Anything but a Gentleman (25 page)

She had by now entered the supper room. The tables gleamed with damask cloths; the crystal sparkled; the silver shone. But despite the brilliance of the scene she was aware of only one thing: Luke’s brooding presence at the other end of the table.

She tried hard to keep her mind on other things. She reminded herself that Tom and Trudie’s arms had been aching from polishing all the silver, and that Henri had put all his ingenuity into devising a sumptuous meal. She told herself this was Kit and Adèle’s evening, and that, no matter what her feelings, she must not show her distress. But no matter how lively the conversation around her, no matter how imaginative the soup or how succulent the rib of beef, she could think of nothing but Luke, and the estrangement that had grown up between them.

But there was nothing she could do about it. She could only laugh and smile, and pretend to be light-hearted and at ease, whilst all the while her smile was fixed and her stomach was tied in knots.

Chapter Thirteen

  Marianne rose early. Despite the fact that she had only gone to bed six hours before she was not tired; rather she was filled with a restless energy that would not let her sleep. She had passed a troubled night. Spells of dozing had alternated with long periods of wakefulness, and whether waking or sleeping she had been plagued with memories of the perplexing conversation she had overheard between her godfather and Luke. What had been the meaning of it? she asked herself for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“You must marry ‘er,” the Comte had said. “If her father were ‘ere ‘e would tell you so ‘imself. As ‘e is not, I regard myself as taking ‘is place.”

 And Luke’s angry refusal – “I’m not going to marry a woman I don’t love. Particularly when I’m in love with another -”

It had all seemed so clear at the time: her godfather telling Luke to marry her because he had compromised her on the ship, where she had not had the benefit of a chaperon, and Luke refusing. Why, if he was in love with her, had he refused to marry her? And why had he said he was in love with another woman. At the time she had thought he meant Nicole, but if that was not so, then who was the other woman? It was so perplexing that she had to distract her thoughts, because they were going round and round in circles.

 At last daylight broke through the crack in her drapes, and dressing herself quickly – a difficult task, since she did not want to disturb Trudie, and therefore had to manage her hooks and buttons alone, and dispense with her corset, which it was simply impossible for her to manage without help - she went downstairs, slipping out of the door into the grey morning. She felt too restless to stay inside, and longed for a ride. The fresh air and exercise would do her good, and perhaps help to soothe her troubled spirit.

Before long she was in the stables, and then, mounting Dapple, she set out for the seashore. Dapple was a little sluggish to begin with, but the mare soon began to enjoy herself, and by the time they had crossed the fields to the seashore both horse and rider were feeling better.

The beach was spread out before them, a vast expanse of dampened sand. The tide was almost out.

Marianne walked Dapple to the edge of the beach and then dismounted, using a boulder as a mounting block. She tethered the mare loosely so that the animal could wander about a little and nibble the coarse sea grass, before taking off her boots and stockings and walking across the sand towards the sea.

The sound of the waves was calming. She went right to the water’s edge, letting it wash over her feet. It was cool and refreshing. The sun was up, and had a considerable amount of strength for the time of year. She stood there for some minutes, watching the receding mass of blue water, which was touched with patches that sparkled in the early morning sun.

Would she ever understand the events of last night? she wondered.

She shook her head, and then turned and walked slowly along the beach.

* * * *

Luke was slouching in a wing-back chair in the library, his manner dark and brooding. He had not been to bed that night. By the time he had returned from the Travis’s it was already after two o’clock and he had not felt like sleeping. He had had a hell of a night. He had finally had an opportunity to offer Marianne his hand, and what had happened? Had she agreed? Had she told him she wanted to be his wife more than anything else in the world? Had she melted into his arms, giving herself up to him with words of love and longing?

He gave a harsh bark of laughter. No indeed. Nothing could have been farther from the truth.

She had first of all told him she was engaged to Jem Cosgrove – Jem Cosgrove! – and had then insulted him deeply by telling him she knew he was in love with Nicole. Nicole! His cousin, of all people! How could she have had so little faith in him? Had she really believed that he would go straight from the arms of one woman to another?

