modicum of emotion had he not any affection or desire for the lady in question. The way they had slowly been drawn into what then turned out to be an easy conversation had brought a lightness to his spirit which had not been there before, only for him to drag it all back down to the depths with one foolish, thoughtless word.
“I hear you have been in India for the last year and more, Lord Galsworthy.”
Philip started in his seat, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep into his face almost at once. He was aware that almost every guest now had their eyes on him whilst he had been lost in thought. Lord Henry was looking at him with a wry smile, evidently aware that he had discomfited him a little, although obviously quite unintentionally.
“Yes, I was,” Philip replied in a firm tone of voice that would show, he hoped, that he was not about to be cowed by a little embarrassment. “My father had holdings over there and I thought to go and survey them for myself.”
“And it took you a year to do so?” Lord Henry commented, looking shocked. “Goodness, Lord Galsworthy, they must be quite substantial!”
A ripple of laughter went around the table and Philip was forced to lift his chin a notch, a tight smile on his face hiding the twisting of his gut. It was as though Lord Henry wanted to mock him for whatever reason, but he was not about to let himself react to it. “Indeed,” he muttered, looking away from Lord Henry and towards Miss Weston, who was steadfastly refusing to so much as glance in his direction. “The passage to India was hard and I confess I tried to delay my return to England for a time, until I was well enough and strong enough to board ship again.” It was an outright lie, for he had not been so ill that he could not have returned to England much sooner than he had done, but the truth was not something he was easily able to share.
