Chapter 11
MARIANNE
Marianne was in her chamber getting changed into her nightdress. Her thoughts wandered to dinner. It had ended so suddenly, she wasn’t sure what to make of it.
She’d tried her best, she really had. But Lucien – he was a difficult man to know and understand. Her hand wandered to her cheek, where he had briefly touched her while removing evidence of Henry’s misbehavior. His finger had brushed against her cheek for a brief second – but it had been enough.
Her body had wanted to lean into his hand, and it had taken all her willpower not to let it.
She could not let him know that his touch had done something to her.
Exactly what it had done, she didn’t even know.
But it had caused a surge of something in her stomach.
Heat. A tingle. Something she knew was utterly inappropriate to feel for a man one was only married to for convenience.
A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. Juliet entered without waiting to be admitted.
“Marianne?” she said as she came into the room. She wore one of the simple maids’ dresses Marianne and Mrs. Greaves had selected earlier. She would take her friend shopping on Bond Street very soon, so she could select a few better options, but for now, it suited her well enough.
Marianne realized she had never seen Juliet in anything other than the plain gray dress at the convent.
Her friend rushed over to her side, hugging her tightly.
“Oh, Marianne, I feel as though an entire week’s worth of information has been shared with me in a day, and I cannot remember even one thing.” She chuckled. “I fear I will be the worst lady’s maid that ever lived.”
“I doubt that very much,” Marianne replied, her mood lifting now that her friend was here. “Come and sit with me.”
They jumped onto the huge bed together. Juliet fell backwards. “Faith! I thought the bed in my chamber was soft, but this is like sleeping on a cloud. The nuns would not approve.”
“I am certain they would not,” Marianne said. “But it is one thing I missed when I was at the convent.” She paused for a moment. “I did not grow up with such a bed at my home. Mine was comfortable enough, but nothing like this.”
Juliet looked at her, her green eyes shimmering. “You need not diminish yourself on my account, you know. I know that you grew up an Earl’s daughter. I am well aware of how rich you were. How rich you are.”
Marianne laughed. “I did not mean to boast to you.”
“You are not,” Juliet said. “Do you think superiority comes from who has more riches? If you do, then I might well teach you some things yet.”
“No, no, that is not what I meant.”
“You are quite overwrought, my friend,” Juliet said kindly.
“What is the trouble with you? I heard there was some incident or other at the dinner table. And...” She paused and sat up, then slipped her fingers into Marianne’s hair, removing something.
She flinched as she examined the yellow ball.
“Goodness gracious, what is this? Some sort of fancy beauty treatment I do not know of yet?”
“No,” Marianne said ruefully. “Potato. Henry threw some potatoes at me this evening at dinner.”
“He did?” Juliet said. “Mrs. Greaves would have me believe that the boy is a pure angel.”
“He did not do it to be unkind, I believe. It was just...just a food fight of sorts.”
“The higher echelons of society really do things differently, eh? Can you imagine if we attempted to waste food at the convent by throwing it at one another? Sister Bernadette would take off our heads immediately.”
“She certainly would,” Marianne replied. “But he apologized. And his lordship sent the little boy to the nursery immediately.”
“Well, good. I am certain he will feel terribly about it and will not repeat it.”
“I dare say.”
“But there is more to this, is there not? You seem so out of sorts. Not because of some potato in your hair, which by the way, I shall remove when I get you ready for bed.”
“He requires me to be friendly with the boy. Not a mother, but a friend. I thought of myself more as a distant aunt who is kind and brings you an occasional gift or sweet. But even that I cannot manage.”
“Do you think his lordship would be content with you simply being a friendly aunt?”
“Yes,” she replied. “He would. He told me that more than once. He does not wish for a wife or a mother for Henry. But I do not know what to do with the boy. I cut his food today, and he seemed to think it was amusing. I cut it too small, I dare say.”
Juliet shook her head. “Goodness, you are fortunate that I have arrived. It’s not that difficult.
He is but a small child. That is like being an adult but in a smaller body with less control.
All children want is someone to play with, someone to read them a story, and to admire their silly little artwork.
That is all you must do. In fact, you could start tonight.
Go to the nursery right now and read him a story.
Tell him that you do not want him to go to bed feeling badly. ”
“I do not know how to read a story properly,” Marianne said.
Juliet jumped out of bed and huffed. “Please, you are the Earl of Langley’s daughter.
Do not tell me that you didn’t learn to read much sooner than any of us at the convent.
You must cease this self-pity at once. You agreed to all of this, did you not?
Six months or a year of pretending to be his wife, and then freedom? ”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, you need to start acting like his wife. I have not been here even a full day, and I’ve already heard some of these deuced servants whispering.”
This alarmed her. “Whispering? Pray tell, what did they say?”
“Just that you and his lordship do not act as though you were terribly in love and that you have not much interest in the boy. They find it odd that you remain in your chamber so much, that you do not take breakfast together, and that you haven’t taken the boy out for walks.”
Marianne dropped her head into her hands. “That is exactly what I was afraid of. If I cannot manage to make myself look like a believable wife, even to the servants, then he will get tired of me very quickly. He may even end all of this. I think he’s already vexed.”
“Well, then, do what I said. Go and read to the little boy. I will start spreading the word among the servants that you are madly in love with your husband and have secretly admired him even from afar. They will believe me. As for his lordship...I cannot imagine that he would be vexed with you. He’s getting what he wants, after all.
Mrs. Greaves appears to be a friendly woman, but she has told me how much she wanted him to get married after his first wife died, and she was very pleased that he did.