If he had not been in love with anyone, then yes, he might have done, although not if one of them had been a gently-bred young lady, for wantonly seducing innocents was not in his nature. But once he had fallen in love? Once he had given his heart and, but for an interruption, his hand?

How could she think it?

But underlying his anger was something far worse; a very real pain. He felt betrayed. He had believed in Marianne utterly – hadn’t he laughed when she had told him she was engaged to Jem Cosgrove? - and yet she had not believed in him. She had thought he was in love with Nicole. And so he had stormed at her, telling her that, as she did not believe in him, it was a good thing they had not become betrothed.

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t a good thing at all. He loved her. God, how he loved her. Why had she not trusted him? At the very least given him the benefit of the doubt?

He had passed the night in an angry state of mind, and as the darkness finally gave way before the new day he felt no better. After all they had shared, for him to find that Marianne had no faith in him, in his love for her; it hit him hard.

At last, he began to stir. The house was coming to life all around him and he felt he must rouse himself. The servants were already up and about, starting the new day. He went out into the hall, and there was Nicole, coming down the stairs, looking so fresh and innocent. Who would have believed she could be the cause of so much pain?

But it was not her fault. Nicole was the one good thing in his life at the moment, the one happiness. Her escape from France was his one source of unalloyed contentment.

He met her at the bottom of the stairs and went forward to greet her, putting his arms around her and embracing her as she turned up her face trustingly to his and gave him a kiss on the cheek. As he held her close, he happened to catch sight of himself in one of the gilded mirrors that hung on the wall.

He froze.

This was the scene Marianne had witnessed. This was how she had seen him embracing Nicole.

What was it she had said to him? “I saw love in your face.”

Yes, she had seen love. He was seeing it himself now, reflected back at him in the glass: his arms around Nicole and an expression on his face of love.

Good God! No wonder she had felt betrayed.

And he had blamed her for it, he thought with a twist of his mouth.

How could he have done anything so monstrous? he wondered as he gently pushed Nicole away from him.

For the first time he saw their argument of the previous evening from Marianne’s point of view. She had drawn an obvious conclusion from something she had seen, and what had he done? Explained it to her? Reassured her? Told her that Nicole was his cousin, and that although he loved the young Frenchwoman dearly he was not
in love
with her? That he could only ever be
in love
with Marianne?

No.

In fact, he had never told her he was in love with her at all.

The realisation hit him with full force. He had never once told her he loved her. And yet he had railed at her; accused her of a lack of trust. He had told her that as there was so little understanding between them it was a good thing they were not to marry. He cursed himself. So little understanding! Of course there was so little understanding between them, he thought grimly. How could there be any understanding between them when he had never told her about his feelings for her? And when, realising she had been shaken by something she had seen, he had refused to explain? When he had never told her anything about Nicole? He had been a fool.

‘I have to go out,’ he said to Nicole. ‘I shall be probably be gone for most of the morning.’

‘
Ah! Bon
,’ said Nicole. ‘You wish to see Marianne? I understand.’

‘Make yourself at home. Enjoy your morning. I hope I shall be back before lunch.’

‘
Oui.
’

Taking his leave of her, Luke strode out to the stables and saddled his horse.

* * * *

Marianne was walking along the beach. Shells and pieces of driftwood scattered the sand between low and high water marks, and here and there gulls stalked, looking for food. Finally she felt she had found a little peace.  Until she saw, as yet far off, a horseman, and recognised him immediately as Luke.

He had had the same idea as her, it seemed, and had ridden down to the beach, was her first thought. But no. They were on Travis land. Had he ridden out here, then, specially to find her?

Seeing him dismount and stride towards her across the sand she was filled with a sudden awkwardness. Part of her wanted to run towards him, and part of her wanted to run away . . .

