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‘Deplorable,’ Lord Mortenhoe agreed. He was regarding her in a way that made her feel as though they were alone in the room—a most disconcerting sensation. Marina decided she had been living rather too quiet a life recently if the arrival of one tonnish gentleman for dinner was enough to put her out of countenance. It was a seductively pleasant experience, though, to be looked at in quite that manner.
‘Mrs Philpott has been very forgiving about it, although the gardener had to be placated with a gratuity. Do you still keep a pet dog, Mrs Hinton?’ She turned slightly to include her friend in the conversation and Hugh, who had been edging closer with his habitual gaucheness, lounged away again.
‘No, not since little Tottie died just after Christmas.’ Mrs Hinton, a slender honey blonde, looked up through her lashes at Lord Mortenhoe. ‘Doubtless you find me foolishly sentimental, my lord, but I could not bear to replace her.’
‘Not at all,’ he said sympathetically. ‘I lost my favourite hound last year and it was months before I could consider looking for a new pup. What do you think, Winslow? Are we both too sentimental?’
Once drawn into the discussion, Charlie was soon agreeing that the loss of a favourite pet was a dashed miserable business. Marina could not quite work out how it happened, but suddenly she was talking to Lord Mortenhoe again and Charlie was bearing Mrs Hinton away to see his aunt, who just happened to have a litter of pug puppies to dispose of.
It was too bad of Charlie, removing the most personable of their guests from Lord Mortenhoe’s vicinity! She now had to find him someone else congenial to talk to; she had been counting on her friend’s vivacious conversation and sophisticated charm to distract him from the Thredgolds’ oddities. What might he have in common with the Philpotts?
‘Have you ever taken the waters at Harrogate, my lord?’ She steered him gently in the direction of their neighbours. ‘Mr and Mrs Philpott have just returned from there.’
‘No, I never have. Did you find it a pleasant experience, Mrs Philpott?’ There, now, that was better. Mrs Philpott was a conversable, well-bred woman with an easy style. She and Lord Mortenhoe were soon engaged in a discussion of the waters and whether the accommodations in the spa town might suit an aged aunt of his lordship who suffered greatly from gout and who was bored with Bath and Cheltenham. Mr Philpott joined in with a recommendation for a local livery company and Marina was just thinking she could safely slip away and have a second look at the place settings when her mother appeared, her sister at her side.
‘Araminta dear, Mr and Mrs Philpott are just explaining the benefits of the Harrogate waters to his lordship. I am sure you would find them most energising. What do you think, Mrs Philpott?’
Once again Marina found herself on the outside of the group with Lord Mortenhoe at her side. ‘I am sorry,’ she murmured as they moved away slightly. ‘My aunt’s deafness makes her a little unaware of the fact other people are engaged in conversation. I do hope you had heard enough to be able to advise your relative.’
‘Quite enough, I thank you.’ He regarded her with mock-seriousness as she glanced across the room to her uncle. ‘Would you think me very rude if I did not engage your uncle in conversation on the subject of cattle breeding? I must confess to being terrified of the beasts and he is sure to despise me.’
That surprised a gurgle of amusement from her. The earl was proving to have a quiet sense of humour, which threatened to overturn her poise. ‘My lord! I really cannot believe such a thing, although I have to confess that my uncle is somewhat single-minded in his enthusiasm.’
‘And what are your enthusiasms, Miss Winslow?’ He stopped, leaning one hand negligently on a sideboard, and effectively foiling her efforts to guide him across the room. This was mystifying. Much as she might enjoy his undivided attention, surely the last thing he wanted was the company of the old maid of the family?
‘Mine? Why, I hardly know how to answer you, my lord—’ She broke off, perplexed at the question. ‘I have many interests, of course; Mama allows me to run the household and I oversee Giles’s education. Then there is Lizzie to accompany about town, and my sewing. And my friends, of course, although they are all married now and have young families.’
‘But no enthusiasms?’ he persisted.
‘Ladies do not on the whole have enthusiasms, my lord! Oh, perhaps for good causes, although to really throw oneself into that I always feel one needs to be older and better endowed with wealth than I am. Or perhaps I am just using that as an excuse.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘Gentlemen may have enthusiasms—for politics or sport, for example.’
Lord Mortenhoe’s eyes were on her face and something in them, some gentleness, made her feel suddenly sorry for herself, which was ridiculous. For someone who had singularly failed to oblige her family by attracting even one eligible offer in the course of three expensive Seasons she was most fortunate in her lot.
‘What are your enthusiasms, Hugh?’ she asked her cousin, aware that he had once more strayed into their orbit, and grateful for the distraction. Another moment and she was going to succumb to the sympathy in those hazel eyes and start explaining just how fortunate she was.
