Chapter 7
London
Spring 1835
Marianne poured another cup of tea and passed it to Martha, the parlor maid. As Martha delivered the cup, Marianne continued to play “mother.” The six ladies of the ton seated around the room had become her dearest friends and acquaintances. Vanessa, Lady Summersborne, immediately to her left sharing the settee and her best friend, had seen her through some truly difficult times. Having befriended her shortly after Drew’s disappearance, Vanessa had been there no matter what challenge had befallen Marianne. And her father-in-law had tried his best to appropriate her dowry. Vanessa had been there offering moral support and sage advice. Of course, Vanessa, at least eight years her senior and a widow, had greater knowledge of the ton and its hazards.
She handed another cup to her maid.
The door slammed open to admit a tall, broad-shouldered man with a wild mane of hair who stormed in like a lion about to corner his prey. Marianne’s gaze flew up to sapphirine eyes blazing with purpose. Her breathing hitched. The room fell silent as a church at Sunday service; not even a teacup tinged against its saucer. He ignored the other lionesses in his lair and focused exclusively on her.
Slowly Marianne became aware of someone calling her name.
“Marianne, Marianne, you are spilling the tea. You must be burning your fingers. Marianne.” Vanessa’s voice, soft but insistent, brought her back.
Sharp prickles of heat stabbed her fingertips as Marianne felt the hot tea running over the edge of the saucer, the cup already filled to overflowing. She reclaimed her purpose, hastily setting the cup down in the puddle now being absorbed by the once-white tea tray linens. Some of the tea had poured into the sugar bowl and creamer, the bowl a mass of dissolving cubes, the tainted cream overflowing its rim.
She calmly looked up into blue eyes that had turned from fierce to compassionate. “My lord, you have returned. Welcome home.” Gesturing to the maid, she added, “Martha, please remove the tea tray. I’m afraid I’ve made quite a mess of it.”
Martha lifted the tray and headed for the door which Marianne’s friend, Lady Mumsford or Alice as she’d been given permission to call her, hurried to open for the burdened maid.
Then the real drama ensued.
Alice, turning away from her voluntary duty, glanced back at her. “I must be leaving, Marianne. I believe I’ve forgotten an important engagement.” She returned to a nearby seat to gather her belongings. With a respectful curtsy to the newly present earl, then to Marianne, she said softly, “My lord, my lady, good day,” and was gone.
In like manner, the other four ladies seated about the room made their departures in short order. Claiming various reasons most likely freshly fabricated due to the miraculous reappearance of the long-missing now Earl of Reignsfield, each made the proper curtsy and escaped.
Drew stood his ground at the center of the room, nodding to each departure but not letting his stare leave Marianne’s face. Her gaze remained locked with his.
“Marianne,” came Vanessa’s voice quietly beside her, “I will call upon you in a day or two. It seems you have much to tend to here at the moment.” Vanessa rose, made her curtsies, then followed the others out silently closing the door behind her.
Marianne took a breath and swallowed hard, not about to relinquish her hard-won independence at this late date.
“So you’ve deigned to bless us with your presence once more, my lord.”
A rap came on the door and the butler entered. “Blevins, would you be so kind to bring a fresh tea service so I may serve the lord of the manor? Thank you very much.”
Returning her attention to her long-lost husband, she regathered her composure as she waved a hand toward a chair. “Would you care to sit down and tell me of your sojourn?”
Drew headed for the hearth where he placed an elbow on the mantel as if to pose for a portrait–The Lord in his Fine Youth.
Marianne’s gaze traveled from his fine leather Hessians up the cream-colored breeches that fit snugly to muscled legs that needed no padding, higher to a slim waist covered by a dark blue waistcoat shot with gold and a well-fitted cut-away jacket covering shoulders so broad she felt her mouth go dry.
The man once noted as the pre-eminent dandy of the ton was nowhere to be seen, not a ruffle in sight, his neckcloth simply but perfectly tied. The quizzing glass, too, failed to make an appearance despite the intense level with which he studied her. He simply stood by the fireplace as if he owned the place.
Which, of course, he did.
She surreptitiously twisted the ring on her left hand, her wedding ring, the one he himself had placed there almost four years ago.
Gone was the dandified man who had deserted her; this was an experienced male with golden skin, blazing midnight blue eyes, and rich, deep mahogany-colored hair flecked with red and blond streaks, the longer strands barely tethered back from his face in a leather thong, the shorter lengths dramatically framing a face with a strong jaw and high cheekbones currently set in determined resolution.
