The Spinster Bride (20 page)

“I don't plan to ask Lady Caroline to marry me,” Charles said offhandedly.

Oh, her heart nearly stopped as terrible hope filled her. “Oh? You don't suit?”

“We do. But I'm in love with someone else. Deeply and profoundly.”

Marjorie could not respond, because in her heart of hearts, she wanted that someone else to be her. But what if it weren't? What if Katherine were wrong?

“Are you not curious as to who has stolen my heart? I would think, as my matchmaker, you would be. After all, it was you who brought my love and me together in the first place.”

Her heart stuttered a bit at that. He was being so blasé, so dispassionate. “Who is the lucky lady?” Marjorie said, trying desperately not to sound as if she really cared one way or the other.

“She's lovely. Intelligent. She makes me laugh. I think she loves me, but I'm not sure. I believe I might give up entirely on love if she doesn't return my feelings. I don't think I'd get over this one, should she break my heart.”

Marjorie stopped walking and was acutely aware that they were in a ballroom surrounded by people she knew, people who would most likely report back to her mother that she'd been promenading around the ballroom on the arm of the one man her mother seemed to dislike above all others. “Mr. Norris, please do not keep me in suspense a moment longer. Who is she?”

“You,” he said softly, with the smallest laugh. He started walking again, and she followed, clutching his arm a bit tighter, her heart near bursting. “I'm hoping you return my feelings, at least a little.”

Marjorie wanted to scream with happiness, to throw her arms around him and kiss him and kiss him, but she was in the middle of a ballroom and so instead she smiled politely. “I cannot breathe for loving you.”

His steps paused for just a moment. “Thank God.”

She squeezed his arm a bit, and the two walked on silently as if they'd just been discussing the weather and had run out of things to say. When they'd gone a full circle about the room, they turned to each other, their secret burning in their eyes.

“I have a plan.”

“I know what to do.”

They spoke in unison, then stopped. Marjorie spied her mother coming toward them and her entire body tensed. “I have to go. My mother.”

“I'll leave a note,” he whispered, and then louder, “Thank you, my lady. I'll give your well wishes to Lady Caroline when she arrives.”

Dorothea, whose sharp eyes had never left Marjorie as she walked around the room with Mr. Norris, visibly relaxed.

“Mr. Norris,” Dorothea said with a nod, “I do believe Lady Caroline has arrived.”

Mr. Norris bowed and, giving Marjorie one more look, headed in the direction of the ballroom entrance, where Lady Caroline stood with her mother. But Marjorie didn't care. She didn't care if Charles bent over Lady Caroline's hand and kissed it. Because she knew he loved her, that he had a plan. Perhaps they would elope. Or perhaps he would somehow convince her mother that a title was an inconsequential thing. She couldn't wait to find out what it was. And if she didn't like his plan, she had one of her own.

Yes, getting caught together was fraught with danger and she would have to endure the scandal and her mother's deep disappointment. She recalled how shocked her mother had been when she'd told her about Katherine and Graham putting themselves in danger of being seen. It would be purely awful to disappoint her mother so, but she'd do it if it meant she and Charles could be together.

It would not be easy to face the censure of people she'd known all her life who would no doubt think less of her. Yet she couldn't help remembering how everything had worked out for Katherine. No one cut her. She was at this ball, greeting people she'd met during the little season as if nothing scandalous had ever happened.

Of course, Graham did have a lofty title, and that shielded Katherine from some ill effects. It was also clear to anyone who saw her and Avonleigh together that they were very much in love. Would these same people overlook Marjorie's error when she became a mere missus?

“Did Mr. Norris impart good news regarding his courtship with Lady Caroline?” Dorothea asked. “You seem pleased.”

“I am pleased, Mother. Look, the Grand March is beginning. I have promised Lord Shannock the first waltz. He's the only name on my dance card so far.”

“Mr. Norris did not ask you to dance?”

“No, he did not.”

“And does that disappoint you?” Marjorie was watching many of the guests gather for the Grand March, but she could feel her mother's eyes upon her.

“Not in the least.”

“It is good to hear that. I feared you felt far more affection for that man than you should.”

Marjorie turned to look at her mother. “I do feel some affection for him, Mother,” she said cautiously. “He is a wonderful man.”

“Just as long as you don't feel too much, for it appears all his attention is now on Lady Caroline. And what a charming pair they make, do they not? Here comes Lord Shannock, looking rather dapper this evening.”

He did look as dapper as was possible, Marjorie realized. Suddenly, she didn't care if she danced every dance with Lord Shannock, because she knew she would marry Charles. They only needed to determine how to go about it.

 

When Marjorie woke the next day, it was nearly noon. She lay in her bed for a moment, excitement bubbling through her. She sprang from bed and ran to her wardrobe, looking for her new afternoon dress in deep purple with mother of pearl buttons down the front. She was tugging on her corset when Alice bustled into the room, tsk-tsking that her ladyship hadn't rung for her.

“You'll never get the purple on without me helping you, my lady,” Alice said, moving behind her and tugging at the tapes. “Your mother's already out and about.”

“Really? Do you know where she went?”

“No, I don't. But she has the new carriage if you were thinking of going out, my lady.”

“I've nothing definite planned. Then again, I haven't seen the morning post and I have been neglecting my friends, as they mentioned last night. They were so cross with me, and I can't say that I blame them. It was so good to see them and we've made plans for visiting before we leave London in August.”

Indeed, Marjorie had walked around the ball as if on a cloud, chatting with friends, happily making plans to attend luncheons and teas. She and Charles did not dance, but all through the evening, they would catch each other's eyes and smile—ever so slightly—so as not to attract undue attention. It had been such a delicious thing to hold their secret close to her. Only Katherine knew what had transpired, and she had been so delighted, nearly giving away everything.

