Chapter 9
Gloriana huddled under the coverlet and wondered what Elspeth was saying to Philippe. She was probably apologizing on her behalf.
Oh, God, why did he think she was a wanton? He’d wanted to marry her, or so he’d said. How could he think she’d gone to him naked for any reason but love?
As well as longing for escape from her mother and aunt, that is, but Philippe had been a godsend—or so she’d thought. She wouldn’t have used a similar trick on any other man. She would have put up with her autocratic, bigoted female relatives until they died, exactly as she had done in the end.
She tossed and turned and tossed again. After a while, she heard Elspeth close the front door and shoot the bolt across. She considered getting up to question the maid, but decided against it. Far better to accept that Philippe disdained her. Far better to set all feelings for him in the past where they belonged.
She slept late, but woke determined to find her own path to the tranquility of the previous months. She couldn’t stop Philippe from risking his life, but she had done her best. If only she knew what, if anything, he had said to Elspeth last night! But she shouldn’t ask. She shouldn’t care. She should concentrate on finding a way to recover the book without Philippe’s help.
But oh, how she wanted to know.
She returned to her first idea, that of befriending Lady Marianne Delfin, in the hope of getting a chance to search for the book herself. To avoid arousing suspicion, she must make an oblique approach rather than a direct one. And she must be patient, for it would take time.
She had Elspeth help her into a blue wool walking dress. “Another chilly day,” she said.
“Windy, too, like last night. You’d best wear your new pelisse.”
She eyed Elspeth, wondering if she’d mentioned last night on purpose. “I do hope the marquis reached home in good health.”
“I expect he did,” Elspeth said.
“I assume you served him tea.” Irritably, realizing the maid was amused, Gloriana crammed a fur-trimmed bonnet over her hair. “You took long enough to get him out the door.”
“Tea with brandy.” She held out Gloriana’s matching pelisse. “I don’t think he wanted it, but he’s a civil sort of man. He didn’t even balk when I seated myself at the table. Seemingly, he truly does believe in equality.”
“Yes, he does.” Gloriana buttoned the pelisse and picked up her gloves. “I suppose you apologized for me.”
Elspeth nodded. “Aye, but I warned him that he must have hurt your feelings.”
Gloriana groaned. “What did he say?”
“Naught. He went and changed his clothes.”
Evidently, he didn’t care. Why, oh why, was she always surprised? “I wish you hadn’t told him. It served no useful purpose.” And she didn’t want it to, she reminded herself.
But she couldn’t contain her misery. “He well-nigh accused me of being a wanton.”
“Tsk,” Elspeth said, adding gently, “but perhaps he thought he had reason.”
“I was in love with him then! How could he so misjudge me?”
“I expect misunderstandings ruin many a promising romance.” The sadness in Elspeth’s voice echoed the misery in Gloriana’s heart.
Oh! She stared at the maid. “Elspeth! Have you ever fallen in love?”
Elspeth turned quickly away and shook out Gloriana’s nightdress. “Tsk, this had best go in the wash.”
Gloriana couldn’t believe her eyes. Elspeth had had a lover? Surely not. She fumbled into an apology. “I’m sorry. That was a horrid, prying question. I know it’s none of my business. It’s just—just that I didn’t think you know how I feel, but perhaps you do.”
Elsbeth softened. “Yes, Miss Glow, I fell in love once. I had met him before, but we became better acquainted at a house party.”
“But you didn’t marry.”
“We were both in service and had no money to start a life of our own, so it would have been impossible. Anyway, it seems he wasn’t as smitten as I.”
“I know that feeling,” Gloriana said glumly.
“It was painful at the time, Miss Glow, but it was for the best.”
She couldn’t help but admire Elspeth’s stoicism. “You’re so brave and—and practical.”
“It’s easy to be practical when one has no choice.”
So why, Gloriana asked herself, couldn’t she admit that she too had no choice? “Did the marquis ask you to try to stop me from trying to find the Book of Hours?”
