Chapter Eleven
Bear woke to milky morning light and the first piping notes of birdsong.
He stretched out in his bed, relieved that last night’s realizations continued to hold his usual demons at bay.
Lydia’s revelation had been the final link in a chain of hopefulness first forged the day he met Marianne at the Lyon’s Den.
It had pulled him out of the slump of despair and into the light, where for the first time he could dare to dream.
He closed his eyes, reliving the moment when Marianne had tugged gently on his cravat, bringing his face closer to hers for the most wondrous kiss he’d ever known.
If he concentrated, he could still taste the honeyed sweetness of her lips and feel the enticing press of her curves against his chest. It made him feel vital and alive.
What had she said?
You already make me happy, Benedict.
A rush of gratitude surged through him. All he wanted was to make Marianne happy. To provide a home for her and Toby. To live his life by her side. Not big dreams, in the grand scale of things, but they felt big to him.
But where had she gone?
Bear sat up in bed, raking a hand through his disheveled hair.
He must go at once to the home of Lady Clementine Sedgewick and make inquiries, however disquieting that prospect seemed.
He must remember that he was, after all, the son of a duke.
Lady Sedgewick, Grand Dame of the ton, could not refuse to see him without very good reason.
At once, Bear’s courage failed as his mind listed out a number of very good reasons Lady Sedgewick might have for refusing him.
He gripped a fistful of his bed sheets and breathed deeply, forcing himself to shut down that train of thought.
Before his lurking anxiety could sabotage his morning, he rang for his valet and instructed him to run a bath.
Bear must look his best for his meeting with Marianne’s aunt.
Hopefully, that meeting would lead to a rapprochement with Marianne herself.
From there, they could discuss the details of their wedding which was due to take place the day after tomorrow.
Bear had already obtained the license and found a willing local priest. But in the spirit of newfound hopefulness, he wondered if they should aim for something more than a perfunctory service with the minimum of witnesses?
Not a Society wedding, of course. There was no time for anything elaborate.
But perhaps they should add a more celebratory note to the proceedings?
Bear leaned back in the bath, enjoying the feel of warm water lapping over his chest. Toby had a fondness for sweets, as all children did. Should they order a cake?
Was that enough?
Should Marianne’s son have a role in the ceremony that would shape the rest of his childhood?
Bear closed his eyes as his valet carefully ran a razor over the stubble on his cheeks.
If they had the luxury of time, he might have suggested their marriage take place at The Towers.
He could picture Marianne standing in the gardens, smiling happily as the tall trees swayed in a gentle summer breeze.
But that would take too long to organize given that their marriage must take place by Marianne’s thirtieth birthday.
Bear frowned slightly. In the tumult of the last week, the exact reasons for this had slipped to the back of his mind.
Now he recalled there was some untrustworthy relative, anxious to lay his hands on Marianne’s inheritance.
In these last few days, Bear had thought only of the inheritance itself—and how that might refurbish The Towers.
He had paid little attention to the fact of the devious relative.
He sat up, sudsy water cascading down his broad chest while his valet hastily retracted the razor. What was he thinking, lazing around in the bath? He needed to find Marianne and ensure she was safe. That was more important than dressing like a dandy to have tea with her aunt.
“Is there a problem, milord?”
“I need to get dressed.” Bear stood up, not bothering to wait for the towel. His damp feet left footprints on the Oriental carpet as he stepped out of the bath. “Quickly please.”
With smooth efficiency, the valet wrapped a towel around Bear’s waist and made his way to the closet. Before he could open it, a knock sounded on the door.
“Come,” said Bear.
It was a narrow-shouldered hall-boy, who flushed red upon seeing Bear’s state of undress.
“Beg pardon, milord. There’s a message for you.”
“Give it here.” Bear held out his hand, a sense of dread rising within him. Would the note be from Marianne? Was she explaining her disappearance last night?
Or telling him their engagement was off?
With trembling fingers, he tore open the envelope and unfolded the note as his valet busied himself laying clothes on the bed. Bear read the message, at first unable to make sense of it.
