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‘Yes, of course. You will need some money in your purse and I was wondering whether I might sell my pearls…but now I can give them to you to wear, for you have nothing but your silver locket.’
‘Oh, Mama…’ Marianne glowed. ‘I shall keep them safe and give them back to you when I return. And I want you to take the ten pounds you spent for my clothes today, if you please. Ten pounds is more than enough for me.’
‘I shall take five, if you wish,’ Mrs Horne said. ‘Perhaps Lucy and I will have a day in Huntingdon when you two are away.’
‘Please take the ten pounds,’ Marianne said. ‘I felt very guilty to be spending all your money, Mama. You may need it and I shall be quite content with what I have.’
‘Had we known he intended to give you something we might have purchased all three of those pretty gowns, my love,’ Mrs Horne said, looking regretful.
‘I am very pleased with the material we bought, and that roll of blue velvet from the market was so cheap that there is enough for both Jo and Lucy to have something as well.’
‘You have such a generous nature,’ Mrs Horne said. ‘Your papa told me so often that you would make all our fortunes, because you were bound to marry well. He was sure that one day you would meet a young aristocrat at your uncle’s house—or a guest of the Marquis of Marlbeck…’
‘I have never met anyone I liked particularly at one of Aunt Wainwright’s dinners,’ Marianne said. ‘All her friends seem so proud and disagreeable, Mama. And you know that we were never invited to dine at Marlbeck, though of course we went to the open day in the garden as all the marquis’s neighbours did.’
‘Well, he has died, poor man,’ Mrs Horne said and sighed. ‘As yet no one has met his heir. I have heard that he spends most of his time in London, but I do not know how true that may be.’
‘Even if he lived here, it would change nothing,’ Marianne said and smiled at her mother. ‘He is probably very proud—like his uncle—and I am sure he would not wish to marry the daughter of a parson, even one as beautiful as Lucy.’
‘Well, it does not matter,’ her mother said. ‘All I want is for you to be happy, dearest. If it pleases you to marry a good man with no fortune, I shall not blame you.’
‘Oh, Mama,’ Marianne said, smiling at her through eyes misted with tears. ‘We were all so fortunate to have dearest Papa. I am sure that none of us would consider marrying a man who did not match up to him.’
Alone in her room later that night, Marianne sat at the window and looked out at the night sky. The garden was in shadow—the moon had gone behind clouds and there were no stars to be seen. She had opened her window wide, because it was a warm night and she did not feel like sleeping. Her thoughts were busy with the visit to her great-aunt and her hopes for the future. Marriage had been a distant possibility until recently, because she had known that the lack of a dowry might hamper her chances, even if friends and family universally acclaimed her as a beauty. Her father’s curate, Thomas Rowan, liked her very much, possibly enough to ask her to marry him, but he could not afford to take a wife just yet and Marianne was not certain of her answer if he did ask her.
However, she was relieved that she had been spared the visit to Bath with Lady Wainwright, for she would not have cared to be paraded on the marriage mart. Her only true experience of high society had been met with in her aunt’s house, and it had led her to have a dislike of aristocrats. She much preferred the company of ordinary, good-natured folk like her papa and the neighbours she was accustomed to meeting.
She was not surprised when she heard a knock at her door and then Jo came in, dressed in a white nightgown with pink embroidery about the high neck. She smiled when she saw that Marianne was not in bed, perching on the side of it and tucking her feet underneath her.
‘I saw that you had not blown out your candle,’ she said. ‘I could not sleep for thinking of Lady Wainwright. If she does ask I must go, if only for Lucy’s sake. I am sure I shall not meet anyone who wishes to marry me—and I shall not care for that—but if I do not show willing, Lucy may never get her chance.’ Both sisters were extremely fond of their young sibling and thought her perfect in every way.
‘If Aunt Bertha had kept her house open in London, she might have invited us all there,’ Marianne said with a little frown. ‘I know Mama visited London with her once, and had hopes that we might be invited again. I do not mind for myself, Jo, because I would as soon not marry a man of high birth—but Lucy ought to have her chance.’
‘You are the beauty,’ Jo said and looked at her elder sister fondly. ‘Lucy may match you in a year or two—but I am cursed with this!’ She scrunched up her red hair, which curled into ringlets naturally and was the bane of her life. ‘But I know you do not wish for a grand marriage. Perhaps you will meet a pleasant gentleman…someone like Papa…’
‘Yes, that would be the most fortunate thing,’ Marianne said and smiled at her, in perfect agreement. ‘But I am not sure that another such could be found…’
Jo nodded—their father had been the best of men and they both still mourned him sincerely. ‘Well, I suppose it would be unfair to compare other men to his image,’ she said. ‘But it would suit you to be married to a clergyman, I think.’