Her gaze met his once again. What should she say? Where should they start? How could they start anew now?
~ ~ ~
“You look well, Marianne. I see my absence has caused you little if any distress.” He thought she looked stunning, in fact. No longer the slightly plump, bullied girl he had left behind when he had started his unplanned journey around the world. He had so much to tell her. But he hardly knew her. He had never had the chance to know her. His ineptitude on their one and only night together had been a regret he’d borne for close to four very long and eventful years. How must she have felt when he’d disappeared?
He fingered the miniature he kept in his left-hand pocket.
But there were other things he had to discuss for now. “I see you’ve made yourself at home in my town house.”
Marianne pulled a handkerchief from her pocket but she didn’t wring it, she only dabbed at each eye in turn, then returned it to its place. “Your father, contrary to what he had said, made it clear within days of your leaving that I was not welcome in his house. I believe he felt me too much below his station. So he planted me here and told me I should prepare it for your return. And so you find it, refurbished and redecorated to the best of my abilities. I hope you find it to your liking.”
“We can discuss the decorating at a later time.” Drew picked some imaginary lint off his sleeve. “Right now I’d like to discuss my father. I stopped at the house in Mayfair. It seems he passed on to his maker almost three months ago. Has no one tried to find me to let me know?”
“My lord.” Marianne’s voice rang with the strength of steel. “We’ve done nothing but try to find you since you went missing. I’ve spent a small fortune on runners who have traveled the world looking for you or any word of you. All have come back empty of evidence you still existed.”
“So you spent your dowry on runners and furnishings? What of my debts, those of the estate?”
“Your debts were paid immediately. Regardless of your absence, all those whom you owed were paid outright. All of your estates are in full financial order. I invested what remained of my dowry after the debts and redecorating and, in point of fact, there is more to my dowry now than when you deserted me. Despite your father’s efforts to the contrary.”
“My father? What has-had he got to do with it?”
“He wanted my dowry turned over to him. He wanted full access to the funds. But my father and I consulted a small army of solicitors and found me to be fully within my rights to retain the monies until your return. I refused to sign the paperwork the late earl tried to force upon me.”
Drew started to pace the floor. So in my absence, Father wanted to control the dowry. To use it as he saw fit? That would be just like him. Evidently, my wife, more intelligent than he had thought from the little he knew of her when I left, had prevented her dowry from going the way the rest of the family fortunes had, to harebrained investment schemes from swindlers who knew an easy mark when they came upon him. Well, thank you for that.
Drew settled at the window, leaning against the frame, gazing out onto the gardens barely showing spring growth. The Season would be starting soon. Would it matter to her? To him?
“I worried much that father would decimate your dowry. I had no time, no way to let you know exactly how our family had ended up in such financial disarray that I had to marry for money.”
He heard a slight gasp from behind, evidently still sensitive to the subject. But then, so was he.
He turned back to the room. “I beg your pardon. I did not mean to be so thoughtless.”
“No matter.” Marianne waved her hand in dismissal. “It’s the truth and we both know it. I pledged my loyalty to you, not to your father. The dowry belonged to you to disburse, so I merely did what I could while you were gone.”
The door burst open once again, and a girl, little more than a toddler, with strawberry-colored hair festooned with a large pink bow that coordinated with her dress and pinafore rushed into the room. “Mama, mama, kitty, kitty. Keep her, please?”
In seconds, she climbed into Marianne’s lap sharing the feline that curled sleepily in the child’s arms.
So loyalty only went so far with his wife. She had evidently lost no time in using her newfound freedom fully. “What have we here? A child in the household. How surprising is that?”
Drew strode from the window to inspect the sprite and discern who might be her father.
Marianne stroked the kitten while she hugged her daughter to her. “My little love, I have a big surprise for you. Look who is here. It’s your papa.”
Drew could not believe his wife would try to pass this bastard off as his own. There was no likelihood whatsoever the child would be his. One night of dutiful lovemaking, no, really it was just plain sex and poorly executed sex at that, did not a child make. About to remonstrate on the topic, the little tyke swiveled around on her mother’s lap and looked up, wide-eyed.
Two bright sapphire-hued eyes looked into his. Except for her hair color, the toddler mirrored the image of the miniature his mother had made of him as a child.