Elspeth smiled. “He didn’t mention the book at all. He asked if you often stoked a fire yourself, and I explained that you were the most considerate mistress ever and never woke us in the wee hours. I told him how your Mama dismissed that poor footman, and how you paid him out of your own allowance and wrote to his lordship your brother.”
It was a topsy-turvy world when a servant gave a reference for her mistress. “What a strange thing to ask. I suppose he was just making conversation.”
“He wouldn’t have asked if he wasn’t interested,” Elspeth said, which was kind but unconvincing. “Shall I ring to have the carriage brought round?”
Gloriana shook her head, instead walking the short distance to call on Alice Stowe, who was far closer to Lady Marianne than Gloriana had ever been. Ordinarily, she tired quickly of Alice’s gossipy company. Needs must, however, so together they walked in the park, and together they shopped. Marianne arrived in London several days later, and together they went to call upon her.
Alice’s carriage was a few doors away when a handsome young man left Hythwick House. He stalked in their direction, scowling. He would have passed them, absorbed in his dark thoughts, if Alice hadn’t ordered the coachman to stop the carriage and put down the window to greet him.
“Mr. Barnham,” Alice said. “How lovely to see you back in Town.”
Barnham was a proper sort of man, so he doffed his hat, revealing his close-cropped flaxen hair, and bowed politely. When he raised his head, the scowl was gone. “Delighted, Mrs. Stowe, Miss Warren.” He followed it up with the usual pleasantries, but his perturbation showed.
Gloriana watched as he strode away. “He seems upset.”
“He wants to marry Marianne, but Hythwick won’t permit it.” She indicated to the coachman to carry on.
“Why not? He’s quite eligible—the son of a viscount and sufficiently well off, I believe. He inherited a competence from an uncle, didn’t he? That, along with her dowry, makes it quite a good match.”
“Supposedly it’s because he’s only a second son,” Alice said. “Hythwick says he wants her to wed a peer.”
Gloriana rolled her eyes.
Alice raised her brows. “Surely you understand, being so set on marrying one yourself.”
Drat, Gloriana thought. Her role of the past several years was pursuing her in the most annoying way. “There are only so many peers available, and most of them are dead bores.”
Alice snorted. “I did wonder at your sanity when you set your cap at Hythwick.”
“I didn’t set my cap at him! He pursued me.” She sought a reasonable excuse for her lack of interest in marrying a title. “Wanting to wed a peer was because of my mother. It was her greatest wish.”
“And her deathbed request, I suppose.”
“It would have been, if she hadn’t died in her sleep,” Gloriana retorted. “I thought I should give it a try.”
Now it was Alice’s turn to roll her eyes. “In any event, that’s not the real reason Hythwick refused permission. Word has it that he and Freddy quarreled when they were schoolboys, and Hythwick’s refusal is nothing but spite.”
“How horrid,” was all Gloriana said, but a shudder ran down her spine.
The carriage came to a halt again. She got down first, and while waiting for Alice to alight, she glanced up the street at the retreating Mr. Barnham. He encountered Philippe de Bellechasse, who turned to walk with him. Judging by Mr. Barnham’s extravagant gestures, he was pouring out his troubles to Philippe.
She turned away before Philippe had a chance to notice her. She’d managed to avoid him for several days, both in Islington and here in Town. Of one thing she was sure—there was no risk of encountering him at Lord Hythwick’s house.
In the drawing room, they found Lady Marianne with her aunt, Mrs. Apsley. Marianne was a pretty blonde with an air of gentle innocence, completely the opposite of her brother.
A gossip pries without hesitation or embarrassment, went one of Mama’s dictums, and Alice did so immediately. “We met Freddy Barnham on his way out.”
Marianne’s lip trembled. “My loathsome brother won’t let me marry him.”
Mrs. Apsley cringed. “My dear Marianne, you mustn’t speak so of dear Alvin.”
