Miss Marianne's Disgrace (11 page)

She rested her hand on his arm, marvelling at the hardness of his muscle beneath the linen. It wasn't the strength of a Navy surgeon who could wield a saw, but the writer who spent every day dedicated to his craft. He didn't work for only fame and notoriety, but for the safety of his family and a home no one could take from him. She wanted to slip into the circle of his comfort and protection, forget everything he'd told her in the other room and all she'd conveyed in her music. None of it mattered except him and the peace of his embrace.

It didn't last.

‘Warren, are you in here? Your mother said you were working.' A man's voice broke the quiet. Marianne stiffened beneath Warren as the sound of boots on the adjoining study floor banged through the stillness. ‘Where are you?'

* * *

‘Damn it,' Warren cursed as he jumped to his feet and hurried to the far side of the instrument. He placed as much distance as he could between them before Rupert strolled in as though he owned the house.

‘What are you doing here?' Rupert took in the room with amazement. ‘I don't think I've ever seen you in here.'

His curious gaze fell on Marianne. Her once-languid spine had gone stiff beneath Rupert's interested gleam. There was nothing else about her, not a touch of colour in her face or the nervous casting down of her eyes to suggest there'd been anything more going on than her playing for Warren. It still wasn't enough to put Rupert off.

‘Good afternoon.' Rupert bowed to her, his greeting more salacious than salutary.

‘What are you doing here?' Warren demanded. No introduction was necessary. They'd met at Lady Cartwright's.

‘Now there's a warm reception,' Rupert complained before he focused again on Marianne, or more correctly, her chest. ‘Miss Domville, it's a pleasure to see you again. I hadn't expected it to be at Priorton.'

‘Where did you expect it to be?' Her question was as sharp as it was challenging, but it failed to knock the cocky arrogance out of Rupert.

‘Not with Warren.'

‘Miss Domville is an accomplished pianist. Mother invited her to play the Érard.' The excuse for her being here sounded about as convincing as the ones the schoolboys used to tell his father after arriving late to lessons.

‘You should come and play for me some time. I'd very much like to enjoy your well-developed talent too,' Rupert sniggered.

‘Shut your mouth, Rupert.' Warren rounded the curved back of the piano and placed himself between Marianne and his brother-in-law. ‘When you're in my house you'll act like a gentleman to all my guests or I'll demand the return of my funding for your venture. Do you understand?'

‘I do,' he stuttered, stunned out of his smarmy regard.

‘Then apologise to the lady.' He stepped aside and motioned to Marianne.

With the petulance of a schoolboy, Rupert bowed to her. ‘My apologies, Miss Domville.'

She said nothing. Warren didn't blame her for not offering her acceptance. Rupert's apology wasn't heartfelt.

‘Where's your mother?' Rupert glanced around, making the lack of a chaperon apparent. Warren wondered the same thing. She'd sent Rupert here, why hadn't she followed? He'd promised Marianne there'd be no scandal and he'd keep his word.

Marianne rose from the piano and collected her composition book without any stumbling rush of excuses as to why she'd been caught alone with a gentleman. Her expression was as solemn as an angel's on a gravestone. It would be Warren's headstone she'd erect for this near miss. Thankfully, his mother appeared, out of breath as though she were in a hurry.

‘Here I am. The cook waylaid me with some silly thing about dinner. Rupert, you were supposed to wait for me,' she chided, adding more credence to there being nothing out of the ordinary taking place in the music room. ‘Miss Domville, thank you so much for allowing me to listen to your wonderful playing. Lady Ellington's coach is waiting for you. I'll walk you to it.'

‘Good day, Sir Warren.' Marianne dipped a curtsy to him, her eyes revealing little of her thoughts until she flicked a hard glance at Rupert. Without another word, she followed Warren's mother out of the room.

Once she was gone, Warren headed for his study, doing his best to act as uninterested in her departure as she did. He wasn't sure her lack of regret was an act or a real desire to be as far away from him and his reprehensible brother-in-law as possible. He didn't know when he'd find out either. After this mishap, she wasn't likely to return. Panic reared inside him, but he quickly brought it under control. He'd been in worse fixes and overcome them. He'd deal with this as well.