He was summoned to the Lyon’s Den, by Bessie Dove-Lyon herself.
The matter must concern Marianne. Her whereabouts. Her safety.
“Hurry,” he said to the valet, who was choosing a shirt with painstaking slowness.
“Very good, milord.”
Bear no longer cared what he looked like.
He only wanted to arrive at his destination and obtain answers to his endlessly circling questions.
Without the assistance of his valet, he may well have donned yesterday’s shirt and breeches.
But thankfully, he stepped out of Fairfield House suitably attired in a light-green tailcoat and matching top hat.
He hailed a passing carriage, unwilling to wait for his horse to be fetched from the stables.
But the journey to the Lyon’s Den was still the longest he had ever endured.
His stomach churned with anxiety and the strengthening conviction that some harm had befallen Marianne.
I should have taken better care of her.
He recalled the moment Marianne had walked toward the colonnade with only Clara as her protector, and he thought he would trade everything he had for the chance to go back in time and call her back.
He clasped his hands as the carriage jolted over the cobbles and sent up a silent prayer that she was safe.
Even if she no longer wanted to marry him, Bear still wanted her to be safe.
Eventually the familiar, blue-painted house came into view. Bear sprang out of the carriage before the horses had properly come to a stop. He raised his hand to pound on the door, but it was instantly opened by Pyramus.
“Mrs. Dove-Lyon is expecting you, milord,” he said without preamble.
His stomach crawling with butterflies, Bear nodded his thanks and walked quickly up the narrow staircase.
The smell of tobacco and stale beer made his nose wrinkle.
How he preferred the fresh air of the park; especially with Marianne as his companion.
Had it only been four days since he last came here? It seemed a lifetime ago.
Helena was waiting for him outside the door to Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s private room. Her impassive face gave nothing away as she held it open and he passed through.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light.
There were the shelves of leather-bound books that he recognized.
And there was Bessie Dove-Lyon, sitting behind her desk and sipping her tea as usual, with her veil in place and a string of good amethysts around her neck.
But to his great surprise, there was another woman in the room with her.
For a moment, his heart surged and a name came to his lips, Marianne.
Relief made his knees buckle. But then he realized that this woman was a good deal older than Marianne.
She had the same height, the same slender frame, and the same flame-colored hair, pinned beneath a trimmed bonnet.
But this lady exuded a regal, imperious air.
Her gloved hands were clasped over her reticule and her silken skirts flowed neatly to the floor.
Everything was properly aligned, from her pearl necklace to her satin slippers.
This was Lady Sedgewick, Marianne’s aunt. As understanding slid into place, so too did the realization that this was why Marianne had seemed so familiar to him. She was the very image of her aunt. And anyone in London Society, including Bear, knew Lady Clementine Sedgewick by sight.
Knew her and revered her.
He recalled Marianne’s surprise over his blank face when she revealed her aunt’s true identity.
And once again, he cursed his own foolishness.
In that moment, he had only thought of the loveliness of his fiancée and the importance of their rapprochement.
Now, he gazed from one powerful woman to the other, unable to gather his wits.
Just days earlier, he had sat in this very room and considered two prospective brides.
One, the debutante, he had rejected out of hand on the strength of her society connections.
And now, he learned this about Marianne…
Lady Sedgewick raised her eyebrows and Bear returned to his senses, aware that he had stood silently for several seconds. Somewhat shamefaced, he bowed and removed his top hat, telling himself to focus.
Now was not the time to fret about the lineage of his future wife.
“Lord Benedict,” said Mrs. Dove-Lyon. “We were expecting you, of course.”
He nodded in acknowledgment then turned to Lady Sedgewick.
“When did you last see my niece?” she demanded in lieu of the usual pleasantries.
He was only taken aback for a moment before his heart leaped with gratitude that here was a woman who shared his fears for Marianne’s safety. “Last night, at Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens.”
“My driver saw her leave. He recognized her gown, despite the disguising shawl that had been pulled over her head. The man she was with was short. Therefore, I conclude that it was not you.” Lady Sedgewick’s voice had the ring of steel.