“He is loathsome,” Marianne said. “He says I must never speak to Freddy again. You are lucky he decided not to offer for you, Miss Warren. Oh, dear, I shouldn’t have said that. I know you’re disappointed.”
“Not at all,” Gloriana said. “Everyone in my family advised me against marrying your brother, saying we should not suit. I dreaded having to refuse him.”
Alice gave her a look of utter astonishment. “That’s not what you said when you first arrived in town last summer.”
“I didn’t say anything, Alice. I let you assume what you wished, since no one would have believed anything else. Nevertheless, it’s the truth. My family matters to me far more than a title.”
“Very proper, Miss Warren,” said Mrs. Apsley.
Marianne rounded on her. “If you mean to say I should honor my brother’s wishes, I shan’t! I shudder to think whom he means to find for me. Some doddering old man, no doubt. I love Freddy!” She scowled at her aunt. “I know, I know, persons of our sort do not marry for love.”
“Sad, but true,” Alice Stowe said. “However, one learns to like one’s spouse well enough.”
“As you will surely do, Marianne,” said her aunt.
Marianne made a face and turned to Gloriana. “In any event, I am sad that you will not be my sister. Might we perhaps be friends?”
Gloriana leapt at this opening, despite the uneasy expression on Mrs. Apsley’s face. “How very kind. Indeed, we may. Please do call me Gloriana.”
Marianne smiled. “Thank you! And you shall call me Marianne.”
An excellent start, Gloriana thought. Perhaps she might get a chance to search for the book sooner than she’d anticipated.
Before they left, Alice invited the two ladies to her salon the following evening. “Nothing formal. Some music and cards, and lively discussion of course.” They accepted, for Alice’s invitations were prized. She never failed to include intelligent, well-informed guests. Both Gloriana and Philippe had attended her salons for years.
Oh, no, thought Gloriana. Riding home in the coach, she said, “I suppose you’re asking Philippe de Bellechasse too.”
“He has a standing invitation. He’s entertaining, and you’ll be there too, which makes it even better. It’s so much fun watching you argue with him.”
Gloriana’s heart sank. She couldn’t bear to be a hypocrite anymore. “I may not argue at all. I’ve come to the conclusion that some of his ideas are correct.”
Alice clapped a hand to her breast. “You, agree with Philippe? The end of the world must be nigh.”
Gloriana huffed. “I’ve had enough of arguments. I’m all for a peaceful life.”
“Dear me. That will never do. We shall see how Philippe takes the news.”
The next evening, in a room full of guests, he took it with such a smug expression that Gloriana longed to smack him. “It was inevitable,” he said. Several people tittered, including Alice.
“I didn’t say I agreed with everything,” Gloriana retorted.
“In due time, you shall.” He winked.
Appalled and, God help her, titillated at the same time, she summoned every remnant of her icy, aristocratic pride. “On a sunny day in Hades.”
More laughter.
“Touché, my dear Miss Warren.” He kissed his fingers to her and turned away to greet another guest.
Alice’s mouth dropped open. “Did he actually wink at you?”
“Yes,” she gritted out. “Can you conceive of anything more vulgar?” But I like vulgarity, said a small voice in her heart. She’d been winked at by Weatherby, by their butler, by a groom—as a child, of course, but still . . . Why did the hauteur which had protected her in the past seem so utterly crass today?
It didn’t matter. She clung to her frostiest manner as if her life depended on it. “It is obvious why I cannot agree with everything he believes.”
“Indeed, one wonders how a man of his birth can stoop so low,” Alice said, “but one puts up with his plebian views because he is so handsome and charming.”
“Sometimes I wish I had a gun and could shoot him on the spot.”
“Pray do not,” Alice said. “I know he annoys you—you are quivering with rage, my dear—but it is marvelous fun to watch the ladies cluster round him, pretending to hang on his every word, whilst secretly dreaming of his kisses . . . As far as I can tell, he never beds the women who chase him, which of course makes him all the more fascinating.”
“Not to me.” Perfect—instead of a hypocrite, she was fast becoming a liar.
