Chapter 19
LUCIEN
Lord Hazelton’s townhouse rose into the orange evening sky.
Lucien looked up and took a breath. He didn’t want to be here.
He didn’t want to be with Marianne. After the dinner at her aunt’s house the day before, the last thing he wanted was to be in close quarters with her, but there was nothing he could do about it.
They had to show themselves, even if for no other reason than to quiet the whispers that had risen of late.
He proffered his arm and stole a glance at his wife. She looked as pretty as she had the previous evening. She wore another evening gown, primrose colored, with a white sash in her hair that shimmered every time she moved her head.
There was such simplicity to her movements, her manner, and dress. So different from Arabella. Forcing himself to stop thinking dangerous thoughts, he leaned over towards her ear.
“Remember. We must dazzle the crowds,” he whispered.
“Just as we dazzled my aunt,” Marianne replied, raising an eyebrow.
“Indeed,” Lucien said as they walked up the steps together. “You must look as though you are besotted with me. Not exasperated with me half the time.”
“I am not exasperated with you half the time. I dare say I am only exasperated with you a quarter of the time these days. The other three-quarters, I am merely bewildered.”
Lucien chuckled at her jest, and they made their way inside. Lord and Lady Hazelton greeted them at the front door.
“Wexford,” Lady Hazelton said. “How lovely to see you and Lady Wexford. I have read all about you. What a journey you have had this year. From Earl’s daughter to nearly a nun and now a Countess.”
Marianne curtsied deeply and then rose to her full height again. “I shall have to correct you. I was not almost a nun. While I considered staying at the convent, I am delighted that I chose not to, as it gave me the opportunity to meet my dearly beloved husband.”
“Indeed,” Lord Hazelton said. “And what a quick wedding it was. It must have been love at first sight, eh? Or something like it.” He chuckled, and Lucien knew what that chuckle meant. He had read the scandal sheets. He knew exactly what people were saying about them.
“It was fortunate, indeed, that I met her when I did. As you might know, my good friend the Duke of Ravenscar is my wife’s brother-in-law. It was through that connection that we met,” Lucien said, making sure to keep his tone even and not allow the sharpness he felt to show.
He was quite proud of himself for having managed not to use a sarcastic tone.
Of course, he had understood Lord Hazelton’s implication.
Just that morning, another story had appeared in the scandal sheets stating that he and Marianne had had to marry in haste as she was with child.
Since she hadn’t been seen since the wedding, it was assumed this was the truth.
However, he had hoped that someone of Lord Hazelton’s standing would be above such Canterbury tales.
“Yes,” Lady Hazelton said to Marianne. “The Duchess of Ravenscar is rather impressive, isn’t she? She has opened how many schools now?”
“Two so far and a third one coming, I believe,” Marianne said. “And I quite agree. My sister is very impressive. Both of them are.”
“And what about you?” Lady Hazelton asked. “Where do your philanthropic interests lie?”
He saw the way Marianne’s face reddened.
Perhaps it might’ve been best if she had worn crushed white pearl powder because that would have helped.
She opened her mouth, but no words came out.
He saw the panic practically rising within her, and he stepped forward.
“My wife has a great many passions, Lady Hazelton. But for the time being, her focus must be on building a home for our little Henry.”
It felt strange saying “our little Henry,” but he supposed it was right. At least in this instance.
“Of course,” Lady Hazelton said and smiled. “It is admirable for you to be taking on the little lad. He must be so happy to have a mother again, especially after that dreadful way the previous Lady Wexford left us.”
He saw the question on Marianne’s face, and he knew that eventually he would have to answer it. He was surprised that she still didn’t know exactly how Arabella had died.
“Well, I shall let you get to the festivities,” Lady Hazelton said. Lucien nodded once and then escorted Marianne into the ballroom.
“Thank you,” she said. “I did not know how to answer her question, and I felt like such a fool. But I should have lofty philanthropic aspirations as my sisters do.”
“You have aspirations to be a great explorer. I think that is just as important.”
“Not to society,” she said.
“And so what?” Lucien shrugged. “Why should we care what society says? We should live our own lives as we please.”
Marianne paused and turned to him. “But if we did not care about what society thinks about us, then we would not be here at all, would we? We are here precisely because we do care. Because we must.”