‘Yes, perhaps,’ Marianne agreed. ‘Though I should like to be loved and to love…’
‘Romantic love.’ Jo laughed a little scornfully. ‘I think Mama and Papa cared for each other, but I am not sure that I believe in true love the way Lucy does.’
‘No?’ Marianne smiled at her sister. ‘I think if one is lucky it does happen, dearest—but undoubtedly many marriages are for reasons other than love.’
‘Such as the marriage Aunt Wainwright would have had you make?’ Jo looked angry. ‘As if you were not far more beautiful than Annette could ever be! She is nothing beside you.’
‘Jo dearest,’ Marianne reproved with a loving look that robbed her words of their sting, ‘you must learn to curb your tongue. It just will not do to say such things in company.’
‘Well, my aunt need not take me if she is afraid I may shame her,’ Jo said defiantly. ‘I am happier at home and would tell her so, except that it might rebound on Lucy—and you also if Great-aunt Bertha sends you home with nothing.’
‘I am going to visit her because I care about her,’ Marianne said. ‘I do not think of a reward, despite Mama’s hopes. I know she worries for us, but I do not particularly mind being poor, Jo. I just wish Papa were still alive. I miss him.’
‘We all miss him,’ Jo said. ‘As for Aunt Wainwright suggesting that Mama might marry again—and Papa hardly cold in his grave!’
‘Yes, it was thoughtless of her,’ Marianne agreed. ‘But I dare say she does not realise how loving Mama and Papa were together.’
Jo nodded and yawned. ‘Well, I suppose talking will not change things. I shall go to bed and allow you to sleep. We must be up early if we are to have that new afternoon gown ready for you in time…’
‘Goodnight, dearest.’ Marianne kissed her cheek.
After her sister left, she got into bed and blew out the candle. However, she lay awake, thinking for some time before she drifted into a peaceful sleep.
Drew stood in the library of Marlbeck Manor, glancing around him, his eye passing over row upon row of leather-bound books that gave the room its immaculate appearance. Not a book out of place, most of them as untouched as they had been the day his uncle had bought them, by the yard in all probability, and few of them worth reading.
His boots rang on the marble floor as he strode into the hall, echoing in the emptiness of what felt like a huge mausoleum. The house was a magnificent piece of architecture, furnished to the highest standards and stuffed with valuable objects from gold snuff boxes to Chinese vases and oil paintings that had been perfected by a master long ago, and he hated it. It was not a home, had never been home to him. For two pins he would sell it or tear it down and build something more comfortable, and yet that would be sacrilege. And he knew that it didn’t belong to him; he was merely the custodian, and he must pass it on one day to someone more deserving.
Perhaps it wasn’t the house that he hated, Drew thought as he stared at a reflection of himself in a magnificent gilt-framed mirror. Maybe it was his life—himself. Since he had been forced to resign from the army and come home to face his responsibilities as the eleventh Marquis of Marlbeck, he had become aware that he was almost as empty as this vast house—empty of anything worthwhile.
He frequented the clubs when he was in town, drank with other young gentlemen, drove his horses and sparred to keep himself fit—but where was the point of it all? At least when he was out there in the thick of battle, not knowing from day to day whether he would survive, he had known who he was and what he wanted of life. Now there was nothing but the prospect of the lonely years stretching ahead.
But at last there was something he could do—something that might ease the anger he had held inside him since his friends were killed…betrayed by a traitor who had traded their lives for gold. If he could bring that man to book, it would at least give some purpose to his life.
His eyes gleamed, self-mockery driving away his fit of the blue devils as he shouted for his manservant. He had promised Jack he would do what he could, and now that his duty was done here for the moment, he would keep his word. Suddenly, he felt better than he had since he came home. It would be a mad adventure, perhaps his last before he did what he knew to be his duty and settled down to finding a wife in order to provide an heir for the estate.
But where would he find a wife that he could bear to live with for more than a month? Most of the young ladies that were paraded under his nose every time he attended a social affair would drive him to distraction within hours. He needed…wanted…he did not know. At times there was a yearning need in him, but he had no idea what it was that he needed…
Suddenly he laughed out loud, the sound of it echoing in the vast hall. What a damned fool! He was like a wounded dog, howling at the moon for no other reason than a feeling of deep loneliness inside.
