Fenella Miller (8 page)

Then she sensed he was back by her side. She flinched as she felt his hand touch her cheek.

‘Open your eyes, you pea-goose. Look at me.’

Obediently her eyes flickered open to find a matching pair staring back at her. He was crouching on the floor beside her, his expression friendly, his eyes amused. ‘I shall not strike you. Though I own it was a pretty close-run thing. Had you had not been ill…’ he paused and his mouth curved, revealing a set of even white teeth. ‘Well—that is past now. I have not struck a woman yet and I hope it may remain that way. How are you feeling? You are still a trifle pale.’

‘I am quite well, thank you, sir.’ Her voice was little more than a whisper because, for some reason, his proximity was making it difficult for her to speak.

There was a tap at the door and he sprung to his feet. ‘Good, that will be the refreshments I ordered.’

Marianne shuddered. Surely he was not going to insist she eat anything? That would be punishment indeed. She watched as a parlour maid placed a tray on the mahogany desk in the centre of the room.

‘Don’t look so worried, sweetheart, it is lemonade.’ He poured a glass and carried it over. ‘Here you are, it will take away the foul taste and restore you.’

Reluctantly she took the glass and sipped. Her digestion threatened to rebel but she swallowed vigorously and all was well. And, he was right, after the first few mouthfuls she did begin to feel better. He watched, then nodded, satisfied and pulled over a nearby chair and straddled it.

‘If you are feeling well, my dear, we have to talk. Shall we start with your stupidity in front of The Lion?’

Chapter Seven

Marianne closed her eyes. If she feigned faintness would he go easy on her? To her surprise the censorious voice ceased and she risked a peak. He was watching her, leaning back, relaxed, his long legs crossed, his hands folded behind his head, happy to wait until she was ready.

‘Try and stay awake whilst I ring a peal over you—there’s a good girl!’

For a moment she didn’t react then she found herself grinning and the tension between them vanished as if it had never existed.

‘That is much better. I have always preferred my victims to be conscious when I chastise them.’ The smile he directed at her left her breathless.

‘I do apologize for causing Lady Arabella to fall. I had forgotten my mount has the strongest dislike to being kicked.’

‘It was probably the magnificence of Lady Arabella’s riding habit that impaired your memory,’ he commented dryly. She spluttered, trying hard to contain her giggles by putting her hands to her mouth. He nodded, his expression innocent. ‘I know, my dear, but a habit like that is no laughing matter. Indeed, it was enough to frighten the horses in itself, without your precipitate departure.’

Through her laughter Marianne managed to gasp. ‘She was not hurt, you know, it was all a sham.’

He yawned, as if bored with the conversation, then leant forward, speaking in confidence.

‘A play act? Do not say so! And the poor girl forced to drink several noxious drafts in order to avoid brain damage!’

‘You did not? No, sir, that was unkind of you. I did wonder why you were so long.’

He grinned. ‘Serves the little baggage right. She must think that I am a veritable greenhorn to be taken in by such antics.’

His words dropped like an icy shower on both of them. He swore under his breath and sat up, all signs of fatigue miraculously gone. She no longer had the desire to laugh. They stared at each other—assessing—reassessing. Finally he spoke, his tone serious.

‘That was stupid of me, was it not? I feared I had revealed rather more of my true nature to you than I intended but still hoped to persuade you that you were mistaken.’

‘But I am not. You are no more a town tulip than I am. Why are you dissembling, sir? From whom or what are you hiding?’

He shook his head. ‘I am sorry, Marianne, I cannot tell you. You will have to trust me. Can you do that?’

‘I can.’ She smiled. ‘And I feel far safer knowing your ennui is a facade. If I should need protection from…’ she stopped, appalled, she had been about to remind him why she had been sent packing from Bath.

He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Protection from the man who seeks to abduct you and force you into marriage?’ She nodded. ‘I can promise you, my dear, that he would take you over my dead body.’ His tone was light but she knew he meant every word of it.

‘Thank you, sir. I hope it will not come to that. It is unlikely he will discover my whereabouts in this rural spot.’

‘And you will not betray me?’

‘No, of course not. In fact I will enjoy baiting you, knowing you cannot retaliate because you are supposed to be too stupid to understand.’