“I wouldn’t mind at all if he winked at me,” Alice said. “Ah, here are Lady Marianne and Mrs. Apsley. Good evening! How kind of you to come.”
Gloriana made a point of sitting next to Marianne. They both enjoyed poetry, which kept the conversation going for a while, but Marianne’s thoughts were clearly elsewhere. She was pining for Mr. Barnham, no doubt. Gloriana wasn’t doing much better. She couldn’t keep her mind off Philippe. In the past, she had scarcely noticed how many determined women pursued him. If anything, she’d laid the blame on him, thinking it proof of his unworthiness.
Why, she wondered, didn’t he succumb to the women who chased him? Did he prefer women of the demimonde, for whose favors he was obliged to pay? She eyed the little group. Obviously, he couldn’t touch Arabella Stansom, an unmarried miss. But what about Sabrina Worth, the pretty widow flirting with him now? Widows were often fair game for a liaison, and Sabrina was no stranger to scandal.
Lady Marianne heaved a deep sigh.
Gloriana turned to her with a rueful smile. “Thinking of Mr. Barnham?”
Unshed tears shone in the girl’s eyes. “I’m doing my best to forget him, but it’s so hard,” she said softly.
“I know,” Gloriana sighed. “Believe me, I know.”
Marianne’s eyes widened. “You are in love with someone too?” she whispered.
Maybe, but she shouldn’t be. “It was long ago.”
Marianne looked as if she wished to ask more, but Philippe detached himself from Sabrina Worth and came over. He took the empty place on the opposite side of Lady Marianne. “Do forgive me for interrupting. I need a few minutes’ respite with the only two ladies in the room who do not seek me for immoral purposes.”
Marianne giggled. “You are safe with us, sir. Isn’t that so, Gloriana?”
“Definitely.” Did she sound as annoyed as she felt? Marianne gave no sign, and Philippe could go to the devil for all she cared. But she would draw attention if she jumped up and stalked off, so she did her best to participate in the conversation, which was mostly Philippe exercising his charm on Marianne. When Alice invited her to make a fourth for whist, she seized the opportunity and left them to themselves.
When she next looked their way, they were deep in conversation, heads together, talking softly. A wave of envy rolled over her.
She dropped her eyes to her cards and didn’t look their way again.
~ ~ ~
Philippe watched Gloriana glide gracefully toward the card room, but returned his attention quickly to Hythwick’s sister. Their tête-a-tête might be interrupted at any moment by another of the women who plagued him constantly.
“Miss Warren is such a pleasant lady,” Lady Marianne said. “I am glad she decided to be my friend.”
He hadn’t intended to discuss Gloriana, but . . . “Is your friendship of a recent nature?”
“Yes, we were merely acquaintances in the past, but she came to call a few days ago. It was so kind of her to do so, despite my horrid brother deciding not to marry her. I was sad that she was not to become my sister, but she agreed that we can be friends instead.”
Merde. Interfering, foolhardy woman! Her intention was obvious—and terrifying.
Marianne pouted. “My brother will probably say I must not befriend her because her family is too scandalous.”
I surely hope so. That would make it impossible for her to search Hythwick’s house, but she would certainly come up with another lunatic plan. Philippe set this concern aside. He would deal with Gloriana later, if necessary. For now, he had his own ends to pursue.
“I have something of a confidential nature to say to you, Lady Marianne,” he said.
She opened her big blue eyes at him, and her voice faltered. “I—I beg your pardon?” She was sweet and well-intentioned, completely unlike her brother. Freddy Barnham was a lucky man.
“Please do not react in any way that may draw attention,” Philippe murmured. “I come as an envoy from Mr. Barnham.”
Her eyes opened even wider. “From Freddy?” she whispered, joy illuminating her pretty face.
He nodded. “He and I have concocted a plan in the hope of changing your brother’s mind, but it will require your cooperation.”
“Anything,” she breathed. “What must I do?”