The youth shrugged with his habitual lack of grace. ‘Haven’t any.’
‘Not sport?’ his lordship enquired. ‘Horses, perhaps?’
A trace of animation crossed the sullen features. ‘No point, but, if I could, racehorses—’
‘Surely not gambling, Hugh?’ As soon as she had spoken Marina could have bitten her tongue, for the shuttered expression descended again.
‘Or bloodlines and breeding?’ Lord Mortenhoe suggested.
‘Oh, yes, breeding. To be able to produce such beauty and strength is above everything. I read all the stud books, follow form—but Papa will not hear of it. Says I know nothing about it and I would do better to study his work with cattle. Cattle!’
‘If he has built up a flourishing line, I can understand he might be disappointed if you do not intend to maintain it,’ Mortenhoe said thoughtfully. ‘But horse breeding could run alongside cattle breeding, do you not think?’
Stunned by being asked his opinion, Hugh merely gaped. ‘Er...yes.’
‘Would you like to visit my stud at Newmarket? I will ask your father after dinner. If you would be interested, that is.’
‘Oh, yes! Thank you, my lord. Your stud! I’ll speak to him now, try to persuade him.’
‘That was kind of you. I do not think I have ever heard Hugh utter so many words at one time before.’ Marina watched her cousin talking animatedly to his surprised parent.
‘He is lonely, I think. Possibly he has no one to share his interest. And here he is rather out of his depth. You are the only young person present and you have to talk to the visitors, not to family.’
‘Now you are being ridiculous, my lord,’ Marina chided. ‘Hugh is seventeen, I am...considerably older.’
‘Of course, I should have realised you were on the shady side of thirty.’
‘Certainly not—!’ She broke off, choking back a laugh at her own instinctive indignation. ‘You are teasing me, my lord.’
‘Only a little—after all, you have just done your best to convince me you live the life of a sober spinster.’
‘I do not!’ Natural honesty caught up with her tongue and she added, ‘Well, perhaps, but that, after all, is what I am.’
‘And do sober spinsters go driving with gentlemen?’
Was that an invitation? Surely not. ‘I see no reason why not, my lord, should they be asked.’
‘Good. We will discuss the where and when of that later. If I am not mistaken your uncle is coming over.’
He does intend to invite me to drive with him! But why? Flustered, Marina managed to smile at her uncle, who had Hugh in tow.
‘My son tells me you have invited him to visit your stud, my lord.’ Mr Thredgold was, as usual, abrupt.
‘Yes, sir, unless you should dislike it. He seems to have inherited your interest in animal breeding, doubtless as a result of observing your renowned expertise at close hand.’
A faintly smug expression came over Mr Thredgold’s face at the compliment. ‘Horses, though—how is that going to contribute to the Thredgold herd?’
‘Diversification, sir.’ Marina watched with something approaching awe as Lord Mortenhoe played on the older man’s obsession. ‘Think, in twenty years’ time they will speak of the Thredgold herd and stud with equal admiration—and of you as its founding genius.’
Now that was both kind and clever, Marina decided, seeing how struck her uncle was by this thought. She turned her own approving gaze on his lordship, wondering why he should trouble with an unknown youth. She found he was watching her and experienced a sudden fancy that perhaps he had done it to please her. But why should he? It must be because he was bored by this party and seeking diversion.
‘Dinner is served, my lady.’ As Bunting held the door Lady Winslow appeared at Lord Mortenhoe’s side. Charlie was already offering his arm to Mrs Hinton and the other guests sorted themselves out, leaving Marina to bring up the rear with Cousin Hugh.
She had arranged the place cards earlier, positioning herself between Mr Philpott and Hugh, but as she neared the table she realised that the two remaining places were between Lord Mortenhoe and Mrs Philpott.
‘Bunting, the place cards have become muddled,’ she hissed.
‘No, Miss Marina, Lord Winslow moved them earlier,’ the butler assured her.
It was too late to make a change now. Putting a good face on it, she took her place, trusting that Mrs Philpott would not feel slighted by being next to young Hugh. At least their neighbour was happily occupied in conversation with Charlie at the head of the table. She began to talk to Hugh about his plans for the summer, leaving Lord Mortenhoe to her mother. It would no doubt be a relief to him: the poor man must be thoroughly tired of her company by now.
Far from experiencing any ennui, Justin was pleased with how the evening was going. Lady Winslow and her son had managed to throw him together with Marina with considerable aplomb and she appeared quite ignorant of any ulterior motive to his presence. Her clear, unselfconscious gaze was a pleasure to meet, even while he experienced an uneasy pang of conscience about deceiving her. How he was going to propose marriage without breaking his agreement with Winslow and yet at the same time salve his own conscience was a puzzle.
