Chapter Four
When Marcus entered the breakfast room the following morning, he was tensed as if for battle. It was as likely an occurrence as anything would be given how unwelcome his return had been. His father’s behavior he understood. The old man had never been warm or particularly affectionate. Any hopes or disappointments he felt in that reunion were of his own making.
Miss Barrett he understood, as well, to a degree. Given his explanation the night before, he hoped that she would be in a more hospitable frame of mind but he wasn’t counting on it. She had a deep aversion to being married, not just to him, but to any man he believed. Still, none of it made for a pleasant homecoming.
Crossing to the sideboard, he filled his plate liberally with eggs, potatoes, bacon and Cumberland sausage as well as a generous portion of bread. The sight of it and the glorious scent of it all was enough to make him weep with joy. If there was one true blessing in being returned to the family fold it was that the food would be utterly divine. He’d fantasized about food just as often during his imprisonment as he had about the glorious company of women.
Taking his feast back to the table, he seated himself and poured a cup of tea, a luxury he hadn’t missed nearly as much as the food. It was still a pleasant reminder of all the comforts London and his home had to offer.
“Do you really mean to eat all of that?”
The question had come from behind him. Miss Barrett moved like a cat it seemed. Marcus turned to look at her over his shoulder. “Every single, solitary bite of it… and I shall enjoy each morsel with hedonistic pleasure.”
She made a slight sound of disapproval that he chose to ignore. Watching her, he noted how gingerly she filled her plate, only a single bite or two of only a few foods.
“One has to wonder why you even bother to have the meal at that point,” he said.
Her cheeks turned a rather charming shade of pink. “I enjoy a good meal but, like everything else in life, one should indulge with moderation.”
“I would hardly call breakfast an indulgence,” Marcus replied, bemused by her stuffy, staid and well-rehearsed answer. “Tell me truthfully, why such a ridiculously small portion?”
“Very well,” she snapped, placing her fork with a slight clink on the edge of the plate. “If you must know, my stepmother has pointed out to me that I have grown plumper than my current gowns permit and she refuses to allow my father to purchase new gowns for me when the fault lies entirely upon my own doorstep. My lack of self-control and love of cakes has made me quite fat, according to her.”
Marcus laughed. In the face of such utter idiocy, it was all that he could do.
“I’m certainly happy to have amused you, my lord. Now that my humiliation is complete, I shall return to my room,” she said as she rose from her chair, clearly offended.
Sobering, he studied her expression and found it to be entirely earnest. Her stepmother might have voiced the opinion, but Miss Barrett believed it entirely. Rising to his feet, he commanded, “Sit down. You aren’t going anywhere.”
Miss Barrett blinked at him in surprise. Then her lips firmed in a clearly displeased line. “I am not a servant to be ordered about, my lord.”
“No,” he said. “In this instance, I will be your servant.” With that, Marcus crossed to the sideboard and filled a plate generously with helpings of each of the items prepared. Returning to the table, he placed it before her. “Eat what you like. She has no power in this house. If you want new gowns, you’ll have new gowns.”
“You do not understand the dynamics of this household… she will make my life, and everyone else’s, quite miserable!” Miss Barrett insisted. “She’s like a viper. Constantly slithering about, ready to strike without warning.”
Marcus glanced back at her, taking stock of every curve. Some might have called her plump. But for himself, he’d barely managed to drag his gaze from the lush bounty of her breasts or the delightful sway of her hips beneath her skirts. Not that she would welcome such a blatantly inappropriate comment even if it was intended to be complimentary. Instead, he offered vague and far too faint praise. “There is nothing wrong with your figure. Nothing at all. I daresay, it is precisely the sort of figure that I myself, and most of the men of my acquaintance, find very pleasing.”
She blushed furiously. “Thank you, my lord, but pleasing you or any other man is not of great importance to me—keeping the peace is!”
“Miss Barrett, I starved for the first six months in that prison. I ate things to survive that I cannot even bear to recall. With the bounty of a beautiful meal spread before us, it is painful for me to watch a person deprive themselves for such a silly reason,” he explained. “It would do much for my peace of mind to see you eat a meal and take joy in it.”
She said nothing for the longest time. “I am sorry for what you endured, my lord,” she finally managed. “But if I do not do as she wishes—”
“She will not turn you over her knee, Miss Barrett. She will not order your father to beat you. And she doesn’t have to starve you since you are apparently willing to do so yourself at her direction. No. She can only run roughshod over you if you allow her to. At this juncture, everyone in this house wants us to be married except for you. You may not realize it, but that actually puts you in a position of power. Use it to your advantage.”
Marcus walked away then, returning to his own seat and the plate of food he was determined to enjoy with fervor.
“It’s too much food,” she said. “I could never eat all of it.”
“Then eat what you like of it. You’re not a child to be instructed to clean your plate,” he replied. “You will not be bullied in this house.”
Miss Barrett stared at him, her expression a study in confusion. “You have never been kind to me before. I cannot understand why you are doing so now.”
That gave him pause. Had he truly been so wrapped up in his own life before that he had been cruel? No, he had not. He had largely ignored her though and, perhaps, to a young and impressionable child that was much the same. Had her life been so completely devoid of kindness that his current behavior could be considered such? “Was I so very unkind then?”
She looked down at her plate. “Not unkind. But cold. Very cold and very distant. Your dislike was never voiced, not until that last day, but it was implied at our every meeting.”
