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‘Don’t you want to marry and not remain a spinster all your days?’ her friend demanded in exasperated tones.
‘Yes. But I also wish I had the talent to play the piano, blue eyes and the opportunity to visit the East and none of those things are going to come to pass either, so I am certainly neither going to repine, nor weave ridiculous fantasies about earls.’
Priscilla leapt to her feet and marched towards the door. ‘I have given up my morning, I have brought you my newest hat to wear and you are not the slightest bit grateful. Well, you can wither into an old maid, Marina Winslow, just don’t blame your friends!’
‘Pris, don’t be cross, I know you want to help, but do face it, I am not going to attract an eligible earl whatever I do.’
Mrs Hinton swirled round and looked at her. Marina winced inwardly. However affectionate the look was, it was shot through with a pity that Priscilla was always careful not to express. But Marina recognised it and it hurt, just as sharply as her mother’s less-well disguised disappointment that she had failed to ‘take’ or Lizzie’s occasional tactless remark.
‘But do you not want to enjoy his company, flirt a trifle, enjoy a little envy from others by being seen to be driving with him?’
‘No, of course not. I enjoy his company and I would like him for a friend, I think. And going driving would be a treat. Naturally I would not dream of embarrassing him by appearing poorly turned out, but I would hate to have him think I was angling for him.’ Marina could feel herself going quite hot at the thought.
‘A friend?’ Her huff completely forgotten, Priscilla sat down again and looked at Marina with astonishment. ‘You mean like Dr Johnson and Mrs Thrale? I do not know of anyone else who is friends with a man.’
‘But are you not friends with Mr Hinton?’
‘Husbands are completely different,’ Priscilla pronounced airily. ‘So, if you do not wish to be obvious, we must simply be subtle.’ This was rather an alien approach for her, but she was obviously prepared to throw herself into the attempt. ‘But the first thing is a walk, then the cucumber and a lie down, or he will think you have been awake all night thinking about him.’
It would never have occurred to Marina that one could spend an entire morning getting ready for a simple carriage ride. Priscilla even monitored what she had for luncheon with care. ‘You must eat something or your tummy will rumble and that would be fatal, but not too much because of tight lacing.’
‘I do not want my stays laced tight,’ Marina protested, helpless as, between them, two maidservants, carried away with enthusiasm, and Priscilla, happily directing, removed her morning dress and pulled on her stay laces. Her bosom swelled to an alarming extent over the top of her chemise. ‘My walking dress will not fit.’
‘That old thing!’ Priscilla threw the lid off a bandbox. ‘I have brought my new walking dress with a braided Russian bodice.’
‘Now that certainly will never fit,’ Marina stated confidently, but with an envious glance at the rich green cloth and intricate braid work.
In reply Priscilla gave a last heave on the stay laces. ‘Yes, it will.’ And it did, provided one was prepared not to breathe. Marina blinked in astonishment at the effect. She had what she considered a reasonable figure, but now she appeared to have a tiny waist and a quite stunning bosom, fortunately modestly covered.
‘It is all in the cut and the corsetry,’ Priscilla remarked complacently.
‘But I cannot breathe!’
‘Why do you need to? You aren’t walking anywhere. Sit back, smile prettily, flutter your eyelashes—which reminds me, lamp black—and greet every one of his observations as if it was brilliant. One hardly needs to breathe to do that.’
At last the excited maids were dismissed and Marina was permitted to descend to the drawing room and await his lordship’s arrival. ‘He is bound to bring a high-perch phaeton,’ Priscilla remarked. ‘Or possibly a curricle, but I think the phaeton would be more likely for the park. And naturally he will be driving his famous Welsh bays, or perhaps the matched blacks. I asked Henry last night and he says Lord Mortenhoe is famous for his horses and for having made most of his fortune himself by being a clever investor, because there was a scandal when his father died and he was left very poorly off.’
Unable to sit comfortably, Marina fidgeted about the room, trying to suppress a secret smile whenever she caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the glass over the mantelshelf. It was lowering to consider how frippery fashions could turn one’s head, but it was a delightful novelty to have an expensive outfit on and to know one’s beautifully curled locks were topped off by a bonnet in the very first stare of fashion. It was also exciting to imagine being driven behind a team of high-stepping horses in a dashing equipage.
When the door-knocker thudded she started towards the door, only to be pulled back by her friend. ‘Not so eager, dearest.’