He chuckled. ‘In public no, but in private that will be a horse of quite a different colour.’

She giggled, unquashed by his scowl.

‘And, that is another thing. I will not be called Sir Theodore, and sir, at every turn. It makes me feel like Methuselah. I am eight and twenty, not in my dotage.’

‘Then I am to call you Theodore? Is that not over familiar? I have no wish to be involved in any more breaches of etiquette.’ She tried to sound shocked by his suggestion.

‘Then you can call me Cousin Theo if you prefer, after all we are related in some way or other.’

‘Very well, Cousin Theo it is. And you may call me Cousin Marianne.’

His eyebrows rose. ‘Indeed I shall not. From henceforth you are Marianne. I am your guardian; it is for me to decide how I should address you.’

‘Am I to have no say in it?’

‘None at all.’ He grinned. ‘As I am so much bigger than you it will be impossible for you to stop me calling you anything I care to. If you do not like Marianne, perhaps there is another soubriquet I can use?’

Colour drained from her face. Was she to be made to answer to Martha Frasier again? Instantly he was on his feet, his face concerned.

‘What is it? Are you unwell again? You have gone so white.’

‘I felt a little faint that is all. It has been a morning of too many shocks and too much excitement.’

Relieved, he leant down and ruffled her hair, which was already in disarray. ‘I suppose I had better have Lady Arabella transferred to her barouche and escort her home. What her poor parents will make of all this I shudder to think.’

‘I am sure Lady Arabella would much prefer her accident to remain a secret. Emily told me that her parents worry overmuch as she is their only child. If you were to accompany her, might not it give the wrong impression? They could misinterpret your concern for something else entirely.’

‘I am not about to be trapped in parson’s mousetrap so easily, but I take your point.’

She allowed him to pull her up from her chair, his light clasp sending unexpected tingles up her arms. ‘I was sorry I missed my breakfast this morning but now I am glad that I did.’

‘And so, my dear, am I. Shall we try again tomorrow? I doubt either Miss Grierson or Lady Arabella will wish to accompany us again.’

‘I can’t tomorrow, cousin; I believe the seamstress is coming with some of my new gowns. I must be there to try them on.’

‘Of course you must. In that case I will call for you in my phaeton at three o’clock.’

‘Phaeton?’ She repeated faintly. ‘But is that not one of those horrid contraptions that tip and bounce and threaten to evict the passengers at every turn?’

‘Not in my hands. I am a noted whip. I have never had an upset yet, not even on my last race from Piccadilly to Brighton.’

‘It is reassuring to know I am to be driven out by someone who races a phaeton through the streets of London on a regular basis.’

He laughed out loud. ‘If you promise to behave I might even allow you to take the ribbons.’

She smiled. ‘Then your carriage will become a dangerous vehicle indeed, for I am a complete novice. I have only driven a pony and trap, and not even that very often.’

Talking companionably, like old friends, not recent acquaintances, they left the library and walked slowly along the sunny passageways to the substantial entrance hall. Emily was waiting there, alone.

‘Oh, there you are, I was becoming most anxious, Sir Theodore. Arabella has gone home. She was quite restored, apart from feeling a rifle nauseous, and wished to return.’

Relieved she would not have to see Arabella again that morning Marianne rushed forward and embraced Emily warmly. ‘I am sorry we parted on bad terms. I beg your pardon. I should not have spoken so about your dearest friend.’

Emily looked perplexed. ‘I have quite forgotten what we quarrelled about. I am not one to get in a dudgeon about anything, as you know.’

Theo interrupted. ‘I have asked for the horses to be brought round. Are you ready to depart?’ The girls nodded and followed his tall figure down the steps.

* * * *

After a late breakfast, her appetite having returned, Marianne retreated to the library to read in peace until it was time to change for dinner. Her borrowed gown was now repaired and ready to be worn that evening. A hesitant tap on the door, much later, disturbed her concentration. Impatiently she asked the intruder to come in.

Emily peered nervously around the door. ‘Marianne, Mrs Dawkins is here. Is it not exciting? She says she took on several new girls in order to complete the work and they have come a day early. Mama has asked us to go upstairs for a fitting.’

‘Wonderful. Have you seen any of them yet, Emily?’

