Candice Hern (43 page)

"I believe it rolled over here somewhere," Mary said as she walked toward the fireplace. "Ah, yes. Here it is. She bent to retrieve the missing embroidery hoop from behind the pole-screen. She handed the hoop to her companion, who had risen from her kneeling position and was brushing off her skirts.

Olivia seated herself once again on the sofa and began to rearrange the disordered contents of her bag, and then carefully smoothed on her lap the half-worked painted silk picture that she had been stitching for several weeks. It was a representation of Summer from a set of the Four Seasons copied on silk from paintings by Sir Francis Wheatley. Mary had given the kit to Olivia as a present, having often admired the quality of her companion's needlework. Her fine stitches were set off beautifully by the delicately painted faces and hands of the figures.

Mary watched dispassionately as her friend gently smoothed the silk and examined her work. She found an odd source of tranquility in the mundane activity, which allowed her to begin the slow process of subduing the still overwhelming emotions resulting from Jack's visit. She affected an attitude of studied calm as she strolled toward one of the windows and gazed out at the street below. She caught a glimpse of Jack and his uncle, perched side by side in Jack's glossy black curricle as it rounded the comer into South Audley Street. They appeared to be laughing.

"Mary?"

"Hm?"

"How did my workbag happen to find its way beneath the sofa?" Olivia asked in a suspicious tone. "I am certain I had stuffed it behind a cushion after Lord Pemerton and Mr. Maitland arrived."

"Oh," Mary said with a casual shrug, "I suppose Jack must have knocked it aside when he laid me down."

"When he
what
?" Olivia's voice was an astonished shriek.

"Well, I had become somewhat faint, I am ashamed to say. Jack was most solicitous, I assure you."

"Mary!" Olivia was suddenly at her side, an arm placed gently around her shoulder. "What happened, my dear? Are you all right?"

"I am fine," Mary said, although she felt nothing of the kind. Jack's proposal had her brain in such a whirl she thought her head might spin right off her neck and fly around the room. The image that notion conjured up caused Mary to giggle nervously.

"Mary?" Olivia's arm tightened.

The concern in her voice was Mary's undoing. She curled her face into her friend's shoulder. "Oh, Olivia," she said, her voice cracking, "I am so confused. I do not know what to do!"

Olivia's arms came around her and held her tightly. She said nothing, but rocked Mary gently in her arms like a child. And suddenly, Mary felt like a child. She wanted someone older and wiser to tell her what to do, to make her feel better, to encourage her to take a chance on Jack, to tell her everything would be all right. Olivia was the closest thing to a mother she had ever had. Perhaps she could help Mary to sort out her confused feelings. She clung to the older woman as though she were her last hope.

"What happened, Mary?" Olivia asked at last, still holding Mary in her arms. "What did that wretched man say to upset you so?"

"He asked me to marry him," Mary muttered into Olivia's shoulder. She stifled an involuntary giggle. It was all so absurd— and so wonderful.

Olivia pulled back and looked down at Mary with a stern glint in her eye. After a moment her eyes softened and she placed an arm around Mary's shoulders, moving her gently toward the sofa. Mary seated herself next to her friend and looked at her in question.

"You do not seem surprised," Mary said. "I wish I could say the same for myself."

"Mr. Maitland hinted to me what the marquess was about," Olivia said. "He was forced to say something when I was bound and determined not to allow you to remain alone with the man for more than a few moments. It was his role, it seems, to ensure you and Lord Pemerton had time for a private conversation."

"Are you not interested in what happened?" Mary asked.

"I would not dream of prying into your private affairs," Olivia said as she reached for her workbag. She looked up at Mary with a fond smile. "But if you wish to talk about it, I am here to listen."

Mary did indeed wish to talk about it. She was anxious for Olivia's advice. The problem was, where to begin?

"He kissed me," she blurted without thinking.

"Well, then," Olivia said, "it is no wonder you fainted." She pulled her tambour out of her workbag and began to carefully stretch the silk picture between the hoops. "So he has proposed marriage. What did you tell him?"