Priscilla waited, one ear almost on the door panels, then threw the door open and sauntered out, saying over her shoulder, ‘Well, I must be going as you cannot accompany me to the library. My lord!’ The start of surprise was a masterpiece. ‘How charming to see you again. Marina has just reminded me that you are going driving, so I will go and say good afternoon to Lady Winslow.’ She fluttered off up the stairs, leaving Marina torn between admiration and exasperation.
‘My lord.’ She stepped forward and shook hands, surprised at how glad she was to see him again.
‘Miss Winslow, how very punctual you are.’ His smile touched something inside her, something that warmed and expanded into a flutter of happiness. ‘Shall we go?’
At her nod, he took her arm and guided her to the door, which Bunting threw open with some еlan. Marina stepped forward, eager for her first glimpse of the fabulous carriage and team.
At the kerb a groom was holding the head of a neatish grey cob, which, although of a pleasing conformation, was clearly of mature years and showing not the slightest sign of exciting high spirits. It stood between the shafts of a plain gig with blue wheels, its top folded down.
Nothing could have been further from her imaginings of making a stylish appearance in Hyde Park.
Chapter Five (#ub7ce7f01-2d02-5e90-ade4-0c7dc70e01f1)
Justin watched Marina’s face covertly as she stood on the step beside him. Yes, she was disappointed, although one had to be studying her closely to register that flicker of expression before her innate good manners took over.
‘What a pretty gig.’ She said it with a smile that seemed entirely genuine.
‘Thank you,’ he replied gravely, taking her arm and guiding her towards the cob who was being held by a liveried groom. ‘And this is Smoke, who is an old fellow and somewhat on his dignity, although he can be persuaded to trot out like a young one if he is in the mood.’
Instead of asking him why he was intending to take her driving in an ordinary gig behind an elderly horse, Marina stroked Smoke’s nose with confidence. ‘Hello, you are a handsome fellow, are you not?’ She was rewarded with a slobbery kiss on her leather gloves, but she wiped them on his mane with a lack of fuss that Justin approved.
‘You think you will feel confident behind him, then?’ He handed her up into the gig and gathered the reins. ‘Thank you, Thomas, you may return home.’ The man touched his hat and strode off as Justin clicked his tongue at the cob and they rolled sedately down the road.
‘Why, yes. Did you think I would be a nervous passenger?’ Marina swivelled on the seat to look at him. ‘I assure you I am not, although I have not driven in an open carriage very often. Mama uses a closed carriage and Charlie prefers to ride.’ He had also, Justin knew, recently sold his driving horses, presumably to meet some of his debts.
‘Not at all, it was just that I thought you might care to learn to drive, and a single horse is much easier to begin with.’ He waited with some apprehension for her response. It had seemed, at two in the morning, an excellent idea and one that would allow him an excuse for repeated, informal, excursions in her company. Now he was not so sure; if Marina had wanted to drive with him in order to be seen in fashionable places behind a showy team, she was not going to look kindly on his suggestion.
He risked a glance at her face and realised that her silence was due to delighted surprise and not disapproval. ‘Truly? I would so enjoy it!’ Then the animation vanished and she added politely, ‘But I cannot accept, it would be such an imposition on your time.’
Justin, far from being a selfish man, was still not often in the position of offering treats and that eager flash in her eyes touched him more than he could have expected. It also threw the rest of her daily routine into sharp relief for him. Good grief, I’d go mad in her shoes—confined to household duties, fetching and carrying, expected to behave like an old maid. Not that she was looking like any old maid he had ever seen, not in that hat. And how could he have overlooked that voluptuous figure?
‘It would give me much pleasure,’ he responded, biting down a peremptory demand that she kick over the traces and just enjoy herself for once. ‘It would interest me to teach you and you would be doing me a favour.’
‘I would?’
He glanced at her again, trusting Smoke to plod stolidly through the traffic of Swallow Street. There was a decidedly sceptical glint in her eye.
‘I am much involved with business lately. Somehow many of my former recreations pall. To drive quietly with you, to teach you to enjoy the sport, would be a delightful distraction.’
Silence. Had he mishandled it?
‘What made you think I would care to learn?’ She sounded genuinely interested.
‘You have the air of confidence that is necessary, but you also have patience and sensitivity. And I thought perhaps you would enjoy a small adventure.’ Now she was blushing rosily. Deliciously.