Marcus considered his answer carefully. “I suppose my actions could have been interpreted thusly. The simple truth is, Miss Barrett, I had no idea how to behave in the presence of a young girl. You were to be my wife, according to everyone else, and yet you were not old enough to be courted, not old enough to share common interests with me. I had no notion of what I ought to say to you then. The entire thing was deucedly awkward.”
“You certainly seem to have recovered from that, my lord. You’ve been saying a great many things since your return,” she pointed out.
Marcus took a bite of the rich, buttery eggs and let the flavor explode on his tongue. By God, he’d missed good English fare. With that bite completed and the pleasant sensation of fullness beginning to settle in his belly, he sat back in his chair and met her gaze levelly. “So I have. The reasons for my previous reticence have become a moot point as you are now definitely a woman grown and certainly old enough to be courted.”
“And is that what breakfast was? Filling my plate and telling me to stand up for myself? Is that courtship?” she demanded.
He smiled. “It isn’t a romantic gesture, I grant you. Perhaps, I’ll get you chocolates and a posy later.”
*
It was a romantic gesture. Perhaps not in the traditional sense, but it felt quite heroic and romantic to her. She’d never had someone stand up for her, to have someone be willing to openly defy her vicious stepmother on her behalf—yes, it was romantic. It was also guilt inducing. She felt the faint stirrings of it inside her—the awful sinking, wrenching feeling of remorse at all the insidious things she’d written the night before. Dishonesty, in spite of the secretive nature of her trade, did not sit well with her.
“I suppose I’ll need a new wardrobe at any rate. I can hardly continue to be seen in mourning now that you’re returned. Whatever would people think?” Her teasing tone belied her inner turmoil. It was a defensive gesture. The conversation might have appeared superficial to most, but it scratched at much deeper issues. It also tugged at her conscience. She’d remained at her small desk late into the night, finishing the damning and damnable column for her publisher. Just before entering the breakfast room, she had sent one of the kitchen lads to deliver her latest masterpiece to the man in question. Guilt and shame were sinking their teeth and claws into her deeper with every passing second.
Jane tamped those feelings down, ignoring them willfully. Her course was set. In the five years since he’d been reported missing, she’d not just accustomed herself to the idea of not being married or beholden to any man, she’d come to relish the day when she had true freedom through the annuity that had been left to her. Simply because he appeared to be much changed from before and to be cut from very different cloth than her father was no reason to alter her plan. She would stick to it and ignore any lingering scruples that might interfere. It was the only way to hold on to and possible even expand the small amount of freedom she’d managed to carve out for herself.
“I suppose you will,” he agreed. “Before you undertake your massive shopping expedition, perhaps you’d join me for a drive in the park?”
“The park?” Sitting in an open carriage with him, tooling through Hyde Park for all of society to see was not simply an announcement of his return. It was an announcement that their engagement would continue as planned.
“That is part of courtship still, is it not?” he asked, his voice pitched low and the teasing tone reflected in the twinkling of his dark eyes.
It was most assuredly a rite of courtship and she had agreed, at least at face value, to allow him to court her. There was no graceful way to refuse and no good reason to do so unless she were to admit that she had no intention of being honorable in their agreement. “Indeed, it is. Are you quite certain you wish to announce your return with such a public outing to start?”
He chuckled at that. “My dear, Miss Barrett, the servants in this house have told the servants next door already. And they have told the servants two houses down. Before we even sat down to breakfast, I daresay word had already reached Regent Street.”
Of course, it had. The speedy gossip of servants was primarily how she earned her modest living, after all. He clouded her thinking. Having him home, having their betrothal looming over her once more rather than simply the specter of impending spinsterhood left her feeling unsettled. It had nothing to do with the fact that he had possibly grown even more attractive in the years since he’d left. It certainly had nothing to do with the more tender feelings she’d had for him as a young girl until, with a few careless words, he’d crushed her fragile heart and even more fragile ego.
“Certainly,” she agreed. “Gossip flows swiftly and typically gains embellishment with every retelling.”
He didn’t smile, but his lips did lift slightly at one corner. It was an all too appealing expression on his too-handsome features. She could not and would not allow herself to soften toward him. The tenderhearted young girl with her heart on her sleeve was no more, and she would not allow any lingering remnants of her painful tendre for him to muddle her current thinking. Her plan remained and she would hold fast to it. No man would have dominion over her ever again. Once she managed to shake off the yoke of her father, she’d never give up her independence no matter how handsome the man asking might be.
“Is half past eleven convenient for you?” he queried.
No. It was not convenient. Nothing about their current situation was convenient for her. But as she had no other engagement to use as an excuse to beg off, she nodded. “Certainly. I shall meet you in the drawing room, if you like.”
He rose from the table. “I’ll arrange to have the phaeton readied for us… assuming Father hasn’t bartered it off.”
“He did, but he replaced it. The current incarnation is… well, your stepmother chose it. It’s a bit…” Jane stopped, uncertain how to describe the vehicle without appearing unkind or ungracious.
“Garish?”
She nodded gravely. “Some might describe it so. Naturally, I never would, but some might.”
His lips firmed into a thin, hard line. “And yet all he talks about are the dire financial straits we are in. Eight years’ absence have not afforded him ample to time to realign his priorities, it would seem… I bid you good morning, Miss Barrett, until our appointment.”
Jane watched him leave. She would have cursed if she had any inkling how. The few words she’d managed to learn over the years were far too mild to express her current dismay and frustration. Instead, she stamped her foot against the floor beneath the table. It felt shockingly good, so she did it again.
She needed to keep him at arm’s length. As charming, handsome and reasonable as he appeared to be, that was a dangerous combination for a woman who had sworn off love and men altogether.