Lady Winslow was pleasant, vague and, he suspected, a lady of little energy. Certainly she appeared to rely heavily on her elder daughter and he soon realised that it was to Marina that Bunting looked for direction during the service of dinner. Another count in her favour if she was as competent a housekeeper as she appeared. Knightshaye would be a far bigger household than this, of course, but he did not think she would be daunted by it.
It would be neglected now, he knew that, mentally bracing himself for finding the immaculate, warm home of his memory dusty and unloved. Winslow had said something about continuing his father’s arrangements for its upkeep, but that was not the same as it being lived in by a family. What would his mother have felt if she knew she would be succeeded by the daughter of the very man who had ruined their lives and left her a widow?
He hoped that he would have had her blessing in recovering Knightshaye, even in such a manner, but he had to force a lightness into his voice as he replied to a question from that man’s wife. And yet, although he doubted she knew it, Lady Winslow was another victim of her husband’s arrogance and cold-blooded selfishness.
She was certainly in her son’s confidence over his scheme for Marina. Her expression as it rested on Justin was benevolent and satisfied. As well it might be, he thought with a flash of resentment. Without arrogance he knew quite well he was a considerable matrimonial prize for the daughter of a baron; there had been enough encounters with matchmaking mamas to convince him of his worth.
But not such a big a prize as all that, he reminded himself grimly as he passed a dish of minted peas to his hostess. Not such a prize as would hold a woman once she had seen she could land an even more prestigious catch. It was as well for his pride that no engagement had been announced, although, from what Winslow had said, it seemed rumours had got around about his relationship with Serena Henslow, now the Marchioness of Andover.
‘And have you any family in town?’ Lady Winslow was asking, making a good show of not knowing his family history inside out.
‘No, ma’am, none in town and few at all except for some distant cousins in Scotland and a great-uncle in Cornwall.’
‘How sad,’ she said sympathetically. ‘All the more reason for settling down soon and starting your nursery.’ Her vague smile settled on her daughter and lingered just as Marina turned her head to look at them.
Chapter Three (#ub7ce7f01-2d02-5e90-ade4-0c7dc70e01f1)
What are they staring at me for? Marina glanced down, convinced that her bodice must be gaping or that she had spilled butter sauce on the silk. A rapid glance assured her that everything was as it should be. But now Mama was regarding her with a fond smile and Lord Mortenhoe was positively...no, not blushing, he was far too assured for that. But his colour was certainly up and that spark of controlled anger was back in his eyes.
There was a stir as the footmen brought in the next course and Marina turned her attention to what they were doing. By the time she had nodded approval to Bunting and turned back again, her mother was conversing with Mr Philpott, and Lord Mortenhoe was patiently waiting to offer her a dish of asparagus.
‘Thank you.’ She took some spears, then, without allowing herself to consider too carefully what she was saying, asked, ‘Did something in the conversation just now anger you, my lord?’
‘Did I appear angry? I beg your pardon, Miss Winslow.’ His eyes were a calm hazel now and the flash of green was gone.
‘No, not angry,’ she corrected herself, struggling to find the right words. ‘You had your...dangerous look. Your eyes turn green then—did you know?’
One dark brow rose slowly and Marina felt colour staining her cheeks. ‘Forgive me, my lord, that was an impertinent observation.’
‘Not at all, merely perceptive. I apologise if I appeared dangerous. Lady Winslow had made a perfectly innocent remark that happened to touch a nerve, that was all. My momentary irritation was with myself for my own weakness.’
‘What...?’ Marina shut her mouth with a snap. She had been within a whisker of asking what the sensitive subject was. Whatever has come over me? she thought frantically. It was this man, that was the trouble. She looked at him and felt an immediate affiliation, a sense that she could tell him anything, ask anything, rely on him.
‘What did she say? That was what you were about to ask me, was it not?’ He ignored Marina’s flustered murmur of denial. ‘Lady Winslow referred to the fact that I am unmarried and implied that perhaps I should be seeking to remedy that.’
‘Ah.’ He did not seem annoyed now, but she could quite understand that he might well be. How on earth to turn the subject?
‘She is quite right, of course,’ he said calmly, slicing through an asparagus spear.
‘Oh.’ Marina gave herself a little shake; she really could not sit here uttering monosyllables like a dummy. If his lordship wished to confide in her, then so be it. ‘Perhaps there is a lady with whom you have an understanding?’
She watched his profile and saw the black lashes sweep down, momentarily hiding the betraying eyes. When he looked at her, the hazel gaze was clear and friendly. ‘I believe I am far from understanding women, let alone reaching an understanding with one.’
He had turned her question very neatly and she experienced a sense of relief that she could step on to safer ground. ‘We are not so difficult to fathom, my lord.’
