Chapter Seven
Marianne sent word downstairs that she had a headache and would not be joining her aunt for dinner.
She needed time to think. Time to mourn. Time to berate herself for being so very foolish.
She sat on the velvet stool by her dressing table, her legs too shaky for her to pace the carpeted floor as she wished. She looked in the mirror and saw the beginnings of fine lines around the corners of her eyes. Further proof that she was old enough to know better.
One little lie had been her undoing.
Why oh why had she not admitted to Benedict that she was the niece of Clementine Sedgewick right from the start?
To be sure, they had found connection in their mutual dislike of Society. And he had looked so relieved, she recalled, when she told him her title was a courtesy one. When she allowed him to believe that she had no connections to the ton.
Liars always get found out, she heard her father say.
Marianne removed the rings from her fingers and lined them up on the polished wood.
There was some irony in the fact that all of Society believed her to be dishonest. And now she had proven Society to be correct.
She should have known that Benedict would find out about Aunt Clementine sooner or later.
Just as Aunt Clementine would undoubtedly find out about Benedict.
She was most likely already speaking to her spies about the dark-haired man seen with her niece at Hyde Park.
And even if Benedict was the son of a duke, he did not have the wealth of Lord Thaddeus Albright.
Marianne sighed deeply, feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders. Once Benedict learned of her family connections, he would all too soon discover the dreadful gossip that had ruined her name and reputation.
She had not volunteered the truth because she didn’t want to hasten the demise of the beautiful dream she was building for herself.
But dreams always ended. She had learned that some years prior.
A knock sounded gently on her door and Andrews walked in holding a wooden tray. “I’ve brought you a glass of water, milady. And some lavender balm to soothe your headache.”
Marianne summoned a smile. “That is most kind, thank you.”
“Would you like me to unpin your hair?”
Marianne caught her reflection in the looking glass and was surprised to see she still wore her bonnet from her walk to the park. She had settled Toby with Nanny and then come straight here, too distracted to care about her appearance.
“Please.” She shuffled on the stool, so she had her back to Andrews and then closed her eyes as her maid’s deft fingers began to undress her hair.
“Master Toby enjoyed his afternoon,” Andrews said.
Marianne kept her eyes closed so that Andrews could not read the expression in them. “I am glad of it.”
“He said you met with a nice man.”
Marianne stilled.
“And I couldn’t help wondering if this might be the same man that you met at the Lyon’s Den?” Andrews was remorseless.
Marianne opened her eyes and met her maid’s steady gaze in the mirror. “It is.”
Andrews smiled with genuine pleasure. “Then it is all working out well for you, milady.”
“Oh no.” Marianne felt a wave of nausea. “That is, it was working out unbelievably well. I almost imagined myself happy. But then I made a mess of everything, just as I always do.”
Andrews picked up her silver-backed hairbrush and began to rhythmically brush Marianne’s long hair. The gentle strokes made tears come to her eyes.
“I’ve been such a fool, Andrews.”
Her maid tightened her lips. “If you wish to tell me why you think such a thing, milady, I will happily listen to your tale.”
“Against all the odds, I was matched with a nice man, as Toby said. An honest man. One who would provide a future for me and for Toby.” Marianne stifled a sob. “But then I lied to him, Andrews. About something so small and silly. And I fear I have ruined everything.”
She had already imagined Benedict, confused after the scene she had created, making discreet inquiries about a Lady Brewood. It would not take him long to discover the rumors, to hear the terrible words that rang in her ears at all hours of the day. Adulteress. Loose woman.
Her reaction to seeing the Sedgewick carriage had been needlessly extreme. But the sudden fact of her two worlds colliding, with no warning, had temporarily robbed her of her common sense.
A tear rolled down her cheek and Andrews wordlessly passed her a handkerchief.
“If it was a small and silly lie, I doubt it has the power to ruin everything,” her maid said matter-of-factly.
“But we had only just met. We were only just beginning to trust one another.” Marianne looked at her bleakly through the looking glass.
Andrews placed the hairbrush onto the walnut dressing table. “May I speak freely?”