Chapter Two
Marianne glanced at the woman sitting opposite her in her uncle’s comfortable carriage. Lord Wainwright employed Sally as the housekeeper’s assistant, and he had insisted on sending her with his niece, because she was five and twenty and a capable young woman.
‘You will need to break your journey for at least two nights, and if there should be an accident to the coach you might be marooned at an inn for a day or so while the repairs are done. I should be anxious if I thought you alone, Marianne. You are still young and innocent, though I know you are very sensible. However, I should feel easier in my mind if you had Sally Jones to accompany you, because she will look out for you, my dear.’
‘Then I shall be very happy to have Sally as my companion for the journey,’ Marianne told him. ‘You have been so considerate, Uncle, and I cannot thank you enough.’
‘You are a good girl and deserve every consideration,’ he had told her and kissed her cheek.
So far her uncle’s fears for her journey had proved unfounded, but it had passed the hours more pleasantly having someone to talk to—though Sally had been sleeping for the past hour or so. Marianne might have followed her example, except that she enjoyed looking out of the window. Her thoughts were already with her great-aunt. It was some years since she had seen Aunt Bertha and she was wondering if she might find her much changed.
Suddenly, the coach halted amidst a jangling of brasses and some juddering that shook Sally awake, making her rub her eyes and look at Marianne in bewilderment.
‘What has happened, miss?’
‘We have stopped for some reason,’ Marianne said. She looked out of the window. ‘I think there has been an accident to a coach ahead of us…yes, it appears that several men are helping to push it to the side of the road.’ She opened her door and got down, looking at Lord Wainwright’s groom as he came up to her.
‘I had to stop, Miss Horne. I’ll give them a hand and then we’ll soon be on our way again.’
‘Yes, of course, George,’ Marianne said. She followed the groom along the narrow country road towards the damaged coach, because she had seen two ladies standing at the edge of the road. They looked upset, as they might well do, the younger almost in tears. ‘I am so sorry for your misfortune,’ Marianne said. ‘It could be some time before your wheel is repaired—may we take you up with us as far as the next inn?’
The older lady looked at her for a moment and then nodded. ‘How kind of you,’ she said. ‘We should be glad of that, should we not, Henriette? My grooms may fetch help and follow us with the coach as soon as they are able.’
‘Oh…yes, Mama,’ the girl said, but she was not looking at her mother. Her eyes were on one of the gentlemen helping with the carriage. Marianne glanced in the direction of the girl’s gaze, seeing a man with fashionably cropped black hair. He had taken off his coat, his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He looked to be very strong and was directing the operations, but as he did not glance their way, Marianne could not see his face. The two ladies followed her to the coach and climbed inside.
‘I should introduce myself,’ the older of the two said. ‘I am Lady Forester and this is my daughter Henriette. We are on our way to stay with friends in Devon.’
‘I am Marianne Horne, and I am visiting my great-aunt. She has been unwell and needs some company.’
‘Ah, yes, illness always makes one so low,’ Lady Forester said.
‘Yes…’ Marianne glanced out of the window as she heard a shout. ‘They have moved your carriage, Lady Forester. We should be on our way at any moment now.’
As she spoke, the man who had been directing operations turned in their direction and looked towards their coach. Marianne could see his face now. He was attractive with a strong, determined face and eyes that looked a very dark blue. He was such a striking man that she was not surprised that Henriette had been more interested in watching him than listening to her mama. For a moment his eyes seemed to dwell on Marianne’s face and she was aware of a peculiar flutter in her stomach. He was so…very masculine, so very different to every other man she had met in her sheltered life. Her cheeks felt a little warm and she looked down. When she dared to look again, he had turned away and was about to mount his horse.
‘It was kind of that gentleman to help us, was it not, Mama?’ Henriette said.
‘Yes,’ her mama agreed. ‘But no more than any decent man would do, I dare say.’ She spoke dismissively, as if the gentleman were of no consequence to her mind, though her daughter’s face reflected rather different feelings towards their gallant rescuer.