He told her, and she agreed, as he’d known she would. He left her smiling to herself—which was perfect, as no one but he knew the true reason for her contentment.
Arabella Stansom pounced on him, simpering, with a question about French art. Sabrina Worth watched with a sultry smirk. Gloriana never once looked his way.
~ ~ ~
Gloriana did her best to avoid Philippe. She managed to spend two days at the school the following week without once encountering him. She called on Lady Marianne, who seemed to have recovered her spirits.
“Each day becomes easier,” she confided. “Perhaps I only thought I was in love with Freddy.”
Gloriana wished she could fall out of love so easily.
There was one awkward moment, when Lord Hythwick stuck his head into the drawing room and spotted Gloriana. Fortunately, two other ladies had also called, so he couldn’t order her removal without causing a scandal.
To her surprise, he smiled, greeting them all in a jovial manner. He seated himself next to Gloriana. “I am glad to see you here at Hythwick House,” he said in a low voice.
They were the first words he had spoken to her since he’d assaulted her, except for chilly public greetings. She stared at him in astonishment. Had he forgotten on what terms they had parted?
“As a friend of my sister’s, if not, as was clearly impossible, as my wife.”
“Why, thank you, my lord,” Gloriana managed. From any other man, this might be construed as an insult, but from Hythwick it verged on polite. Did he think this would somehow make up for assaulting her?
No, she realized, more likely he sought to quell any suspicion that she might entertain about the missing book by cultivating an open, friendly manner.
It wouldn’t work, but if he thought it did, so much the better. She prompted him to talk about his estate at Melton Mowbray, and after a long-winded account of the excellent hunting over the Christmas season, he left.
Marianne rolled her eyes sympathetically, and when Gloriana soon stood to leave, she kissed her warmly. “I’m so glad Alvin didn’t forbid our friendship.”
“I, too,” Gloriana said. One hurdle overcome, she thought, and went to buy a new pair of gloves for the Landings ball that evening. It was a smallish affair, London still being rather thin of company, but just the sort of party Gloriana liked. She danced with several gentlemen, some of whom had been her suitors until Lord Hythwick had taken their place.
“Dashed good to see you, Miss Warren,” said Mr. Bridge, coming up to claim her hand for the next dance. “You’ve been somewhat scarce of late.” He reddened. “Sorry, that was tactless of me.”
“Not at all. I’m much better off without Lord Hythwick.”
“I cannot help but agree with that.” He clapped a hand to his heart. “I shall never give up hope.”
She smiled at this. “Since I doubt I shall ever marry, I shall cherish the possession of a permanent suitor—as long as you promise not to languish or fall into a decline.”
“Nothing so tedious. I shall write poetry, drink too much, and tear my hair out.”
Since he was almost completely bald, she couldn’t help laughing as he squired her across the floor. “I’ve been spending more time at the school, teaching drawing to some of the boys.”
“How ever did you convince them that drawing is worthwhile?”
“By relating it to carpentry arts such as marquetry and inlay. It’s rewarding to see their progress and their joy in achievement.”
And then Philippe arrived, driving her enjoyment away. His presence unnerved her. She had to concentrate on her steps.
“Why do you scowl?” Mr. Bridge asked, but he realized at once. “Ah, I see—the revolutionary marquis. The latest on dit is that you have admitted publicly to agreeing with his views.”
“With some of his views, and you know very well which those are,” she retorted. “I shouldn’t have said as much to Alice Stowe, but the world must be mighty short on interesting gossip if my political opinions are the best they can muster.”
“Not your opinions, but the animosity with which you deliver them. No one seems to have the least idea in what way you agree with him, though.”
“Because no one cares about matters of grave interest to society. They just want to be titillated, and for some inexplicable reason, animosity does that.” She sighed. The time had come to reveal her secret. “I have decided to take your advice and seek some wealthy patrons.”
“Excellent. It’s about time!” cried Mr. Bridge, in such a triumphant tone that heads turned—even Philippe’s. He stared at her, his expression so appalled that she had to tear her gaze away.