‘In the face of such compliments I shall have to try hard to acquit myself.’ It was acceptance of his suggestion and, relieved, he turned his attention back to his driving. They were almost upon Piccadilly. ‘Where are we going?’
‘I thought Green Park, if you would not dislike it. Far less fashionable than Hyde Park, of course...’
‘Good.’ It was said with heartfelt relief. ‘If I am to make an exhibition of myself, I would far rather it was before an audience of nursemaids, dairy maids and elderly scholars than the fashionable crowd.’
‘You will not make an exhibition of yourself,’ he remarked somewhat absently, concentrating on turning right on the busy street past Burlington House.
‘You are very confident, my lord!’
‘I am teaching you,’ he responded, unaware of how arrogant that sounded until a gurgle of laughter escaped her. ‘Hmm, that was a somewhat dogmatic remark, was it not? I can see I must rely on you to take me down a peg or two when necessary, Marina.’
The use of her first name was a calculated risk and he was prepared for the sharp intake of breath beside him, pretending not to notice as he negotiated the park entrance.
‘My lord...’
‘Justin. It will be much easier to teach you if I do not have to include “Miss Winslow” in every sentence. And if you wish to berate me for bullying you, or being too demanding, then “Justin” will be so much easier.’
‘Will you bully me?’ she enquired demurely with that underlying thread of laughter that so attracted him.
‘Most certainly. We have just established that I am dogmatic and overconfident, have we not?’ He surveyed the greensward in front of them and guided Smoke towards a long track, away from the park’s resident herd of milk cows. ‘Does anyone shorten your name? Marina suits you when you are on your dignity and being gracious, but it is a somewhat stately name.’
‘The family always call me Marina. Priscilla—Mrs Hinton—calls me Mar, but that is just a childhood name.’
‘Mari. I will call you Mari.’ The thought of a pet name for her, something no one else used, was a pleasing idea. She was blushing again.
‘Very well, Justin. I do not know what Mama would say.’
‘I promise to address you with the strictest propriety within earshot of Lady Winslow.’ He registered the touch of pleasure her hesitant use of his name gave him and made himself concentrate on the lesson. It was like gentling an unbroken horse—he had no intention of alarming her by taking anything too fast. Yet.
Marina attempted to sort through her jumbled emotions and discovered that, underneath the shyness and the fear of making a fool of herself in front of a accomplished whip, she was quite simply happy.
Justin pulled up and handed her the reins. ‘Here you are. One horse and a plain snaffle bit, so only two reins, which you hold like so...no, thumb here. We will leave the whip for a later date.’
‘Oh. Good,’ Marina said fervently, already feeling that her hands were rather too full of things and nervously aware that she could feel Smoke mouthing the bit.
‘Just keep contact with his mouth. Perfect, now shake the reins slightly and click your tongue. You can say “walk on” if you like.’
One grey ear swivelled back and Marina laughed. ‘He is listening. Walk on, Smoke.’ If the cob took exception to a rather overenthusiastic shake of the reins, he showed no sign of it, pacing off down the long drive. Marina, hardly daring to take her eyes off the ground in front, exclaimed, ‘I am driving!’
‘Certainly you are driving. Now, relax your hands and your arms or Smoke will think there is something to worry about.’ Beside her Justin turned so that his left arm was behind her and he could take the right rein out of her hand. ‘Put your hand over mine and feel how relaxed I keep my fingers. Go on, Mari.’
Tentatively she did as she was told, shaken by the close proximity of his body. It is no worse than waltzing, she chided herself, feeling how loose his grasp on the rein was. ‘I see.’ Justin handed her back the rein, turning to sit straight in the seat again, and she felt a little pang at the loss of the contact.
‘What do I do now?’
‘Go down this drive to the next bend, then turn right.’
‘How?’
‘Tighten your fingers on the right rein. I will tell you when.’
And by some miracle it worked. Marina spent a happy hour guiding the old cob round and round Green Park at a steady walk, glowing with Justin’s praises and blissfully unaware that if any of his friends had seen him they would have assumed he was fit only for Bedlam.
At last he pried the reins from her fingers and took them home. Marina sat flexing her shoulders which were surprisingly stiff and asked, ‘May I trot tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘Oh, I am sorry, I spoke without thinking, it is too much to expect you to let me drive two days running.’ How mortifying, to have presumed on Justin’s good nature in such a way. He was a busy man, he had told her so, and he was only doing this for some whim of kindness.
