Chapter 14
LUCIEN
That evening, Lucien sat in the armchair by the fire, drumming his fingers on the wood.
Marianne had sounded really upset at the paddock. Not angry, but sad. Humiliated.
He’d felt ashamed the moment he saw it. He’d gone too far.
When Henry had asked him if he could hug Marianne, he’d encouraged him, even though his hands were mud-stained and Marianne’s gown would get dirty.
She had to learn not to be so afraid of getting a little bit dirty. And what better way than to have a little boy pat down your riding habit with his dirty palms? Riding habits were the one garment meant to get dirty, after all.
The new maid, Juliet, however, had certainly reacted as though it were a most offensive crime. And now Lucien felt bad about the whole thing.
Marianne hadn’t come down to dine with them that evening, and he’d worried it was because she was angry. However, Mrs Greaves had assured him it was because her bath had taken longer than anticipated due to a spillage on the stairs.
He’d been relieved, but he’d also realized that he had created a situation that could potentially have caused conflict. And for what? A little amusement?
He couldn’t stop fretting. She was perhaps a little stiff, but beyond that, she was a lovely woman. She had tried to read to Henry, tried to show him a trick at breakfast with her egg. Yes, it had misfired, however hard she had tried.
He took a deep breath and inhaled the scent of the cedar wood burning in the fireplace. It was comforting, but that ill feeling in the pit of his stomach remained.
He closed his eyes, but all he could see was Marianne’s face as she had tumbled off the horse earlier.
His hands tingled with the recalled sensation of holding her to keep her from falling.
No, that wasn’t even true either. He hadn’t just stopped her from falling—he had held onto her for an unreasonable amount of time.
He should have stopped her fall and stepped back. Instead, he’d stood there like a fool, hands on her body as her warm breath brushed over his skin.
He couldn’t—he couldn’t bring himself to let her go. It made no sense. They hardly knew each other. Yet that physical connection had caused some turmoil within him, and he loathed to examine too closely.
It was dangerous, he knew it. He was growing attached to her. It was exactly as Mrs. Greaves had said. He couldn’t have that. He wouldn’t have that.
In a few months, she’d be gone. They’d be parted in every way but legally— just as they’d planned.
He had to remind himself that this was an arrangement they had both agreed to. Marianne didn’t want to be a wife. She wanted freedom. And he hadn’t wanted a wife either, after all.
And yet there was no denying it. His heart had skipped a beat as he stood with her in his arms. His thoughts wandered to her often, especially in the quiet hours.
He closed his eyes and shook his head, and then forced himself to go to bed, even though he knew that sleep would not come.
Her face would haunt him. His guilty conscience would haunt him.
Yet he knew there was nothing he could do but surrender to whatever feelings and damage his body and mind deemed necessary to impress upon him.
The following morning, Marianne came down the stairs clad in a pale yellow gown with a white underdress that poked up from the top of her dress, drawing attention to her bosom without being overt. The sleeves were long with a white hem around the edges.
She smiled at him and then looked all around, eyes wide.
“He isn’t here, is he? Should I be on my guard? Must I protect this gown as well?” she said. Her tone was light, and relief flooded him almost immediately.
“No, he has gone out for a walk with his governess. Will you take breakfast with me?”
“I will,” she said, sitting beside him. She took a roll and sliced it open, and he watched her hands work through the dough. Her fingers were long and delicate. He hadn’t noticed that before.
“What?” she asked. “Is something amiss? Have I got something on my face?”
“No, not at all,” he said, shaking his head. He shouldn’t be staring.
“I was woolgathering, is all.”
“I see,” she replied. “You look as though there’s something on your mind. May I ask—yesterday, when Henry came to hug me with his dirty fingers, was that your doing?”
Lucien felt heat spread across his neck, jaw, and face, and was absolutely certain he was as red as a tomato.
“Yes,” he admitted. “I did not mean to upset you. It is just that I had told you that when one has a child in one’s life, even if only briefly, then there is a good chance that one will get dirty. I thought it was a good opportunity to demonstrate.”
“Well, demonstrate you did. Juliet will have to scrub that gown thoroughly to get the stains out.” The accusation in her tone was clear.
“I beg your pardon. I thought it was a good jest. He asked if he could, and I allowed him when I shouldn’t have. I meant amusement, not offense.”
Lucien waited warily for her response.
“I know it,” Marianne replied softly. “And I want you to know that I am not so difficult as to be unable to handle a few stains on my gowns. It is just that I did not want Juliet to have to be scrubbing my gowns as soon as she arrived here. I wish to give her a good impression of our society. She does not have one so far.”
“I can imagine. Having grown up in a convent, she likely would not. Although I hear it can be a real sanctuary for many. Mrs. Greaves always talks about a lady she worked for who went to a convent and much enjoyed it.” Rosy lips, which were, he noticed, free of any balm.
