Miss Marianne's Disgrace (19 page)

‘I don't believe or trust you, Mr Hirst. I suspect it was you who gave this story to the papers and it's you who wants to brand him a liar and darken his name.' She flung the
Morning Post
into the dirt, then motioned for the footman to keep Mr Hirst at bay while she climbed into the coach. Lady Ellington swiftly followed, settling into the opposite seat, lips drawn tight with her concern.

‘I'm trying to help you!' Mr Hirst shouted as the footman closed the door. ‘Whatever misfortune you suffer, you've brought it on yourself,'

Mr Hirst's further cries were muffled as the carriage set off, leaving the bruised man yelling in the street.

Marianne studied the wrinkled document in her hand, the ink smudging the cream tip of her glove.

‘Well?' Lady Ellington asked.

She handed her the stock agreement. ‘I'm not sure what to make of it. It appears genuine but I'm not convinced.'

She'd learned from Madame de Badeau how easily letters and signatures could be forged. It was how Madame de Badeau had tried to bring down Cecelia and Lord Falconbridge. Her incriminating letter had been a note, this was a legal document. It was difficult to fathom Mr Hirst being criminal enough to draw up something like this, but his accusations went against everything she knew about Warren. He was too honourable to swindle people, too intent on making his own way to be a cheat or a con.

‘You must speak to Sir Warren at once,' Lady Ellington advised. ‘I'm sure he'll explain everything.'

She was right, but it didn't calm her fears. It wasn't simply the document which concerned her, but what else it meant. ‘If what Mr Hirst said about the business venture is true, it will soon be all over London. My presence as Warren's intended wife will increase the gossip and make him look worse. There'll be no hiding away from it, or stopping people from bringing up my past to smear him.'

‘No, my dear, there won't,' Lady Ellington gravely concurred. ‘As his wife, you will have to face it and support him through it all.'

Marianne rubbed at the ink stain on her glove, amazed how once again notoriety was being thrust on her through no fault of her own. She couldn't flinch or hide away from it this time. By wedding Warren, she'd have to endure whatever vicious criticism was hurled at them and more stories like the one in the newspaper, possibly worse ones. It was what she'd feared when he'd asked her to play for him and when he'd encouraged her to publish her music.

She stared out of the carriage window at the passing countryside. The quiet existence she'd always craved was about to end in a way she never could have imagined. Instead of terrifying her, or making her want to hide from society or run from Warren as it would have a short while ago, the prospect of it no longer troubled her. The strength she'd relied on to stand firm against Madame de Badeau and her male visitors, the determination which had helped her endure every disappointment from her girlhood until now, would help carry her and Warren through this crisis. She loved him and she would stand beside him and their future, whatever it might hold.

Chapter Twelve

‘Y
ou wish to postpone the marriage?' Marianne whispered, the floor rocking beneath her as though she were still in the carriage.

Warren stood across the garden path from her, his words littering the gravel between them like old leaves. It reminded her of the morning Mrs Nichols had told her she'd soon be leaving the school. She'd been impassive, direct, as if Marianne leaving the only home she'd ever known were nothing more than a slight upsetting of plans. It was the same way Warren had delivered his news and it chilled her just as much.

‘Only until this issue with Rupert can be settled. I must stop Rupert and make sure he doesn't get away with it.' Warren had explained everything to her, his brother-in-law's role in the affair, the risk to Priorton and Warren's innocence in the scheme.

‘We needn't delay the wedding for him, or allow his treachery to ruin our plans. Besides, you'll need funds to fight him and I have those.' Her bottom lip quivered ever so slightly as she tried to speak like the brave woman she wanted to be.

‘And I won't take them, nor will I rely on the riches of a wife to save me or Priorton.'

‘I want you to have them, for everything of mine to be yours,' she cried, wincing at the desperation in her voice. He was pulling away and she was trying to cling to him, as her mother had clung to Lord Falconbridge. If he wanted to be free of her, she should comport herself with dignity and let him go, but she couldn't.

‘No.' The word was as hard as his stance and she sensed nothing, not a rational argument or even tears, could make him change his mind.

A gentle breeze blew across the rose bushes behind her, but the hard-pruned and scraggily branches barely moved. She wished she were as untouched by the cold as they were, then Warren's words wouldn't be tearing her apart. ‘Why are you pushing me away?'

* * *

Warren's chest burned at the stricken look which came over Marianne's delicate features. She appeared as his mother had the morning they'd lost Leticia, as though the world was ending. It killed him to cause her such pain, but he must. ‘I won't allow you to risk your fortune or jeopardise your security because, like a fool, I trusted Rupert.'

‘Liar. You don't want me because you've finally discovered how much my situation will reflect on you. Once the public sees you with a woman like me, they'll judge you much harsher than they would if it were the venture alone sinking you.' Marianne settled her shoulders, a mask of indifference sliding over her. She was retreating from him and returning to the self-preserving caution which had marked her first days at Priorton.