“It's good to see you smiling again,” Alice said warmly.

“I have been a bit of a stick in the mud of late, haven't I?”

“Oh, no, I wouldn't say that. But I must say there's been just a bit less sparkle in your eyes these past months.”

Marjorie looked in the mirror and smiled at her reflection. Funny, she hadn't realized how off she'd been until now. “I think I'll be smiling a great deal from now on.”

“Oh?”

“It's a secret.” Marjorie gave her maid a wink and walked out the door, making Alice giggle.

“More like it's a man,” Alice said on a sigh after her mistress had left the room.

 

Marjorie went to the breakfast room and grabbed a scone and napkin, and headed directly to the garden, taking a healthy bite along the way. She had no time for niceties this morning. Humming “The Blue Danube,” the music playing when she'd waltzed with Lord Shannock, she strolled through the gardens and out the back gate. With a quick look up and down the lane, she pulled the brick free, smiling widely when she saw the plain white stationary Charles used.

She opened the note right there, the afternoon sun warming her neck as she bent over the message. It was just two sentences.

She let out a little giggle before dashing back through the gate. She hugged the paper to her breast before folding it and tucking it into the skirt of her dress.

This was a terrible, wonderful idea. Her mother would be positively horrified, Marjorie thought with rather too little shame. Other than eloping, though, it was the only way—and would cause the least amount of conflict. Confronting her mother would create an ugly scene, and one that might end in more threats and punishments against her brother. Marjorie did not understand why her mother insisted she have a title. Most mothers were perfectly content to have their daughters married to fine young men from good families who had a good income. Charles fit all those requirements. This obsession her mother had was positively unfathomable. Yet, she had gone along with it for years simply to appease her. Honor thy mother. It was something she'd taken seriously. She wanted to honor her mother, wanted to please her. What daughter wouldn't? The thought of disappointing her went against everything she believed.

But if she were compromised, the decision would be taken away from her mother. She could not publicly object, could not argue against a marriage when marriage would be the only solution to stop the scandal. Indeed, marriage would be a blessing, a way to stop disgrace. Wasn't her friend Katherine the perfect example?

 

Lady Summerfield stepped down from her carriage and gave a sniff. Russell Square was hardly a neighborhood she saw much of. The Cavendishes had rented a pleasant, if small, townhouse on the edge of what one would consider a fashionable address. Country folk often were ignorant of how very important the right address was, and this was not the right address if one wanted to launch a daughter into society.

She walked determinedly up the marble steps, noting with some satisfaction that they were swept clean, and gave the doorbell a hard twist. Within moments, the door opened and a butler was bowing before her.

“Please inform Squire Cavendish that Lady Summerfield is here,” she said.

The butler's eyes widened slightly upon hearing the lofty title of the woman standing on their stoop, and he ushered her in with a deferential bow. He seemed momentarily confused about where he should put such a fine lady to wait, then decided on a small, sunny parlor toward the front of the home.

“Would you like some tea while you wait?” he asked.

“Of course not,” the lady snapped as she gazed around the room. It was not well-furnished, at least not in a way that the good lady found impressive. She remained standing, eying the worn materials of the settee a bit warily. No, it would not do to sit and make it appear that this was a social visit. It was not.

Within a few moments, a large man she immediately recognized as the squire stood in the doorway, looking at her with a beaming smile, as if he were overjoyed to see her in his home. “Welcome, my lady. What a pleasure it is to see you, and on such a happy occasion as this.”

“It is not pleasurable in any way,” Dorothea said. “My son will not be marrying your daughter. Clearly you can see it is not a good match, not for either of them.”

The squire's smile faltered and his eyes grew slightly colder. “I'm afraid I don't understand. Your son proposed, my daughter accepted, and I gave my blessing.”

“It would be quite an advantageous match for your daughter. I imagine giving her a season was quite dear. Many country gentlemen do not venture into London for that reason. How old is your daughter?”

He lifted his chin and tucked his hands behind his back, now obviously quite aware what this visit was about. “Twenty-two.”

Lady Summerfield appeared shocked. “And this is her first season?”

“Yes, my lady, it is. We felt she should have one. As I'm sure you're aware, Ipswich is a quiet district without many entertainments for a young girl.”

“Young,” she repeated thoughtfully. “Yes. And she's managed to find a husband with an impressive title during her first season. Congratulations. But this marriage cannot happen. Surely you know that. Unless, that is, there is a reason it must?”

“I'm sure you mean no insult, my lady, but I must tell you that you
have
insulted me and my daughter.”

Lady Summerfield raised her eyebrows as if shocked by his words. “I mean no insult to you or your daughter, sir. I do mean, however, to inject some common sense into the children. Surely the differences in their stations alone would make this match unacceptable.”

“Lilianne is willing to overlook the title, my lady, so you need not concern yourself that we are troubled by it.”

Dorothea's eyes grew decidedly frostier. “I'm sure you mean to be amusing, Mr. Cavendish, but I assure you I am not amused. Let me get to the point, shall I? My son is an idiot and should never marry and bear offspring. I will not allow it.” She looked around the room, taking in the shabby furniture, the worn carpet, silently giving her opinion of the place. “Surely we can come to an understanding that would be profitable to both of us.”

Mr. Cavendish's jaw tightened. “Do you mean to pay us off? If that is your plan, I'm afraid you have wasted your time coming here.”

A small noise at the door drew their attention and they turned to see Lilianne standing there, her eyes wide. She dipped a quick curtsy. “My lady, what an honor to have you in our home,” she said softly. “Father, have you offered Lady Summerfield tea?”

“Lady Summerfield is unable to visit longer, I'm afraid, my dear.”

“So,” Dorothea said, turning her hard gaze toward Lilianne. “You claim to love my son. I find that extremely difficult to believe.”