They were simply that color by nature. “Please do not fret. I am not upset.”
“Good,” he said, “and perhaps you could let your maid know that you are not upset, for she certainly is rather angry at me. I believe she would have challenged me to pistols at dawn, were she permitted such liberties below stairs.”
“You are fortunate that she is not, then,” she replied with a smile, but there was something in her expression he did not like.
Not displeasure with him, but something equally as concerning. Melancholy. He had attributed it to his behavior, but perhaps that was not the case after all.
“There’s something bothering you, isn’t there?” he asked. “Something else?”
She shrugged. “I suppose. I had tea with my sisters yesterday, before we went riding, and something occurred to me. I have no passion.”
He blinked, looking at her. “What do you mean you do not have a passion?”
She slumped forward in her seat and clasped her hands in her lap.
“I mean, Evelyn has so many causes she works with. So many things she puts her heart into besides being a mother and a wife. And Charlotte adores her school. She’s planning to open another.
But I have no passion. Nothing, I think about day and night.
I suppose in some ways I was always so busy craving my freedom and craving my quiet that I never knew what to do with it once I had it. ”
Lucien leaned back and crossed his legs. “I don’t know if I understand. I suppose my entire life revolves around my son. He is my passion.”
“You see?” she said. “You have a passion. I haven’t. Evelyn asked me what I intend to do once our arrangement comes to an end.”
“You spoke of traveling, did you not?”
“I did,” Marianne replied. “But I truly have never traveled. What if I do not like it? And what should I even look at? And will that fulfill my life?”
Lucien slipped to the edge of his seat, captivated. She was opening up to him in a way he had not expected.
“Did you not think about returning to the convent?”
“I did,” she replied. “But I suppose in many ways I wanted to go to the convent so I could escape my inevitable fate of being married off to some nobleman and engaging in an empty life of ballrooms and parlors and drawing room tea ceremonies. Now I do not have to do that. And thus, I don’t know what to do with myself. ”
Lucien leaned back and scratched his chin. Stubble had grown that he hadn’t bothered to remove. Did she like that, he wondered briefly, then shook his head. It didn’t matter if she liked it or not.
“Well, was there never anything that you were passionate about? Maybe something that can be reawakened? Music perhaps, or reading, or something of that nature?”
Marianne nodded. “I always loved books because I wanted to escape into other worlds. Have adventures.”
“And traveling would be an adventure,” he said. “And you would have your friend with you, so it would not be lonely.”
“Yes,” she said, “but it is one thing to dream of something and quite another to suddenly have it. I have all the freedom now, but I do not know what to do with it. What if I am not any good at exploring?”
“There is but one way to find out. We should try it out,” he said. “Let us go together and explore something.”
“What?” she asked.
“There is an ancient manor not far from here. It dates back to the Tudor times. There has been a fire and some other calamity that has befallen it, and it is the ugliest place I have ever seen, but if you enjoy exploring, it is ideal for you.”
Marianne smiled. “And you will take me?”
“I will take you at first light. It should not be a problem for you since I’ve seen how early you rise. You put the nuns to shame, I am certain.”
She laughed. “Juliet will tell you otherwise. She used to have to pull my covers away to make me get up. And the nuns would tell you the hours were godly hours.
“I suppose most would disagree with that notion, but then, that is why we are nobles and not nuns. Now, pray, do you think you can manage a horse ride there?”
“I should think so, as long as we do not gallop. Or perhaps we could take a carriage?”
“I am afraid not,” he said. “For that would not be proper exploring, would it?”
She dipped her head to the side. “So you wish to tell me that we could take the carriage, but I ought to ride instead?”
He smiled. “I would never presume to tell you what to do. However, I venture to say that if you wish to adventure properly, you ought to do it without the comfort of a carriage. After all, how will you explore the New World if you must depend upon comfort?”
“I had in mind places more accessible,” she fired back, and Lucien leaned forward.
“Ah, but there is no challenge in that. Is there? And you, dearest Marianne, strike me as someone who likes a good challenge. Unless you feel you cannot manage.”
She blinked at him, her eyes sparkling as she rose to her full height. “I dare say, I think it is you who wishes to have a challenge. Also, are you suggesting that perhaps I cannot ride on my own?”
“You suggested the carriage,” Lucien replied with a shrug and a smirk.“I assure you, I can manage perfectly.”
“Good then. Shall we go this afternoon?” he asked.
“I will be ready.”
“Very well,” he replied and bowed rather theatrically. She curtsied in reply, and each gave a small chuckle.
Then, she walked away, and Lucien was left to stand there, looking after her with a strange mixture of feelings in his stomach. He was at once looking forward to the afternoon and at the same time dreading it, for this, he knew, was crossing a boundary he hadn’t previously considered crossing.
And yet, he could not help himself.