"I promised him a decision tomorrow." Mary rose from the sofa and began to pace across the room. "What am I going to do, Olivia?"

"What do you want to do?"

"I do not know." It was not an entirely truthful statement. There was really no question about what she
wanted
to do.

"Do you wish to be married?" Olivia's head was bowed over her needlework, her tone inscrutable.

"I have never considered it, as you must know," Mary said. "You alone know the truth of my circumstances. Well... you and Jack. I had to tell him, of course."

"And what was his reaction?"

"He claimed it did not signify."

"Well, then," Olivia said, her head cocked to one side, eyes still on her work, "I must say that Lord Pemerton has more character than I had imagined. And so with that perceived obstacle neatly overcome, how do you now feel about the prospect of marriage?"

Mary continued pacing. "It is such a new idea that I have not yet grown accustomed to it." She stopped, looked at Olivia, and smiled. "It is tempting, to be sure."

"I have always prayed that you would find the right gentleman and settle down to marry," Olivia said. "You cannot expect to continue forever with your vagabond existence—moving from Bath to London to Brighton to country house parties season after season. You need a more settled life, my dear. A home and a husband."

Mary stopped pacing and turned to look at her friend. "You believe I should accept him, then?"

Olivia looked up. "I believe you need a husband. It is not for me to say who that husband should be."

"You have never liked Jack."

"I do not dislike Lord Pemerton. It is just that I have not always approved of his behavior. He has such a wild reputation, you know. I have simply been concerned about what associating with him might do to your own reputation. You cannot deny that it is most unusual for an unmarried woman to cultivate a friendship with a rake."

Mary smiled. "Yes, I know." She could not completely explain the perverse pleasure she had always found in pursuing acquaintances with some of Society's most notorious gentlemen. Perhaps it was just to prove her father wrong, to prove that she could indeed capture, however innocently, a gentleman's interest. Somehow, though, it was different with Jack.

Mary walked once again toward the window and propped an arm against the wide embrasure. She gazed absently at the street below as a milkmaid, a heavy wooden yoke laden with milk pails balanced on her shoulders, made her way toward a neighbor's service entry with a quick-stepped grace that belied her heavy burden. Farther down the street a drayman carefully maneuvered his cart load of vegetables into the narrow mews alley. How commonplace it all seemed, Mary thought, when for her the morning had been nothing less than extraordinary.

"Mary?" Olivia said, interrupting Mary's momentary reverie. "Are you in love with Lord Pemerton?"

Mary continued to observe the normal late-morning routine played out on the street below as she considered the question. She wasn't entirely certain she believed in love. She had never personally experienced love, to be sure, nor had she much exposure to love between others. Perhaps if her mother had lived, she would have had an example to which she could aspire, for it was certain her father had loved her mother to distraction. Even after her death he had been so obsessed with her memory he had had no affection left for his only child.

She had thought Peter was in love with her. His words and actions certainly had implied as much. But he could not have loved her, for he had not even fought for her. He had not really cared for anything beyond her father's money.

As for her last three years in Society, it was difficult to cite examples of couples in love. To be sure, she had seen many a starry-eyed debutante, agog over her first suitor. But that was not love. There were betrothed couples and married couples who were obviously fond of one another. But because so many marriages were arranged between virtual strangers, and propriety forbade excessive displays of ardor or tenderness, one could never really be certain of any mutual affection. Of course, her friend Emily had married Lord Bradleigh for love, as all the world knew. A year later there was still occasional gossip about the precipitate ending of Lord Bradleigh's first betrothal at his own engagement ball. And so Mary had to admit that loving relationships did exist for some.

But not for her.

"No," she said, finally, "I do not believe I am in love with Jack. I am quite fond of him, though. And he is certainly handsome and charming." Not to mention that the thought of his kisses made her weak in the knees.

"Is he in love with you?" Olivia asked.

Mary recalled with no little embarrassment her similar question to Jack. What on earth had prompted such a bold query? "No," she replied, "he stated quite clearly that he is not. And I am glad he did, for if he had admitted to a grand passion for me, I would not have trusted a word he said. He was, in fact, quite honest with me, I think. He is fond of me and he needs a wife."