As their carriage drew level with him, the man glanced towards it once more. For a moment Marianne gazed into eyes that were so blue and bright that she felt suddenly breathless. Something about him made her heart race for no reason at all that she could think of. He looked directly at her, his eyes bold and challenging. He did not drop his gaze, continuing to stare at her until they had passed him. It was unsettling to be looked at in that way, and she decided that he was not a gentleman, for surely a gentleman would never have looked at any lady in that way, particularly one he did not know. Meeting Henriette’s gaze across the carriage, she saw the slightly wistful expression and smiled, understanding that the girl had been smitten. She was very young, not much above Lucy’s age, and the incident must have seemed like something out of a fairy tale perhaps…a handsome prince riding to their rescue.
‘Tell me, Miss Forester,’ she said. ‘Do you read much?’
‘Oh yes,’ the girl replied, her face lighting up. ‘I love the romantic poets, do I not, Mama?’
Her mother agreed that she did and the conversation turned towards various poets they all admired. In this way the time passed pleasantly enough until Marianne was able to set them down at the next inn.
‘Well, that was an adventure,’ Sally said, once they were on their way again. ‘It is a pity they were not going to Cornwall, miss. The young lady would have been a nice friend for you.’
‘Yes, perhaps,’ Marianne said. ‘She was charming, her mother, too—but I dare say we shall not meet again.’
She eased against the cushions, feeling thankful that her uncle had provided her with such a comfortable mode of transport. They would probably be on the road for at least another two days. For a moment she sighed, wishing that she might have travelled on horseback like the man who had seemed in command when the damaged coach was moved from the road. He would get wherever he was going much faster. For a moment she envied his freedom, thinking how pleasant it would be to be riding on a day like this, and then she shook her head and smiled. How shocking of her to be thinking that she would like to be riding with a man she did not know and never would.
Drew yawned as he leaned his head against the high back of his chair. It was now well past midnight and nothing had happened. Earlier that evening, he had carried his chair to the window, giving himself a clear view of the cove below. He had been lucky to find a suitable property, but it belonged to the Edgeworthy estate and had once been home to a cousin of the elderly lady who owned it now. His agent had negotiated the lease for him, telling him that the lady’s man of business had been very willing to rent it to Drew for a few months. He had found the local man eager to be of service when they arrived the previous day.
He had given Drew the key, saying, ‘You will find it a solid house, though nothing has been done to it for years, Mr Beck. The last occupier fell to his death from the cliff path and Lady Edgeworthy thought it best to shut the place down. However, she will be happy to rent it to you for as long as you wish.’
‘That is most kind of her,’ Drew said. ‘As I told you, I am here for my health…’ He gave a little cough behind his hand. ‘Sea air and exercise will benefit me greatly, and I like to watch the gulls as they circle over the cliffs.’
‘Well, if you feel it will suit you. I’ve had the house cleaned, of course—shall I hire a woman to cook and clean for you every day?’
‘Thank you for having the house cleaned,’ Drew said, ‘but I have brought my manservant—he will care for me as he always does.’
Drew was smiling to himself as that servant entered the room, carrying a decanter of brandy and a glass on a small tray, which he set down on a table nearby.
‘Will you be wanting me again this evening, sir?’
‘No, thank you, Robbie. If I were you, I should get some sleep. You will have enough to do in the next few weeks—and I may need you one of these nights.’
‘Right you are, Captain.’
‘It’s just Mr Beck for the moment,’ Drew reminded him gently. Robbie had been his batman in Spain, and had returned to the estate with him when he sold out, caring for his personal needs much as he had while they were both soldiers. He knew that some of his neighbours, and indeed the other servants at the Manor, found it an odd arrangement, for Robbie was no picture-book hero with his scarred face and black patch over one eye. ‘We want to appear as ordinary as possible. I am recovering from illness and you are my faithful manservant.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Robbie replied. ‘It might be better if you called me Harris—some might find Robbie a mite familiar. You can get away with it as Marlbeck, but not as Mr Beck, I believe.’
‘Yes, perhaps you are right,’ Drew acknowledged. ‘But when we are alone it does not matter, Robbie.’
‘Right you are, Captain.’
Drew grinned as his servant left the room. Robbie never missed a trick, and perhaps it was his intelligence and his dry humour that had forged the bond between them. Robbie had patched Drew’s wounded shoulder with the same dexterity as he repaired his uniform, his manner usually polite but direct, though it had sometimes bordered on insolence when he considered that his officer was stepping out of line. And there had been times during his wild days when the only man who could steady him with a word or a look had been his faithful batman. Drew had been damned lucky to find such a loyal friend to serve him!