Rupert followed him into his office, his steps tight.

‘What are you doing here?' Warren asked again. ‘You weren't supposed to come until next month', with plenty of time for Warren to arrange for Marianne to not be here and to avoid a potential scandal. His promise to her was at risk of being undermined and he wanted to pound his brother-in-law into the floor. Everything he'd gained with Marianne had been stomped on by this clod who wasn't likely to keep his mouth shut about what he'd seen. Curse the fool and himself for being so careless with Marianne.

‘I have some things to discuss with you in regards to the business and they couldn't wait. I'd like to stay here for the next few days while I visit some potential investors.' He glanced back and forth between Warren and the study door. ‘I thought you were worried about your reputation. Isn't it why you were hesitant to invest in me?'

‘It is and it was.'

‘Then what are you doing entertaining a woman like Miss Domville?'

‘You mean a woman with the ear of Lord Falconbridge, the protection of his aunt, the Dowager Countess of Merrell. What should I do? Call her a harlot to her face like you did? How many copies of my book do you think the Marquess and his friends will buy then? After your insult, you can kiss any hope of patronage from that corner goodbye.'

Rupert ran his hand through his thinning hair, realising too late his mistake. ‘There must be a better way to curry Lord Falconbridge's favour than entertaining a woman of her reputation.'

‘Neither of us will have to worry about her reputation or ours if you don't tell anyone you saw her here.' His stomach tightened with the whiff of deceit behind the comment, but he didn't want Rupert to mention Marianne's presence to the wrong person. If Rupert had a stake in keeping her visit a secret, he was more likely to watch his stupid tongue.

‘Of course I won't say anything. I don't want our venture tarnished any more than you do.'

‘It's not
our
venture. It's
your
venture.' Warren rubbed his hand over Lancelot's head as the dog came to sit beside him. It didn't calm him like it usually did. ‘You're to stop using my name to promote it.'

‘Yes, yes, I got your letter. I need you to sign the investment papers for
my
venture,' Rupert testily clarified. ‘I also need the other half of the money you promised.'

‘I never promised it. The amount I already gave you will have to do.'

‘Damn it, Warren, I was counting on more.' Desperation replaced the spite in his brown eyes. ‘I've already spent the funds from the other investors.'

‘On what?'

‘Necessary expenses,' Rupert mumbled.

Warren stared at the man, disgusted. ‘You squandered it, didn't you?'

‘There was a ship and a captain to hire and investors to woo.'

‘How many fancy dinners and bottles of wine fed your cravings instead of wooing investors or paying for crews?'

He had the gall to appear insulted. ‘You're using these unfounded accusations to renege on your promise.'

‘Then show me your ledgers. Bring them here and outline each expense and how it was used to further your business. I'll have Mr Reed go through it and we'll see how unfounded my accusations are.'

Rupert's jaw ground as he worked to concoct another lie, another excuse to explain his dishonesty.

‘Don't bother telling me anything else,' Warren warned.

‘What am I going to do without your support?'

‘You have your small inheritance, which is more than I had when I first started out. Use it to save yourself or did you squander it too?'

The angry pursing of Rupert's lips told him he had. ‘You have tons of money, but you deny me even the smallest help.'

‘You had the chance to take my assistance, and that of everyone who believed in your venture, and do something with it. Instead you wasted it. From here on out, whether you succeed or fail is according to your own effort and will, which, from what I've seen, is sorely lacking.'

Rupert swallowed hard, staring at the floor as if Lancelot might rise up to help him win the argument. ‘You wouldn't have behaved like this if Leticia were still alive.'

For the first time, Rupert's reminder didn't fill Warren with guilt. ‘You're right, but she isn't.'

‘And whose fault is that?' Rupert hissed.

Warren slammed his fist on the desk, making the ink jars rattle in their holders. ‘Get out and don't ever step foot in this house again. You don't deserve my help.'