“Are you well, Miss Warren?”
She swallowed and smiled wanly at Mr. Bridge. “Just a trifle nervous about telling the world.”
“Never mind about the marquis,” he said. “It’s for the welfare of many deserving boys. Concentrate on that.”
Yes. Thrust away the angry, disgusted . . . whatever it was expression on Philippe’s face and think about good works. The music ended, and as Mr. Bridge led her off the floor, she made a point of speaking more loudly than usual so others might hear as well.
Why must Philippe be standing in full view? This was embarrassing enough without him listening.
“Yes, Mr. Bridge, I believe it’s time we told our secret to the world.”
That turned a great many heads. Philippe’s face drained. He swiveled and stalked toward one of the doorways. Good.
“As you all know, I believe in noblesse oblige. Just because too many of the nobility shirk their responsibilities, it doesn’t mean the concept itself is wrong. I did not, and still do not, accept the notions of liberty and equality for all, as the vast majority of humanity are too foolish to handle the responsibility such freedoms entail.” She’d been foolish herself for years and years, and she was supposedly one of the educated sort! “However, I always wondered about Monsieur de Bellechasse’s opinion that education will raise the masses out of poverty and degradation, and that it is far more important than one’s status at birth.”
A few subdued murmurs and a tsk or two greeted this statement. Hopefully, at least one listener agreed or might pass the word.
“A few years ago—after my aunt died and left me a competence—I founded a school in Islington village for orphaned boys from the worst parts of London. Mr. Bridge was so kind as to help fund the school. We have had great success so far. Boys who began as beggars, thieves, and mudlarks are well on their way to becoming responsible citizens.”
Someone snorted at that. “Not likely. Blood will out, and theirs is bad.”
“Mark my words, they’ll only end up as better thieves,” said a gentleman who had supported her entirely opposite opinions in the past. “What has come over you, Miss Warren?”
“Your aunt must be turning in her grave at such a waste of her money,” said a dowager. More mutters of agreement followed.
“She was a dreadful snob,” Mr. Bridge said. “Serves her right.”
“True,” another man chuckled. “A terrifying old besom.”
Gloriana muffled a laugh. Her poor auntie! She’d been a severe trial to live with, but she’d acted according to her beliefs—while Gloriana had played a part, pretending to agree, at first to annoy Philippe, but afterwards out of consideration for her aunt and—oh, admit it, Gloriana, if only to yourself—to ensure her inheritance as well. Should she have opted for sincerity instead?
Probably, but then she wouldn’t have been able to found the school.
“I suspect the good Lord would agree with Miss Warren’s use of her money,” Mr. Bridge said. “And mine. And, we hope, some of yours as well.”
“Definitely not!” trumpeted a dowager who’d known her as a child. “It’s sheer folly. I thought better of you, Gloriana, but you are proving as wayward as the rest of the Warrens. Lord Hythwick was right to decide against you—except that he would have stopped this nonsense of yours immediately the vows were said, which would have been better for all concerned.”
Gloriana caught sight of Philippe in the doorway. Her confession seemed to have restored him to his usual sardonic good humor. Did he imagine she hadn’t realized what Hythwick was like? Probably. He persisted in believing the worst of her, whether her motives or her intelligence.
“Lord Hythwick made the correct decision, for both his sake and mine.” Gloriana shot a glare at Philippe. His eyes flicked past her, and he frowned.
“And I shall forever regret the necessity to do so,” said a familiar voice behind her. Lord Hythwick stepped forward and bowed. “Always a pleasure, Miss Warren.”
“Good evening, my lord.” His sister came up behind him in a frothy gown of palest rose. “And Lady Marianne. How lovely to see you tonight.”
“Might I beg a dance with you this evening?” Hythwick asked.
If only she could say no, you vermin! But even if she weren’t trying to gain access to his house, it would cause talk if she refused, so she smiled and said, “Certainly, my lord. I should be honored.”