He had chosen to bring Robbie as his confidant in this mad adventure, for it was as such he saw it, knowing that he could rely on the man to keep his mouth shut and do whatever he asked of him. The agent had provisioned the house before they came down, and for the past two days they had lived in splendid isolation, eating their way through the generous hamper his chef at Marlbeck had prepared. When that was finished, it would be plain rations, because Robbie’s cooking was not his best asset.
Drew hoped they would not receive many visitors up here, which was one of the reasons he had chosen the house, but he knew that he ought out of politeness to pay at least one social call. He must visit Lady Edgeworthy, if only to introduce himself.
He looked out of the window again. The moon was full and the sky clear of clouds. It was unlikely the smugglers would risk landing this night, because they would be too easily seen. He might as well follow his own advice, and go to bed.
For a moment the picture of a woman’s face came into his mind. She had taken up the stranded passengers from the damaged coach he had helped to manoeuvre from the road the previous day. Something about her face had made him stare, possibly too long and too intently, for as her carriage passed him he had seen a spark of anger in her eyes. He smiled at the memory, suspecting that she was as spirited as she was beautiful, though undoubtedly a lady. And not at all the meek woman he had envisaged as making his wife one day in the hope of an heir. She was far too good for a man such as he, for he knew that he would break the heart of an innocent girl. Far better to find a widow who would tolerate his restless nature for the sake of a comfortable life.
Besides, it was unlikely that he would ever see the beauty again.
‘Marianne, my dear,’ Great-aunt Bertha said and kissed the girl’s soft cheek as she entered the parlour that afternoon. ‘I am so pleased that you could come. I was afraid that the journey would be too tiresome for you, but I see that your Uncle Wainwright was good enough to send you in his carriage, and that was kind of him.’
‘Yes, very kind,’ Marianne said. ‘We were more than three days on the road and it was tiring, though we had no accidents ourselves. Also, it meant that I was able to get a refund on the ticket you purchased for me, Aunt. I have the money in my purse and shall give it to you later.’
‘I would not dream of accepting it,’ Lady Edgeworthy said. She was a small, thin lady with wiry grey hair hidden beneath a lace cap and bright eyes. ‘Keep the money, Marianne. I intend to make you an allowance and that may be a part of it. You must have some money in your pocket, my dear.’
‘Even after I gave Sally a guinea before she left for her kindness to me on the journey here, I have ten pounds of my own and the fifty shillings I was refunded. I assure you that I have never been half as rich in my life.’
‘Well, I am pleased to hear it,’ Lady Edgeworthy said, her soft mouth curving in a smile. ‘However, you will need things for yourself, my dear. I am hoping that you will stay with me for a long visit. You are young and naturally you will marry one day. It is my intention to set up a trust fund for you, which will become your dowry when you are wed. You are my goddaughter and I have always intended to do something for you, and now it is done we may forget it.’
‘You are too generous,’ Marianne said and blushed. ‘I am sure I did not expect it.’
‘We shall say no more of the business,’ Lady Edgeworthy told her. ‘I just wanted you to know that you will not be penniless, Marianne. I may do something for your mama, too, but that is for the future.’ She smiled at her great-niece. ‘Do you think you can be happy here with me?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Marianne replied without hesitation. ‘I never realised it was so beautiful here, Aunt Bertha. I shall enjoy walking on the cliffs, and perhaps on the beaches, too.’
‘Most of them are quite safe,’ her great-aunt told her. ‘But the cove can quickly become a trap if the tide turns. The water sweeps in there very swiftly and it is difficult to climb the steep path, unless you know it well.’
‘I shall remember,’ Marianne said and thanked her. ‘But I have not asked how you are. Your letter said that you have been ill?’
‘Oh, I had a chill and it left me feeling low,’ Lady Edgeworthy said. ‘You must not think me an invalid. I still entertain now and then, and occasionally I visit friends, though most of them are kind enough to call on me these days.’
‘You gave up the London house, I think?’
‘I have lent it to a distant cousin of my late husband’s,’ Lady Edgeworthy said with a slight frown. ‘You know that I have no children of my own, Marianne. My son died in infancy and I was not blessed with a daughter. Had I had grandchildren, I should have kept it free for them, but as it is…I have no use for it. I do not care to racket about town myself, and Joshua asked if he might rent it from me. I told him that he may use it for as long as he wishes, though he says that in time he intends to settle down in the country.’
‘I do not believe I have met your husband’s cousin?’