Desperation seized him as it had when he'd realised Leticia was dying. He couldn't allow her to slip away from him or to stop him from doing what he knew was the best for both of them. He might hate himself now as much as she did, but some day when this was behind them, they'd both see he'd done the right thing. He only had to convince her to keep faith in him and his plan. ‘It isn't true. I love you too much to have your past and all the stories about you dragged through the papers and ballrooms because of me. Nor will I allow our marriage to be questioned and doubted by everyone until they weaken your belief in me.'

‘It isn't them weakening it, but you. You spent so much time working to get me to rely on you, cajoling me to care for you, convincing me you loved me. Then, at the first whisper of trouble, you run away.'

‘I'm not running. I still need you, nothing about that has changed, but we can't marry until I'm clear. Can't you understand?' He took her hand, but it was like holding one of Lancelot's paws. She was no longer the passionate woman who'd pulled him into the orangery and shared with him the most intimate parts of herself, and it was his fault. ‘I won't drag us both into poverty.'

‘You're not your father, Warren,' Marianne said in an even voice, something of the caring woman coming back into her expression.

He dropped her hand, her words like a slap he deserved. ‘I will be if I fail.'

Her lips thinned with her anger. ‘Then go to London and save yourself. I no longer care.'

She whirled on her heel and made for the house.

‘Marianne, wait,' he called after her, but this time his entreaty didn't stop her.

‘No, I won't be humiliated by you or waste my life waiting. I'm finished with you,' she cried over her shoulder before disappearing inside.

* * *

Tears blurred Marianne's eyes as she rushed into the sitting room and slammed the French doors closed behind her. She turned the lock, determined to stop him from pursuing her. The rings at the top of the curtain panels rattled in protest as she jerked them together, darkening the sitting room and turning the silent pianoforte a deeper black. She staggered to the instrument and sat down on the bench. The two brass knobs on the key cover were cold against her skin as she tried to take hold of them, but she couldn't make her trembling hands co-operate. At last she gave up, glad she couldn't play. She feared the dark and forbidding notes which might come from her. She'd loved him and he'd pushed her away just like the Smiths, like her mother, like everyone she'd ever cared about. She'd trusted him with her heart and her body and he'd made her regret it.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as a new anguish emerged from her sorrow. She dropped her hands to her stomach. Nothing there felt different and it would be a week or more before she knew how terrible a mistake she'd made with him. If a child came from their lovemaking, not even Lord Bolton would have her and the repercussions would be far greater than anything she'd ever faced before.

She rose and began to pace across the rug, refusing to glance out of the single uncovered window to the view of the orangery. Its place as a sanctuary was over, just as Lady Ellington's house might soon be denied to her too. The Falconbridge family had been steadfast in their support of her when all the rumours had been unfounded. If they were proven true, through an illegitimate child, there'd be no reason for them not to cast her out. Lord Falconbridge had already warned Lady Ellington about Marianne and Warren.

She shuddered to think what lies she'd have to resort to like her mother had to protect herself and a baby. She'd vowed never to be like her, except she was. Fresh tears stung her eyes. In the end, no wonder Warren hadn't wanted her.

‘Marianne, what's wrong?' Lady Ellington appeared in the sitting room doorway. ‘I heard you and Sir Warren shouting at one another in the garden and Darby tells me he left in a hurry. What happened?'

Marianne faced her friend, afraid of seeing the care and concern etching her delicate features turn into loathing and disgust. They wouldn't if Marianne kept silent about the depth of her relationship with Warren, but all the pain tearing her apart wouldn't allow it.

‘I've made a horrible mistake and you'll hate me for it.' She buried her face in her hands and dropped back down on the bench, wishing she could stop crying, but she couldn't.

‘I could never hate you, my dear.' Lady Ellington hurried to her, taking her in her plump arms and pressing Marianne against her chest. She stroked her back in the motherly way Marianne had craved during so many dark times in her childhood. ‘Now, tell me everything.'

Lady Ellington held Marianne as the details of Marianne's conversation and relationship with Warren came spilling out. She couldn't hold the words back as she confessed her intimacy with Warren and her fears of what might happen because of it. Lady Ellington listened without interrupting as all the loneliness, abandonment, helplessness and tragedy which had marked Marianne's twenty years filled her words.

When Marianne was done, she braced herself, expecting Lady Ellington to rail at her for being so foolish and surrendering to temptation. Instead, the woman shook her head as though considering a blight on her roses. ‘This is troubling.'

‘I'll understand if you don't want me here any more,' Marianne choked out. Of all the places she'd ever had to leave, this one would hurt the most. Lady Ellington had been the closest thing to a mother Marianne had ever experienced.

‘There's no reason for you to go anywhere.'

‘But what about Lord Falconbridge? I overheard him say to you the other day my future here depended on there being no scandal with Warren.'