Rupert flung one last look of hate at Warren before turning on his heel and storming out of the room. It was then Warren noticed his mother hovering in the doorway.

Warren righted the ink jar, trying to calm the tremors of rage filling him. Even when Rupert's whole world was crumbling in on him, he still tried to blame Warren for both his failures and Leticia's death. For too long he'd allowed him to use her memory against him, to ignore the worm of a man in front of him as though she were still alive. He wouldn't allow it any longer. ‘How much did you hear?'

‘Enough to confirm something I've been considering for a long time.'

Warren rubbed the side of his stinging hand. ‘I held on to him because he reminded me of Leticia.'

‘We both did.' She came up to Warren and laid a comforting hand on his arm. ‘I know I don't talk about her much and have often discouraged you from speaking of her as well. I worried about you when you went into the Navy, frightened each time the post came I'd learn you'd been killed. I didn't want to lose you. I didn't think she'd be the one to die young.'

Warren stared down at his mother, stunned. It was the first time she hadn't shied away from discussing Leticia. His openness had increased hers and it never would have happened if he hadn't told Marianne. Once again, when he'd wanted to help her, she'd been the one who'd helped him. ‘I didn't know.'

‘We're too much alike, not admitting to others how we really feel. Your father used to complain about it.' She offered him a light smile which quickly faded. ‘You blame yourself for what happened, but I don't blame you. You did everything you could.'

Warren sighed, weary of it all. ‘It wasn't enough.'

‘Sometimes nothing is. I saw so much of it in all the parishes I was in with your father.' His mother touched the book on castles. ‘I don't say this lightly because like you, I miss her every day, but it's time for us to recall other, better memories.'

He didn't know how to move past his sister's death any more than he knew how to rid himself of the horrors of the Navy. Leaving Leticia to the past felt too much like a betrayal of her memory and everything she'd ever done for him, yet clinging to his grief had not brought her back. He looked at the ink jar, thinking of Marianne as she'd stood here listening to him. In her quiet voice, she'd told him Leticia's death wasn't his fault and for the first time, he'd believed it. Maybe she was the one who could lead him out of this grief stealing his voice and threatening to ruin his entire life.

Lancelot's collar jingled as he scratched himself with his back paw.

‘What'll you do about Miss Domville? She was very hesitant when I asked if she'd return tomorrow,' his mother asked.

Warren pinched the bridge of his nose, the promise of Marianne decreasing as the troubles of the last half-hour increased. There was nothing stopping Rupert from telling anyone his suspicions about Warren and Marianne, and Warren wouldn't put it past the weasel to say something simply out of spite. Despite the risk, Warren wouldn't pay Rupert to keep silent or allow his brother-in-law to influence him ever again. He'd find another way to protect Marianne and uphold his promise to not allow their arrangement to result in a scandal. If it did, she would need him and he would stand by her, not because he was the cause of it but because he cared for her. She had fast become more than his muse.

* * *

Marianne crept closer to the downstairs sitting room, not wanting to announce her presence to Lady Ellington and Lord Falconbridge. They must not have heard the carriage return from Priorton Abbey, but she'd seen his horse in the stable and knew he was here. Marianne leaned against the wall beside the open door to listen, the composition book clutched in her hand. She hadn't done this since she'd lived with Madame de Badeau. Back then, she used to listen at keyholes all the time. She couldn't help it this afternoon.

‘I have my reservations about this arrangement.' Lord Falconbridge's deep voice carried out from the room. ‘You remember how it was with you and Uncle Edgar and how he almost dragged you down with his appalling behaviour.'

‘Edgar also taught me to live my life as I please and not to allow others' opinions to influence me. I want Marianne to learn the same lesson,' Lady Ellington insisted.

‘And you think Sir Warren is the one to teach it to her?'

‘Yes. He's a single gentleman of good reputation and means with an interest in her. Granted, he's come up with a very complicated way of going about things, but there's a man for you,' came Lady Ellington's cheerful if not practical response. ‘Look at how difficult you made things with Cecelia.'