He could not argue with her logic.
“Perhaps you are right,” he admitted. “But in any case, you already know that in a few months’ time this will all be behind you. Now, for tonight, let us dazzle.”
He proffered his arm again, and she took it.
As she did so, she slightly curled her fingers, and they stroked along his arm.
He cursed the fact that he was wearing a shirt and jacket because a part of him longed to feel the touch of her fingers on his skin, even if they were gloved.
It was an absurd thought, of course, but he could not deny that it was exactly how he felt.
They entered the ballroom, and soon enough, there was much chatter.
People were looking at them, especially to see if she was indeed with child.
Upon finding she was not, he saw that several women turned away with disappointed looks.
However, everywhere they went, feathered fans were whipped open and fluttered while the women hidden behind them gossiped.
And it wasn’t just the women either. The men were talking about them as well.
He saw some of them gathered in the corner, chatting.
“Oh, how I despise this,” he said under his breath.
She looked at him.
“Not as much as I,” she replied.
“Is that a wager you really wish to make?” Lucien asked, unable to hide a smile.
“Very well. I hate being here more than I hate soggy, two-day-old oat porridge.”
Marianne gave a sudden grin that made him chuckle.
He waved his hand. “Is that all? I hate being here more than being trapped outside upon my horse in the middle of a thunderstorm with lightning crashing down left and right.”
Marianne sucked in air and pulled her lips backwards, grimacing.
“That is intense hatred. However, I hate being here more than I hate being caught by Sister Bernadette while sleeping during lauds. And that might not say much to you, but it was a dreadful fate. One was likely to be sent to the chapel to pray upon one’s knees. ”
“Goodness, that is severe indeed. Very well. I shall concede this round. You hate being here more than I do. Now we shall have to find something to make all this more bearable, shall we not? How about a glass of sherry?”
They went together into the refreshment room where all manner of bottles were lined up on the sideboard.
Several glasses stood in front with drinks already poured.
Lucien chose a sherry, but as Marianne was about to take it, he pulled it back.
“You have had sherry before, have you not? Only I would not want a repeat of what happened before.”
Marianne took it from him and took a gulp. “I have drunk ale all my life, thank you very much.”
“Very good,” he said. “Well, you cannot blame me for being cautious. We would not want a glass to shatter upon this marvelous marble floor.”
“That would be a tragedy,” she said with a chuckle. It was easy talking to her suddenly. Perhaps it was because all around them people were staring and whispering—at least that’s how it felt to him. It forced the two of them into a sort of confederacy of two. The two of them against the ton.
“Well, well,” a familiar voice came. “If it isn’t Lord and Lady Wexford.” He turned and wanted to groan.
“Gideon. How good to see you,” he said, lying through his teeth.
“And you,” Gideon said, bowing before both him and then Marianne. “Lady Wexford looks rather smashing.”
“Thank you,” she replied with a smile. “Are you in company?”
“I am afraid I am alone. But I always like to make myself available for any unattached lady who wishes to dance. Or even ladies whose partners are unwilling. If I recall correctly, you never enjoyed dancing, Lucien.”
Lucien started to reply, but Marianne spoke up first. “Why? I enjoy it a great deal.”
“Is that so?” Gideon said. “I had in mind to ask you to dance with me if your husband did not mind?”
Lucien clenched his teeth. He didn’t know why, but Gideon made his temper rise.
“Oh, I do intend to dance,” Marianne said archly. “But I intend to dance with my husband.” She slid her hand underneath Lucien’s arm. He looked down at her, and she smiled. “And I think they have just called for the waltz. Shall we?”
“We shall,” he replied, and the two of them walked past Gideon into the ballroom.
“I love the way you were ready to bring a peal over his head,” she said.
“It was not obvious?” he asked.
“Very much so.”
“I do not know why, but he has always vexed me. Perhaps it is because he and I stand in competition when it comes to our friendship with Rhys.”
“I know that Charlotte and Evelyn are both very fond of Gideon, but I must admit I have never been. There’s something about him. He enjoys the attention a little too much.”
“You are right,” he said enthusiastically. “That is it. Indeed, that is precisely it. He always likes to be the center of all attention. I find it tiresome.”