"But you have known all along that he was looking for a wife," Olivia said, gazing at Mary with some concern. "You have been trying to find him one, for heaven's sake. Why has he suddenly turned his eye toward you? Oh, my dear," she said, dropping her embroidery and bringing both hands to her cheeks, "I did not mean to suggest that you are not worthy of his interest. It is just that—"

"That I am not the sort of woman one would expect Jack to marry."

"No!" Olivia said in a frustrated tone. "That is not what I meant at all. I only wonder why he did not speak sooner, before allowing you to present him to all those other young women."

"I believe," Mary said after some consideration, "that he is more comfortable with me than with any of the other young women I have brought to his attention. Perhaps he just decided he would rather marry a friend than a stranger. And I think he ... he k-kissed me so ... well, so he could determine if we would be ... compatible ... in that way."

"And were you?" Olivia's brows raised in question.

Mary paused for a moment as she recalled the fire Jack's kisses had ignited. Her experience at seventeen had certainly not prepared her for such passion, nor for her own response. These things certainly were different, she thought wickedly, when the participants were more mature. "We were extremely compatible," she responded at last.

"So. You are fond of him," Olivia said in clipped tones. "He is handsome and witty, and you enjoy his kisses. It sounds to me as if you have made your decision."

"No, I have not. But if I had," she snapped, tossing an accusing look at her friend, "I can see that you would disapprove. Why do you dislike him so?"

"Mary," Olivia said in a softer tone, "I do not—"

"You have always disliked him!" Mary's voice had become almost a shout. "You have scowled and scoffed and chided since the moment you met him. You have never once acknowledged a single positive quality. Not his good looks, or charm, or wit, or—"

"Mary!" Olivia dropped her needlework and sat up straight, her eyes round with astonishment. "I never meant—"

"You would think he was some kind of ogre, the way you have behaved toward him. How will you treat him when we—" Mary stopped as her hand flew to her mouth. What was she saying? She was railing at her closest friend, and for what? She suddenly realized she had been pleading Jack's case as though she had already agreed to marry him. But that could not be. She had not yet made up her mind. She had not.

She turned to Olivia and grimaced at her friend's almost frightened look. "Olivia," she said in a contrite voice, "please forgive me. I had no cause to shout at you like that. It is just... I am just... rather agitated by this morning's events. I am sorry."

Olivia's eyes softened and she smiled. "It sounds to me as though you have decided to accept Lord Pemerton."

"No." She had not decided. There was much to consider. She was not sure she entirely trusted Jack. She had
not
decided.

Olivia's smile broadened. "And yet you defend him so eloquently." She paused and her brow furrowed slightly with concern. "What is it, then, Mary? You seem to be arguing with yourself, not with me. What is troubling you, my dear?"

Mary sighed deeply, walked across the room, and plopped down rather ungracefully on the other end of the sofa. "I don't know. I suppose I am just confused by the whole business. It is so sudden, after all. I have always enjoyed Jack's lighthearted flirting. But I never expected this." Never in a million years. "I am afraid, I suppose, of acting too hastily and making an irrevocable mistake."

"You believe marrying Lord Pemerton might be a mistake, then?" Olivia asked in a bland voice as she returned her attention to her needlework.

Mary looked at her friend, smiled, and shook her head. "You would make a shrewd diplomat, Olivia, the way you fling one's words back in one's face, giving them an altogether different meaning. You have never approved of Jack and are very deftly attempting to get me to decide against him."

Olivia finished her stitch, then looked up and laid a hand over Mary's. "You must not think that, my dear," she said, gently patting Mary's hand. "As I told you, I have always wished for you to have the opportunity for marriage, a home, and family. The happiest days of my life were those spent with my dear Martin. Knowing how fond I am of you, how could you suppose I would wish anything less for you? If you believe Lord Pemerton can offer you that sort of happiness and security, then you certainly have my blessing." She squeezed Mary's hand briefly. "I only want you to be sure."