Miss Marianne's Disgrace (16 page)

Marianne dropped down on to the cold stone bench in front of the fountain, the fight shocked out of her. She'd been brave last night, defied everyone and their petty expectations of her and the only thing it had gained her was more derision. She could imagine the Cartwrights sitting around the tea table, laughing about her with Lord Bolton and gobbling up his stories of her from her time with Madame de Badeau. He'd probably made up a few more to amuse his snickering hosts. It shouldn't matter, she shouldn't care. For a brief time at the piano last night, and for hours afterwards, she hadn't. She did today because it might cost her Warren.

She stared across the garden at the statue of Zeus, Lord Bolton's warning about Warren ringing in her ears. Warren hadn't declared for her and his association with her was at last costing him patrons. No, she shouldn't lose faith in him so easily. He'd stood by her last night and had always scoffed at all her previous fears over what their time together might do to him. He wouldn't abandon her simply because one or two families shunned him. He had the Prince for an admirer and who knew what other aristocrats in London. He didn't need the Cartwrights. He also didn't need her reputation placing their patronage at risk too.

She jumped up and paced in front of the statue, barely aware of the footsteps crunching over the gravel coming up from the house. She never should have come to rely on Warren. A month ago she wouldn't have cared if he never spoke to her again—this morning it terrified her. He might leave her like nearly everyone else she'd ever been close to had done.

‘Is everything all right, miss?' Darby asked, appearing strangely out of place in the garden carrying a silver salver.

‘Yes, thank you,' she rushed to answer and he was deferential enough not to pry. He'd leave that to Lady Ellington after he told her he'd noticed Marianne was distressed. For the first time, Marianne didn't mind. Down the walk, through the open French doors, the curtains billowed out with the fresh breeze, revealing the pianoforte. It didn't call to her like it had in the past. She didn't want to sit there alone, but be with someone to talk and figure out what was going on in her mind and her heart. She wished Lady Ellington was here instead of off paying calls. She needed to hear her say, as she had so many times in the past, all would be well.

‘This arrived for you.' Darby held out the salver to reveal a letter from Theresa.

Marianne took it, relieved to see it was a friendly missive instead of something more sinister like a parting note from Warren. She'd ignored Theresa's other letters for the past couple of weeks, but she tore this one open, craving kindly words. She shouldn't have avoided her friend or allowed her malaise to make her dismiss the people who cared about her. She might have been reluctant to admit her need for them in the past, but she couldn't today, not with the possibility of Warren ending things facing her.

She read the letter. There was a friendly chiding about Marianne not coming to visit. She said if Marianne was worried about encountering Lady Menton she need not be since the woman had gone to visit her sister for a month. Marianne could come see Theresa whenever she wished though she hoped it would be soon. She pledged her unending friendship to Marianne before ending the letter.

Marianne folded it, guilty at the way she'd neglected her friend. If Theresa didn't survive her travails, and there were many women who didn't, Marianne would lose one of the few people who genuinely cared about her. Theresa, along with her husband, had stood with her as much as the Falconbridges, even against Mr Menton's parents. With her enemies mounting yet another attack, Marianne needed all the amiable smiles and pleasant conversation she could gather.

‘Darby, please summon the carriage. I'm going to visit Mrs Menton.'

* * *

‘Miss Domville isn't here,' the bland Welton Place butler informed Warren.

Warren stuffed down the urgency which had gripped him since Lord Cartwright's visit, determined to remain level headed. He must talk with Marianne before the news of the scandal did its damage. ‘Where is she?'

‘Visiting a friend.' Lady Ellington's regal voice carried out from behind the butler. The tall man stepped aside and allowed the Dowager to come forward. There was no hint of blame in her answer. She simply announced what she knew. ‘Walk with me, Sir Warren, I wish to show you my Italian landscapes.'

She took his arm and Warren allowed her to lead him into the entrance hall despite his eagerness to set off to wherever Marianne was. They stopped at the bottom of the main stairs and she gestured to the stunning collection of Italian landscape paintings hung three and four tall along the walls.