“Papa!” She screamed as she jumped off Marianne’s lap, dumped the kitten, now mewling from being disturbed, and ran to him. When she held up her arms and said, “Uppy, uppy,” Drew felt his heart melt and break at the same moment. He had missed the first three years of his daughter’s life and the entire pregnancy and confinement of his wife.
He swooped down to pick the child up. As he stood again, Marianne said, “My lord, this is your daughter, Andrea. She welcomes you home and has been waiting patiently for your return.”
His gaze met hers across the room. He knew his eyes brimmed with tears and he could see that Marianne’s, too, were full.
What had this woman been through in all these years?
The poignant moment shattered as a rap came on the door before it opened. An efficient looking, blandly dressed, middle-aged matron came in.
“I’m so sorry, my lady. Andrea was so excited about the kitten she escaped in the middle of our gardening session. My hands were in the dirt so I had to stop by the kitchens to wash them before I could retrieve her.”
“She’s just fine, Jane. Come in and meet his lordship, the Earl of Reignsfield. He’s just returned from his journey.”
The governess made the appropriate obeisance. “My lord, shall I take her off and clean her up for you?”
Drew then noticed the little bits of dirt and greenery clinging to the little girl’s pinafore. “Yes, Jane. I’ll look in on her later.” He chucked his newly discovered daughter under her chin. “Be a good lass now, Andrea, and I’ll be up to see you in a bit.” He bussed her cheek and handed her off to the nurse, then watched in wonderment as they left the room.
His heart twisted yet again as the little one waved over her keeper’s shoulder. “Bye, bye, Papa.”
Before the door could be closed, Blevins swept in with the refreshed tea tray and set it before Marianne. Then, just as quickly, he swept back out of the room with little more than a miniscule bow.
Blevins knew this was no time for commentary.
Drew’s attention returned to his wife sitting quietly on the settee stroking the kitten’s back, seemingly mesmerized by its purring.
“Marianne, I had no way of knowing.” He started to approach her.
Marianne rose from her seat cuddling the kitten against her chest. “There is much that has happened here in your absence, my lord,” she said coolly. “I will share as much as possible as quickly as I can. But for now it seems we have acquired a new family member. I will take the kitten to the kitchen for some milk. Then I must retire for some rest. This afternoon has been much too daunting by half.”
“Wait, please, wait a moment if you will. I brought you something back from the Orient.” Drew reached into his right pocket and pulled out the deep burgundy silk bag he had carried with him for over a year. Satin on the outside, velvet within, he handed it to his wife.
Marianne reseated herself on the settee wide-eyed with incredulity. Setting the kitten beside her, she leaned forward to accept the gift. Tenuously she spread the folds of the satin and reached within. Pulling out a long strand of pearls and a ruby pendant encircled with diamonds, she looked up at him, her pale blue eyes filled with awe as well as appreciation for a gift so very fine. “For me?” she gasped. “You thought of me all this time?”
“You are my wife. Of course I thought of you.” Truth be told, he’d done almost nothing but think of her while he had been gone. Evidently, he even dreamed about her and called out her name at night as some of the other sailors teased him incessantly about it. Despite their arranged marriage and brief courtship, she had been his anchor to home and family even having left knowing little about her. For the first two years, she had been the reason he stayed away after the disaster of their wedding night, believing life would be better for her without him. Then, after months studying with the Order of the Crimson Lotus, she became the reason he returned to see if that frisson, that awareness he had felt all those years ago held the promise he learned about while at the monastery.
Marianne uncoiled the pearls, the richest, most beautiful he could find during his travels.
“There are earrings in the pouch also,” he said quietly.
She looked into its depths and retrieved a pair of matching ruby and diamond earbobs designed to accompany the necklace. She looked up at him, her face flushed. “Thank you, thank you, my lord. You are very kind and most generous.” She put the pearls away with great care, then gathered up the kitten. “I . . . I don’t know what else to say.” She rose to her feet. “I am very grateful. But I am most tired. I must go . . . I . . .” Seemingly overcome with emotion and confusion, she gave a pert curtsy. “Please help yourself to tea. And I see Cook has added some scones. They were freshly made with rhubarb this morning. Good day, my lord. And, welcome home.” She sailed from the room holding the purse of pearls gently in one hand and clutching the purring kitten as if her life depended on it in the other.