‘That's not what he said at all, my dear. He was afraid if I was wrong about you and Sir Warren, you'd be hurt and things might become even more difficult for you in this part of the world than they already are.' Lady Ellington laid her jewelled hand on Marianne's and clasped it tight. Her eyes, which were usually so full of mirth, were serious and determined. ‘I would never throw you out, not for any reason. And don't you dare worry about Randall, he wouldn't either. No matter what happens you'll always be welcome here.'

‘Why? Why do you keep standing beside me when everyone else walks away?' Marianne asked with no small amount of shame, for both her behaviour and her low opinion of Lord Falconbridge.

‘Because I know what it's like to be unfairly judged by others, especially for things you haven't done. My brother Edgar was a greater womaniser than King Charles II. After I lost my husband,' Lady Ellington fingered her diamond bracelet, her voice catching before she continued, ‘and I came to live with him, I couldn't even talk to a gentleman without everyone thinking we were lovers and I was as wanton as Edgar. Refusing to remarry made the rumours worse, but after my husband, I couldn't wed again without love. I certainly couldn't accept any of the fortune hunters chasing after me.

‘Then, one summer, when I couldn't take much more of the vicious rumours, I considered a proposal from doddery old Lord Fontgrass, thinking it would end them. When I told Edgar, he rode to Lord Fontgrass's and told him he and his proposal could go to hell. Then he came to me and, in his oh, so delicate way, said he didn't care what I or anyone thought about me and I shouldn't either. I should live as I wanted and ignore everyone else. He was right.'

Marianne shook her head. ‘It can't have been so easy.'

‘It wasn't, but in time when everyone realised they couldn't hurt me, they lost interest in trying. I want the same thing for you.'

‘I thought I had it until this morning, but I don't.' Marianne's shoulders slumped with her sorrow. ‘If there's a baby, everyone will know I'm no better than my mother and all their derision of me will at last be vindicated.'

‘If there is a child, we will deal with it as we have every other issue.' Lady Ellington sat back and took Marianne by the chin and fixed her with a serious look. ‘As for you being like your mother, you are nothing like her. You have a heart. She never did. You are caring and loyal to those you love, even Sir Warren. Don't give up on him or your future, Marianne. You'll regret it if you do.'

‘But he doesn't want me.'

‘He does. He loves you as much as you love him, I'm sure of it, but I fear he's in a difficult state right now and not thinking clearly. Like you, he's fought his battles alone for so long, he can't conceive of accepting help, but you must assist him whether he wants it or not.'

Marianne considered what she said and what Warren had told her. He hadn't called off the wedding, but asked her to wait. She'd taken it as a rejection and retreated into her old habits just like he had. If she didn't find some way to make him see his mistake, as Lady Ellington had helped her to recognise hers, she might lose him for good. She couldn't allow it or return to the lonely life she'd led before she'd met him. She did love him and she wouldn't lose him, but she would fight for their future, though she had no idea how. ‘What can I do if he doesn't want my help?'

Lady Ellington shook her head, as at a loss for ideas as Marianne. ‘We'll think of something, some way to assist him which won't damage his pride.'

Marianne leaned back against the piano, the sharp edge of the key cover pressing into her back. If he refused to take her money, perhaps she could speak with Mr Berkshire and arrange to purchase some of Warren's books. Maybe Lord Falconbridge could act on her behalf, but if Warren ever discovered the ruse, it would undermine his need to help himself. If only he'd written a new story, the one he'd craved when he'd first proposed their arrangement. Then he'd have his next novel and the funds it might raise.

Marianne sat up straight as the idea struck her. ‘The book.'

‘What book?' Lady Ellington asked as confused as Marianne was excited.

‘
Lady Matilda's Trials
. It's still upstairs in my desk. It's the one he sent me after we first visited him at Priorton.' The one she'd made him burn because of her fears. It was his fears ruling them now and she wouldn't allow it, like she would no longer hide from her past and the gossip or life, but face it and live as she wished. Marianne didn't know how many people would see the truth behind Lady Matilda's story, but it was a chance she had to take. ‘If I give Mr Berkshire the manuscript, Warren will have his next novel, his advance, and the chance to earn enough money to pay back the investors and the solicitors.'

Lady Ellington clutched Marianne's hands, gripped by the thrill of the scheme. ‘Then we must go to London at once.'

* * *

‘Well, Mr Steed, can we fight it?' Warren asked the solicitor. He sat in Mr Steed's Temple Bar offices as the illustrious solicitor read over the document. From a room on the lower floor a woman and a man screamed at one another.

Mr Dyer, the noted barrister, read over his partner's shoulder. The gentleman had a reputation for dealing with forgery cases. There were rumours Mr Dyer had gained his flair for uncovering forgers through his secret work with the Alien Office, rooting out criminals and spies, but they'd never been confirmed. Mr Berkshire paid them to keep copies of Warren's books from appearing under the names of other printers. Hopefully, they were as good at preventing Warren's name from being connected to fraud as they were at maintaining the integrity of his work.