Marianne could not help a small smile. “I believe you usually do. You must know you are my only confidante. Indeed, I must insist that you speak freely, Andrews.”
Her maid folded her arms against her starched gray dress.
“Very well. If you will allow me, milady, you need to understand that your life in the future will not be as complicated as your life once was. You need not fret continuously about putting a foot wrong or accidentally saying the wrong thing. That was your life with Victor Chawton. He looked for your mistakes. When you made none, he invented them. But not all men are like that.”
Marianne’s lips parted as she digested this advice. Surely things could not be so simple?
“May I ask the name of the man you are to marry?”
“Lord Benedict Fairfield.” Just saying his name gave her comfort.
Andrews nodded. “I hope and pray that Lord Benedict Fairfield is a more deserving man than Mr. Victor Chawton.”
“He is.” The declaration burst from her. “He is everything I could have ever hoped for, Andrews. And I still believe I have ruined it.”
Everything I could have ever hoped for.
Marianne’s own words brought her up short, but she did not regret them, nor did she doubt their validity. She only marveled at how quickly she had fallen under the spell of a man she hardly knew.
A man with chiseled cheekbones and chocolate eyes, whose presence made her feel safe.
“He was offering me everything I dreamed of,” she continued quietly, spinning her sapphire ring on the dressing table.
“A life in the country, where Toby could enjoy his childhood and I could live free of gossip and rumor.” She shuddered.
“What did I offer in return? I, a widow with a young son. A burden. And one with a blackened reputation no less.”
Andrews put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Look in the mirror,” she commanded. “What do you see?”
Marianne saw black circles around her eyes and cheeks that were paler than was fashionable.
“You are a beautiful woman, milady,” Andrews insisted. “Lord Benedict Fairfield would be lucky to have you as his bride.”
Marianne straightened her back and regarded her reflection with critical eyes. Thanks to Andrews’s ministrations, her long hair shone with health. And her father had always praised the sparkle in her eyes.
Although, that sparkle had dimmed in recent years.
“I don’t know about all that,” she began.
Andrews shook her head. “You should think about this in a different way. Does Lord Benedict Fairfield deserve you?”
Marianne swallowed hard and nodded. “He deserves all I have to give and more besides.”
Andrews tutted, but a smile danced on her lips. “You have grown fond of him, that’s clear to see.”
Marianne reached up and patted her hand. “You’re right, I have. And that is a greater gift than I ever expected to receive from the Lyon’s Den.”
“Will there be anything else, milady?”
“No, thank you, good night, Andrews.”
“Good night, milady.”
When her maid had closed the door behind her, Marianne looked again at her reflection in the mirror. She pictured Benedict’s handsome face next to her own and could not help but conclude they made a handsome couple.
She blushed a little at her own immodesty, but it was true. She and Benedict looked right together. More importantly, when she was by his side, she felt as if she belonged there.
Their relationship, short as it had been, amounted to something that was worth fighting for. The spark of connection between them was real. She could not allow it to peter out.
Benedict wanted to see her again and she didn’t want to let him down. But even greater than her affection for Benedict was her fear of Society.
Fear of gossip.
Fear of approbation.
Fear of Aunt Clementine discovering her plans and putting a stop to them.
Marianne put her hands in front of her eyes. It was all too much of a conundrum.
Better, perhaps, to proceed as originally planned. To marry by special license and begin their new lives at The Towers, apart.
So much had changed since they reached that agreement. The path they were now on felt more like one of traditional courtship, complete with fluttering excitement and secret smiles and stolen kisses…
Stop, she told herself severely.
She had not contemplated kissing Benedict until that moment. Now she could not help but imagine how it might feel to have his lips pressed against hers.
His body pressed against hers.
But she had asked Mrs. Dove-Lyon for a marriage in name only.
Marianne opened her eyes and regarded herself in the mirror, smiling at her own flights of fancy. With her hands covering her eyes, it looked almost as if she was wearing a mask.
Behind her fingers, her eyes widened as the beginnings of an idea took root.
The next day
Marianne had not been so excited to dress for a ball since she was a young debutante visiting the modiste for the very first time.