With difficulty she fought down the urge to run and stood still, although filled with a strange restlessness,  waiting for him to reach her. She must be cool; calm; no matter how much her heart felt to be in her throat.

‘Marianne,’ he said as he approached her.

‘Lord Ravensford,’ she replied.

There was a moment of awkwardness. He looked at her. She looked at him. And suddenly their misunderstandings meant nothing. Communing on a level where words were unnecessary, as they had done before, they instinctively knew that nothing else mattered; nothing except their love for each other.

Luke smiled, the old, wicked smile which set her pulse racing and made her legs turn weak. And then he swept her into this arms and kissed her as she had never been kissed before. It drove all thought out of her mind; all doubt; so that when he let her go –

 ‘You love me,’ she said, her face wreathed in smiles.

‘Did you ever really doubt it? Yes, Marianne, I love you. I love you with all my heart and soul.’ He looked down into her eyes with a wicked smile on his face. But beneath the wickedness was something warm and inviting; something deep and sincere.

‘You’re . . . you’re not still angry?’ she asked, although she could already tell by his expression that he was not.

‘No, I’m not angry. How could I be, when the argument was all my fault?’

‘Your fault?’ She shook her head. Their argument seemed a million miles away, but still she could not let him take all the blame.

‘Yes. My fault,’ he said tenderly, stroking her windswept ringlets back from her face. ‘Because I never told you what you needed to know. I never said the words you needed to hear. I never told you I loved you. But I am telling you now, so that there need be no more misunderstandings between us. I love you, Marianne, and I was a fool not to say so before now.’

‘But . . . Nicole?’ she asked, her mind in a whirl.

He shook his head. ‘Marianne, I was such a fool last night. I was so taken aback by your ridiculous tale about being engaged to Jem Cosgrove – you’re not, are you, by the way?’ he asked, with a look that said if she was then it was no more than a minor irritation that he would easily sweep out of the way.

‘No,’ she admitted, smiling ruefully.

‘I thought not. But I was so taken aback, and so hurt by what I saw as your lack of trust in me, that I didn’t explain. Nicole is my cousin, my dearly beloved cousin, but nothing more. I love her; but I am not
in love
with her. I should have told you so last night. But I was angry with you. Angry with you for not knowing that I loved you, even though I had not said the words.’

‘But I did know,’ she said with a sigh. Her eyes went to his. ‘It’s just that, when I saw you with Nicole, the expression on your face, it didn’t leave any room for doubt. It was obvious you loved her.’

He ran his eyes over her face; her smooth forehead, her raven ringlets, her gentian blue eyes, her beautiful nose and enchantingly curved mouth, and smiled, but tenderly this time.

‘You’re right. I do love Nicole. But not in the way I love you. Nicole is my beloved cousin. You are the love of my life.’

‘Oh, Luke,’ she said, leaning her head against his shoulder as they walked along the beach, too happy for the moment to think of anything else. But presently she asked, ‘What changed your mind? What stopped you being angry and make you decide that I wasn’t to blame?’

He held her closer. ‘It was because I saw myself. This morning, when Nicole came downstairs, I embraced her, and as I did so I caught sight of myself in one of the hall mirrors. I saw what you had seen, and I saw that you had been right there
was
an unmistakeable expression of love on my face. And I knew that, at my first meeting with Nicole, it must have been even more pronounced. I thought I had lost her, you see. But then, Henri told you that.’

‘Yes. He also said young love was a beautiful thing, and that he was sure I was too generous to begrudge you your happiness.’ She sighed. ‘I misunderstood.’

He was startled.

‘Is that what he said? Then it’s hardly surprising you misunderstood. Henri’s English is not very good, at least not when it comes to the finer points of the language. He probably didn’t even realise that his words could imply that Nicole and I were lovers. He knew the truth, of course. Even so, didn’t your heart tell you that I was in love with you?’

‘Yes, it did,’ she admitted. ‘But my reason told me that it was wishful thinking. If you had told me you loved me, then things would have been different, but you had never done so.’