So his charade on that front is also working. ”
She tipped her head to one side. “As in that we are in love?”
“Yes, exactly. The servants believe you married for love, not convenience. We must maintain that illusion.” Juliet reached over and squeezed her hand.
“But first, you must work on the boy. If you cannot even manage a friendship with Henry, the servants will never believe you care for this family at all.”
Marianne bit her lip. “But what if I cannot? What if I try, and he simply does not like me? Children are so honest. They do not pretend.”
“Then you will win him over,” Juliet said firmly.
“He is merely a boy who has lost his mother and gained a stepmother he does not know. Of course, he is uncertain. But you can change that. Start small. Read him a story. Sit with him at meals. Ask him about his interests. It does not have to be perfect, Marianne. It only has to be a genuine effort.”
Marianne nodded slowly, though doubt still gnawed at her. “And if I fail?”
“You won’t,” Juliet said. “But you must try.”
Marianne rubbed her lips together. She didn’t want to. She’d felt foolish cutting his meat and then being pelted by mashed potatoes, but she knew it was the right thing to do.
She had to make an effort; she had to at least pretend. If the servants were already talking, then perhaps their charade would fall apart sooner rather than later. She could not let that happen. Besides, Juliet was right. He was but a child. How difficult could it be?
She parted ways with her friend, agreeing to meet again in an hour to get ready for bed, and then made her way to the nursery. She knocked, and the governess rose from the armchair by the bed.
“My lady,” she said, her eyebrows raised as she examined her as though she were a curiosity at a fair. “Is something amiss?”
“No, nothing is amiss at all,” she replied, keeping the smile on her face.
“I thought I might have a few minutes alone with Hen...my stepson,” she said.
Using the correct terminology was clearly important when around these servants.
She could not know who was talking behind her back and who was not, after all.
“Of course, my lady,” the governess said and left the room. She had to learn her name. Was it Harley? Harvey? Something of that nature.
Henry looked at her, his eyes wide and fearful. She paused. Did he think she’d come to scold him?
“Hello, Henry,” she said. “Do not be frightened. I’ve not come to deliver a rebuke. I’ve come to tell you I am not upset with you.”
“Oh,” he said. “Good! Will you read to me then if you are not cross with me?”
How quickly the child had switched from afraid to contented. Was this a regular occurrence with children of this age? She could not recall this from her own childhood.
“I suppose I could, yes. Do you have a book you like?”
“I do! Papa read half the book yesterday, but I fell asleep, he said. He would have finished it tonight, but I was naughty. When I am naughty, I do not get a story.”
“I see,” she replied. “Then Papa doesn’t come at all when you are bad?”
Henry looked at her, surprised. “Of course he comes. Papa always comes. But if I were bad, then there would be no song or book. Just a kiss goodnight.”
Marianne smiled. She’d worried for a moment that perhaps the boy would be punished, but it did not sound like he would be. Love would not be withdrawn from him as it had been from her and her sisters.
She paused. The thought had overcome her quite by surprise, but it was true. Her father had very often withheld love from her and her sisters when they had not done as he asked, or even if they had done as he asked, but he was in a bad mood.
It was painful to think of now. They’d had their mother when they were young, but after she’d died, the lack of parental love had been terrible. To think that his lordship was alone with Henry and still managed to make the child feel loved, no matter what, made her think highly of him.
He was a good father, there was no denying it—though perhaps one who was a little lax when it came to discipline.
She suspected that if he had not shown Henry how to have a food fight with porridge, she might not have ended up with potato in her hair.
But in any case, aside from that, he appeared devoted to his son.
“Lady Marianne?” the boy asked. “Will you read?”
She’d been lost in thought, she realized. “Yes, of course. Which book is it?”
He handed her a book he’d been keeping under his pillow. It was a thin book called The Frog Prince.
“Papa read to the part where the Princess gets her golden ball back from the pond.”
“I see,” she said, paging through the book. One of the pages had been bent over at the top. “Well, I will pick up where he left off.”
The boy settled on his pillow, and she started to read.
She cleared her throat and started to read about a princess who ran into her home having forgotten about a promise she had made to a frog who had saved her golden ball from a well.
“And then, that evening, a knock came on the castle door, and the frog appeared.” She read out the scene of the frog telling the King of the promise his daughter had made. However, she did not get very far.
“You are not doing the voices. The frog talks like this,” he said, and lowered his voice to a squawk.
She attempted to imitate him but failed, sounding rather like a broken foghorn.
She continued, doing her best to mimic the voices of the frog, king, and princess, but Henry looked at her rather skeptically throughout. To her great relief, he soon fell asleep, saving her from the humiliation of going on.
She rose and covered him properly before heading to the door, only to find his lordship standing there.
“My lord,” she said. “I did not know you were there. When did you arrive?” She was mortified at the thought of him having overheard her because she knew she’d done badly.
“When the princess decided to throw the frog,” he said with a shake of his head.
“Ah,” she said. “Well, you already know I am not made for society’s parlors, but I am evidently also not made for the stage.”
He smiled so wide that dimples appeared on his cheeks. “Perhaps not,” he said. “But you came, and that is what matters most. Thank you.”
“Of course,” she said. “It is important our charade is believable to the servants; otherwise, there will be chatter, and we cannot allow for that. Pray, do any of your servants know the truth?”
He nodded. “Mrs Greaves, of course. And I assume now your maid?”
“She knows. But she is to be trusted.”
He nodded once before she said goodnight.
As she walked away, Marianne felt the smallest flutter of hope that perhaps, just perhaps, she might find her way in this strange new life after all.