‘Not at all, you may certainly trot tomorrow; I thought you might have been bored.’ His questioning glance was so open that she smiled back without constraint.
‘I am enjoying it so much. The driving and your company. You see, I never had a male friend before. I suppose it is one of the benefits of being out of the Marriage Mart—one does not have to consider those stuffy conventions so much any more.’
‘You see me as a friend?’ She tried to fathom any meaning behind the question. ‘Why?’
‘Because I trust you and it is easy to talk to you.’ The gig drew up outside the house and Marina hopped down before Justin could assist her. ‘Would you care to come in and take tea? I can ask a footman to come and hold Smoke.’
The door opened before he answered her and Charlie emerged, setting his fashionable hat at a rakish angle on his head. ‘Good God, Mortenhoe, what are you doing in that rig?’
‘Teaching me to drive, Charlie. Is that not kind of Lord Mortenhoe?’
‘Dashed good of him. Look, old chap, there was something I wanted to discuss if you have a moment, only I’m on my way to the club.’
‘Step up, I’ll drive you. Thank you, Miss Winslow, I will take up your kind offer on another occasion. The same time tomorrow?’
Marina agreed and stood watching with glee as her brother climbed reluctantly into the unfashionable vehicle and was driven off.
Justin regarded Winslow’s efforts to pull his hat low enough to render himself unrecognisable. ‘I will drop you off in a minute if you like. What did you want to say to me?’
‘Only to ask how it was going with my sister. The driving’s a dashed good idea, I must say.’
‘I thought so, and Miss Winslow seems to enjoy it. The only trouble is, I am not sure it will achieve much.’
‘Why not? Alone together, lots of opportunities to hold hands, not a chaperon in sight. Damn it, man, if you can’t make love to her under those circumstances, I don’t know what it would take.’
‘Miss Winslow considers me to be a friend. I am sure she thinks of me in no other light. If I start to flirt with her now, she is going to take me for a complete coxcomb.’ And Marina’s good opinion of him was something, Justin realised, that he valued.
‘Hell!’ Charlie lapsed into thought. ‘Leave it to me, I’ll see what Mama advises. Look, can you drop me off here, I can see some chaps I know coming.’
With a grin Justin pulled up to let Winslow escape before he was spotted and drove home, wondering what hare-brained ploy Charlie was going to come up with.
Marina recounted the tale of her first driving lesson at dinner, much to Lizzie’s wide-eyed interest. ‘Has he wonderful horses? A whole team? Did you canter?’
‘No, Lizzie, one steady cob and I walked around Green Park.’ Marina regarded her sister tolerantly. ‘You would have been bored to tears.’
‘I’m sure I would! When I come out I will be driven everywhere in the greatest style by all my beaux, you wait and see.’
‘If you cannot speak in a more modest and becoming manner, young lady, you will not be joining us for dinner again,’ her mother interjected frowning. ‘I had thought you old enough, but now I wonder if I was wrong. You may go to your room directly after dessert.’
When a sulky Elizabeth had trailed off to her room, Lady Winslow swept Marina into the drawing room and patted the sofa beside her. ‘I am glad of the opportunity to talk to you alone, dear. Now, you know Charlie is selling Knightshaye to Lord Mortenhoe? Well, the dear boy has a clever scheme to put the money in trust for Giles’s education, Lizzie’s come-out and my comfortable retirement to the Dower House. He has spoken to me very openly about his rather regrettable tendency to gamble and has hit upon this way of keeping the money safe for all of us. Now, is that not good news?’
It was, but there was an unpleasant hollowness in Marina’s stomach. ‘And what are his plans for me, Mama?’
‘He thought you would be living with me at the Dower House.’ The hollowness turned into an icy hole. ‘But I thought of something much better.’
With a rush of relief Marina stammered, ‘I can stay here and keep house for Charlie?’
‘Goodness, no, child! What are you thinking of? You are far too young to be keeping house for a bachelor brother in London of all places, and we could never afford a chaperon for you. No, I will have Lizzie’s companionship for a year or two until her come-out, so you would be much better employed with Aunt Maria.’
‘Great-aunt Maria in Bath? But she never goes out.’