The earl and his sister carried on, and the man who’d described her aunt as a besom asked for more information about the school. They went away to find someplace to sit, leaving both Philippe—who was scowling now—and the naysayers behind.
This made the evening much more pleasant, until she happened to notice Philippe sauntering down a corridor away from the ballroom. A few seconds later, Miss Arabella Stansom followed him.
Gloriana stared, dithering. It was all too obvious what Arabella was up to, and she just might succeed. Philippe could run away from a naked woman in the country, where no one who mattered had seen him with her, but he couldn’t escape unscathed from a London ball. He would have no choice but to marry Arabella if they were found in a compromising situation.
Gloriana must prevent such a disaster at all costs. “Excuse me,” she said to the friends with whom she was chatting. “I’ll be back directly.” She stalked across the ballroom in time to see Arabella disappear through a doorway at the end of the passageway.
Fury simmered inside her. She glanced about. No chaperone or giggling miss hovered nearby, so the girl’s plan must be her own. Gloriana hurried down the corridor. Judging by what Alice Stowe had said, Arabella was determined to trap Philippe. She would go to any lengths necessary—such as tearing her gown, perhaps, and then crying, “Rape!”
Gloriana reached the door and barged through, seething.
Lady Marianne Delfin and Philippe were standing with their heads together, looking at a book, whilst Arabella scowled at them, arms akimbo. She stamped her feet, burst into tears, and stormed out of the room, which proved to be Mr. Lansing’s library.
Gloriana felt the blood rush to her face. She’d made a fool of herself by barging in. “I didn’t know which room this was. I—I feared that stupid girl would try once again to compromise you, Ph—Monsieur de Bellechasse.” Although come to think of it, he shouldn’t have been here alone with Lady Marianne, either.
He smirked at her. “I did not need to be rescued, but I suppose you meant well.”
“If you’re not careful, you will need rescuing. For heaven’s sake! What a catastrophe if you found yourself obliged to wed a silly pea-goose like Miss Stansom.”
“Yes, how horrid,” Marianne said. “For her as well as you, monsieur. How ghastly to be married to a man who dislikes, even despises one.”
How heartbreaking to love such a man.
“That will not happen,” he said. “And now, you two ladies must leave me here and return to the ballroom together.”
Gloriana bristled at this blatant order. “So some other foolish girl can accost you?”
He gave her an impatient glare, and Marianne giggled. “They cannot help themselves.”
“You need not fear for me.” His voice was hard, his demeanor implacable. “Long ago, I vowed that no one will force me to marry. I shall wed whom I choose, when I choose.” He might as well have added, certainly not you.
“Thank you for the book of poetry,” Marianne said. “I hope it will improve my comprehension of the French language.” She looped her arm into Gloriana’s, and together they left the room.
“He’s such a good-looking man,” Marianne confided softly as they strolled toward the ballroom.
“Indeed,” was all Gloriana could manage.
“Oh, dear,” Marianne said. “I forgot—you hate the marquis, don’t you?”
“That is nothing but gossip. We disagree on a number of subjects, but there is no enmity between us.”
“I thought not, for you speak to him with the ease of old friends.”
“You mean I scold him,” Gloriana said. “We have known one another for a long time, so I suppose that accounts for it.”
“I like him very much.” She sighed.
Good God. “My dear Marianne, are you falling in love with his handsome face?”
“He is far more than a handsome face,” Marianne said reproachfully. “He is kindhearted as well. And clever, too!”
“Perhaps, but what about Freddy Barnham?”
She pouted. “Alvin doesn’t approve.”
“He won’t approve of the marquis either,” Gloriana said. Dear Lord, no. If he refused to consider Freddy Barnham because of a childhood dispute, how would he react to a suitor who had beaten him half to death a few short months ago? “He would do anything to prevent you from marrying Philippe de Bellechasse.”
Marianne’s answering smile was the sort that hides happy secrets—or delusions. “We shall see.”