‘You smile, Miss Winslow, you are obviously mocking me.’
It was he who was mocking her, she was certain. ‘No, I would not dream of it. Everyone is different, of course, but I think that all women would want to feel wanted, needed, to have a loving family and to know that they are useful in whatever way they can be.’
‘That is very laudable, ma’am, but I cannot help but feel we are back to ladies not admitting to enthusiasms! What about rank and status, riches and luxury? Do ladies not covet those?’
Marina felt that she should piously point out that covetousness was a sin, but the crinkle of humour at the corner of his eyes made the unspoken thought seem prissy. ‘To have enough money to indulge in little luxuries is very pleasant, of course.’
‘And rank and status?’
‘Those would bring great responsibility,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘but I can see that they might have a certain allure.’ He smiled and she laughed back at him. ‘But you are teasing me again, my lord; I can tell.’
‘Why should I do that?’ Justin’s voice dropped, became warmer. ‘You speak as though you are immune to such temptations and I see no reason why you should be.’ She opened her mouth to protest, but he carried on remorselessly. ‘You are about to remind me of your advanced age and that is, if you will forgive me saying so, a nonsense. Now, Miss Winslow, may I tempt you?’
‘T...tempt me?’ What with, for goodness’ sake?
‘These almond fritters look almost irresistible to me.’
‘They are,’ Marina agreed, seizing the opening with gratitude. ‘They are quite the best of Cook’s specialities and I defy anyone to refuse another once they have sampled one.’
The meal proceeded harmlessly, much to Marina’s relief, with conversation about the difficulty of finding a really reliable cook, the latest balloon ascension and if the weather could be expected to continue so fine.
Eventually Lady Winslow rose, gathered the attention of the other ladies with a glance and made her way out of the dining room. Marina followed meekly at the back, unsure whether she was glad or sorry the meal was over.
Conversation in the drawing room was animated, for it seemed that Mrs Thredgold had heard the most fascinating intelligence about the Brighton Pavilion, now supposedly reaching completion after years of building work, and was anxious to share it with the other ladies. As she was too deaf to hear their replies and raised her own voice almost to a shout, a number of cross-conversations were soon in process, allowing Marina to muse on her conversation with Lord Mortenhoe in peace.
If she had not known better, she would have thought he had been flirting with her. Perhaps he was, she thought, a little frown line appearing between her brows. Men did not flirt with Marina any more, a circumstance she accepted without rancour. Men flirted with young, pretty girls and even when she had first come out she had known herself not to be pretty. And they expected girls to giggle and flirt back, to make sheep’s eyes over the edge of their fans and gaze at them as though they were wonderful.
Marina had rapidly discovered that she was really very bad at flirtation and that nothing would persuade her to gaze with wide-eyed admiration at some callow youth simply because he was male, had a title and a respectable degree of wealth—she felt rather an instinct to laugh at them. She also discovered that sensible, poorly dowered young ladies with a satirical twinkle in their eye eventually found themselves seated firmly on the shelf.
‘May I sit here, Miss Winslow?’ The men had entered the room without her noticing.
‘Yes, of course, my lord.’ Please go and talk to Mrs Hinton, my lord. Mrs Hinton is pretty and amusing and will flirt very elegantly with you.
But Lord Mortenhoe appeared oblivious to the fact that her friend had left a carefully judged space on the sofa next to her and sat down beside Marina, settling back and regarding the drawing room with every appearance of approbation.
‘This is a very charming room, if I may say so.’
‘Why, thank you, my lord.’ Marina could not help but feel flattered. The room had cost her much work and careful budgeting, but she did feel that it had turned out well and showed no sign of having been created on a shoestring.
‘And may I presume to deduce from that modest look that you are the creative hand behind it? I suspect that Lady Winslow relies very much upon you.’
‘Mama does let me run things more or less as I will, my lord. I find it interesting to manage the household.’
‘Then perhaps I might ask you for some advice—can you recommend a good agency for domestic staff? I will be engaging a complete household for a rural estate shortly and it is not something with which I have much experience.’
‘My goodness! A complete household? I would have to think about that, for there are several agencies that I could recommend and I think that it would be prudent to approach more than one. You have acquired a new shooting lodge, I imagine?’
Now, what have I said to amuse him? Lord Mortenhoe’s lips quirked in a wry smile. He really did have the most expressive mouth. I wonder what it would be like to be kissed...
‘No, not a shooting lodge, a mansion of, if I recall correctly, twenty bedrooms.’
‘My goodness, that is large.’ Marina wrenched her eyes and her unruly imagination away from Lord Mortenhoe’s mouth. ‘Then you will most definitely need more than one agency. There are no staff there at present?’