‘I heard a very unsettling rumour while I was visiting friends today,' the Dowager announced as she stared up at her collection.

Warren stopped himself before he could adjust his cravat. ‘Did it have to do with the column in the
Morning Post
?'

‘Ah, I see you are aware of it.' She at last faced him, scrutinising him like captains used to do to their new sailors.

‘Is Miss Domville?' His stomach dropped when the Dowager nodded and the large diamonds dangling from her ears brushed her cheeks.

‘She had an unfortunate visit from an old suitor this morning who saw fit to inform her.'

Warren didn't know who the vile man was who'd delivered the news, but he wanted to thrash him. ‘I apologise. It was never my intention to compromise Miss Domville or to make her a target for ridicule.'

‘And now that she is, what do you intend to do about it? Miss Domville has not had an easy life and does not need yet another person failing her. I won't allow it and neither will Lord Falconbridge.'

If Warren had ever thought losing the Cartwrights' support would be unfortunate, he sensed it was nothing compared to garnering Lord Falconbridge's wrath. With his power and influence, the Marquess could ruin him in a way none of the other country families could dream possible. However, losing Marianne would be a greater punishment than anything Lord Falconbridge might conceive.

‘I won't fail her, Lady Ellington,' he assured her, as vociferous in his declaration as Lady Ellington was in her duty to her young charge. ‘I care very deeply for her and I only want to see her happy.'

Lady Ellington nodded sagely. ‘Have you told her this?'

‘It's why I'm here.' He opened his arms to the hallway. ‘But she's not.'

She tilted her head, appraising him as if he were a new bauble to adorn her fingers. Then she straightened, the decision made. ‘She's gone to visit Mrs Menton at Hallington Hall. It's an easy ride from here, just on the other side of Falconbridge Manor. Mrs Menton is very preoccupied with her baby, so I don't see how she'll pay much attention to Miss Domville.' Lady Ellington winked at him. ‘Good day, Sir Warren.'

* * *

‘Of course Lord Bolton is wrong,' Theresa reassured Marianne. She sat in a deep chair by the fire with Alexander, her infant son, perched on her slowly shrinking lap. The chubby-cheeked boy sucked his little fingers, his eyes wide as he listened to the ladies. Marriage and a baby had mellowed Theresa's high spirits since they'd met four years ago when Lady Falconbridge, the cousin who'd raised her, had brought her to one of Madame de Badeau's salons. It was Marianne's friendship with Theresa which had led her to betray her mother and reveal to Lord Falconbridge the plot to see Cecelia humiliated by Lord Strathmore.

‘What if he's not?' Marianne stopped pacing across the flowered rug to peer out of the window. Below, the lawn slipped down from the back of the house to a copse of trees. Through their nearly bare branches the lake shimmered in the sun. ‘The Astleys and the Prestons and who knows what other patrons in London may abandon him. His work fuels everything he does, it's who he is. He won't let anything jeopardise it.'
Not even me.

‘You must speak with Sir Warren. It's the only way to settle your fears.'

Fears. She hated them and how they dominated her life as much as she hated the uncertainty of waiting on Warren's response to the gossip. The entire situation felt too much like the week after she'd written to the Smiths asking to return to them. She'd waited every day for their answering letter, not even unpacking her things at Lady Ellington's, sure she'd soon be on her way to her old guardians. Their letter severing all ties with her had been a blow, one she feared Warren's reaction to gossip would be too. She wiped at her eyes, pushing away the tears building there. ‘I don't know if I can face him.'

Theresa set Alexander in the cradle beside her chair. She approached her friend and laid her hands on her shoulders. Marianne didn't flinch from her touch, but was grateful for the gesture and the comfort it brought her. ‘If he's placed this much effort in you, he isn't going to let you go so easily. Don't run from him, Marianne. He's good for you. A month ago you wouldn't have played for Sir Warren, or even Lady Astley's guests like you did.'

‘And what has it gained me except more problems?' Marianne's shoulders sagged. ‘I'm tired of fighting people.'

‘It won't be for ever. Nothing lasts so long.'