‘No, they are all packed away in boxes.’ Emily smiled, her hazel eyes sparkling with anticipation. ‘But there was a mountain of them. She must have completed a great many of the gowns.’

They ran upstairs eager to see what Mrs Dawkins had brought. Marianne was especially curious as she had left the choice of her gowns to another. For some reason she wished to be all the crack and the thought of the plain, dull gowns awaiting her inspection, gave her a decidedly lowering feeling.

She left Emily at her parlour door and hurried on, down the long passageways, round the corner to arrive breathless outside her own apartment. She burst in and found, to her surprise, that Mrs Dawkins had come to fit her, and not attend on Lady Grierson. The seamstress was standing, birdlike, by the open boxes, her face alight.

‘Good afternoon, Miss Devenish. I have the majority of your order completed. There are two more evening dresses, your ball gown, and a habit to come, but the remainder of the gowns and undergarments are here.’ She waved her hands theatrically over the foamy tissue but did not lift one up for inspection.

‘If you would like to go through to your chamber your dresser is waiting. I will bring the gowns to you one at a time. Where would you like to start?’

Marianne had no hesitation. ‘I would like to start with morning, then afternoon, then riding habits, and finally the evening gown ‘

‘Exactly as I would have suggested, Miss Devenish.’ Mrs Dawkins was practically bouncing and it was then Marianne began to suspect that the gowns were not to be a disappointment after all.

‘Have you seen any of the dresses, Jane?’

‘No, miss, but from what I’ve heard I think you’re in for a delightful surprise.’

Marianne felt a small bubble of happiness inside her at the thought of a certain young man’s reaction when she appeared dressed in her finery.

Standing in her chemise and bare feet, she shivered. Jane had made her wait with her back to the door so she could not see what was being fetched. She heard the soft rustle of fabric and she raised her arms and, in the spirit of the occasion, kept her eyes closed. The gown, or was it a petticoat, slid over her outstretched limbs and slithered to her ankles. It had no sleeves at all, so it had to be an undergarment.

She raised her arms again and this time the dress was dropped over them. She heard Jane chuckling as she and the seamstress twitched and tucked. ‘Keep those eyes shut, miss, it’ll be a shame to spoil the surprise.’

Marianne felt a sash being tied into a bow but still neither woman spoke. Unable to bear the suspense she opened her eyes and stared at her reflection in the full-length glass.

Who was this beautiful stranger staring back at her wearing a morning gown of deep rose cotton, the only ornamentations the pale pink sash that tied under her bosom, and a row of matching rose coloured buttons that ran down the front of the bodice? It had, as requested, a high neck and close fitting three quarter length sleeves.

This was not pastel or white, neither did it have bows or frills but it was as far from plain as she was herself. ‘This is lovely, Mrs Dawkins. I cannot tell you how much I like it.’ She stopped and shook her head in disbelief. ‘I thought ones morning gowns were not meant to be seen by others, but this is far too beautiful to be kept hidden. I shall wear it when I go out for a drive tomorrow.’

‘No, miss, there is something much more suitable for driving.’ Mrs Dawkins chuckled. ‘No, you cannot see—you have all the others to try first.’

Marianne stepped in and out of dozens of gowns each one more fetching than the last. The vibrant colours, from gold to turquoise, all emphasised complexion and hair. Finally she had had a surfeit and called a halt.

‘Mrs Dawkins, they all fit to perfection. Everyone I have tried, I have liked better than the last. I have no need to try on any more. They can be put away unseen. I know they will be perfect. Thank you so much.’

‘But what about the pelisses and redingotes, slippers and reticules—are you not going to look at those either?’

‘I thank you, but no. They can remain a pleasant surprise. I will wear the cerise evening gown tonight, Jane. It is almost time to change for dinner, we have been so long.’

* * * *

The mantua-maker departed, delighted her expertise had been appreciated and promising to return in a few days with the remainder of the clothes. By five o’clock Marianne was dressed and ready to descend secure in the knowledge that she had never looked so beautiful.

Her evening dress, with a short train on which the merest hint of beaded decoration had been placed, had a modest neckline but even so it made her feel sophisticated and confident. She tilted her head and her ringlets bounced.