‘Then when will it end?' A lifetime of frustration made her clench her hands at her sides. ‘When they've finally driven me from the countryside or Lady Ellington tires of constantly defending me?'

‘Lady Ellington will always help you like she helped me and Adam marry, and Lord and Lady Falconbridge find each other again. She won't give up on you no matter what.'

It was difficult to believe, especially after Lord Falconbridge's warning the other day that Marianne's future here depended on Lady Ellington being right about Sir Warren's intentions. If he made his aunt choose between him and her, she felt certain she'd lose. ‘And Sir Warren?'

‘Give him a chance to surprise you. I think he will.'

Alexander began to fuss and rub his eyes.

The stout nurse in her starched apron appeared in the doorway. ‘Time for Alexander's nap, Mrs Menton.'

‘All right.' Theresa offered Marianne an apologetic look. ‘I must feed him, to Lady Menton's horror. She thinks I should hire a wet nurse. Will you wait here for me?'

‘No, I want to walk by the lake.' She was too agitated to sit still.

‘All right, I'll come find you when I'm finished.'

Marianne picked her way downstairs, cautious in case Sir Walter was about. The baronet had been cordial enough to Marianne every other time she'd been here, but there'd been no mistaking his cool disapproval of Marianne's friendship with his daughter-in-law. It would turn to outright disdain if he'd read the newspaper and Marianne might find herself permanently banned from Hallington Hall, despite Theresa's protests.

To her relief, Marianne saw no one as she made her way through the house to the back sitting room. She stepped outside on to the stone portico and crossed it to the steps leading down to the lawn. She followed the path heading into the woods and to the lake beyond, the sense of isolation increasing as she moved further and further away from the house. A breeze blew through the trees, sending a shower of brown leaves fluttering to the ground. Marianne caught one, but the brittle thing crumbled beneath her grip like everything with Warren seemed to be doing. She tilted her hand and the pieces cascaded to the ground. If only she could release her concerns the same way, but nothing except a meeting with Warren would settle her. She wasn't sure she could face him and risk his turning away.

At last she reached the lake and stood at the shore. A stiff breeze blew across the wide expanse and drove it up to lap over the rocks dotting the sand. The surface reflected the clouds passing overhead and made her feel as lonely as the grey water.

I wish Warren was here.

A path followed the bank to a Grecian temple perched on an outcrop. Marianne followed it, then climbed the lichen-covered steps leading up to the main walkway under the temple dome. The second floor of Hallington Hall appeared over the trees. The dark stone didn't stand out against the red and orange leaves as it had nearly four years ago when she'd stood here with Theresa to admire her friend's new home. Theresa was here because she had a husband, a child and peace. Marianne had nothing.

No, I might still have Warren
.

She hoped Theresa was right about him not giving up on her. At one time she would have balked at needing him, but it was clear she did. Under his influence she'd begun to live as Lady Ellington had always encouraged. She wanted more of it, more time to see what existed beyond the pianoforte and the small world she'd created for herself at Welton Place. With him beside her, helping her to disregard everyone who wanted to pull her down, she could have it, assuming he wanted to remain with her. She wouldn't be surprised if he washed his hands of her and hurried to undo the damage his relationship with her might have caused.

She leaned against the cold stone building, not sure how she would stay sane with all this uncertainty nipping at her. A duck swam by, cutting a widening V across the surface. She must see Warren and settle things, one way or another. Even if meeting him meant the end of their relationship, their brief time together proved there existed gentlemen who might care for her. It should have been a comfort, but it wasn't. She didn't want any future gentleman. She wanted Warren.

Rustling from behind the temple caught her attention. She followed the curve of the building around to the other side and out of view of the house. She expected to see a rabbit or a deer in the underbrush. She was startled by the sight of Warren emerging from the woods atop a chestnut-coloured horse, Lancelot trotting beside him.

She moved, ready to run down the steps and throw her arms around him as he dismounted, but she didn't. She wasn't sure why he was here and she wasn't going to embarrass herself by clinging to him as he bade her adieu.