Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
M arina stared at her wardrobe. One of the maids, a girl with an Irish lilt to her voice called Kate, had neatly unpacked her trunk, hanging all her gowns properly in a tidy armoire, and murmuring compliments over the cut and fabric of each as she informed Marina that she'd be looking after her for the duration of the party.
The dinner hour was nigh, and Kate would no doubt be arriving imminently to help Marina dress. Which meant, Marina thought, staring dispassionately at the shimmering silks and soft muslins of the dresses she'd brought with her, that she needed to decide what to wear.
The decision was making Marina unreasonably cross.
It wasn't really about dressing for dinner, Marina knew that. It was simply that dressing for dinner was a manageable irritant, and if she focused on that one, the others, all much larger and enraging, couldn't creep in.
There was, for starters, the matter of that dreadful duke. It had been all Marina could manage not to call out after him as he'd turned on his heel and left their party standing in the drive, taking off by himself back into the house. Lady Lucy, who was charmingly shy, slender in the way that meant that high fashion would always be becoming on her, and apparently tended to blush when embarrassed, had turned bright red.
"I'm afraid my brother has been called away suddenly," she said, a lie so transparent that Marina hadn't been able to hold back her wince. Unfortunately, Martin had seen this, and had spent the entire time that the dowager duchess and Lady Lucy had led them inside, told them a bit about the party, and handed them off to staff to direct them to their rooms building up a head of steam about Marina's lapse in decorum. He'd seized her by the arm and drawn her aside before the footman who'd shown them to the guest wing had even gotten out of earshot.
"I thought I told you," he said in a tone that in a more impressive man might have been a growl, but on Martin was rather more of an…annoyed whine. "You must be on your best behavior while we're here."
"I know!" exclaimed Marina, jerking her arm loose from his grasp. Martin wasn't a complete louse, at least; he let her go.
"Then why," Martin asked acidly, "did you make such an unladylike face at Lady Lucy? She's the sister of a duke, Marina. You might show some respect."
"I hardly think my rudeness was the one to comment upon in that situation," she shot back. "The duke practically gave us the cut direct—after inviting us here!"
Predictably, this did not appease Martin. "So you think that you merit being rude in return? I'll remind you, dear cousin, that he is a duke with a home and a fortune. You are merely a girl who keeps a roof over her head at my discretion." The anger came off him in waves and despite how utterly ridiculous she found Martin most of the time, Marina actually felt a tiny frisson of alarm. "You would do well to keep that in mind."
He had stomped off into his room and she had done the same into hers.
Martin's urging that Marina marry had become more emphatic of late, but that was the first time that he had properly veered into the realm of a threat. She knew, of course, that from the moment of her father's death, everything the family owned belonged, officially, to Martin. Every woman grew up with such knowledge, regardless of her social status or class. Women owned nothing, particularly when they belonged to families in which everything of value was legally entailed to the male heir.
Yet, Martin's arrival had, at first, seemed like a gift. For one, he actually spent most of his time living in Northampton Manor, the London home that belonged to the Packley estate. For another, Martin's primary focus was business, and he'd spent the years prior to his inheriting the title investing conservatively but well. He'd brought a much-needed infusion of capital to the earldom. Marina hadn't had to inquire after the price of beef before planning the menu since Martin had arrived. The household expenses had simply been covered, without fuss. Perhaps the only person more delighted than Marina had been their cook.
As the months went on, however, the initial comfort of having an earl who seemed to actually care about taking care of the earldom had waned as it had become increasingly evident that Martin's notion of "taking care" of things had not necessarily included indefinite care of his female relations. He'd begun gently, asking Marina if she wasn't excited to finally have the chance to have a "proper Season," then growing more encouraging when Marina had not, actually, been excited in the least. Encouragement had given way to insistence and, ultimately, a deadline: Marina must be married before Julia debuted.
And now, finally, the first implication that there would be consequences if Marina didn't meet that deadline, a threat that it was marriage or destitution.
And Marina couldn't think about that now, not when she was stuck with Martin as the only person she knew at this accursed party, not when she had to spend the next week being ladylike and charming and funny and everything the daughter of an earl ought to be, not even for her own sake (she couldn't think about her own increasingly dire sake), but because she had taken a liking to Lady Lucy, who had confessed, sotto voce , that she was really just so nervous about returning to London next month.
Golly, but it was so much easier to worry about other people's problems instead of her own.
And it was much easier to worry about a dress than it was to be concerned with every other thing that was going on—or going wrong , more like—in her life, so Marina frowned earnestly at her wardrobe and plotted what she would wear this week with all the fervor of a general about to plunge into battle.
She couldn't wear her best dress, not for the first night. The whole party hadn't even arrived yet, for goodness' sake. If she wasted her best option tonight, she'd have nowhere to go but down. If she wore her worst dress—which really wasn't terrible, it was just that her mother had insisted on a butter yellow that did not particularly flatter Marina's complexion—she'd make a poor first impression, which wouldn't do, either.
Marina allowed herself to fuss over this trivial matter for a few minutes more, until Kate arrived and helped Marina into a dove gray dinner dress that, if Marina were honest with herself, was the one she'd known she'd choose all along. She tried to get swept away in the maid's gentle chatter, in the way her accent softened every th sound in that distinct Irish way, tried to reassure herself that at least she hadn't been sent off to a distant employer miles and miles and miles from home. By the time Kate had finished repairing the damage that a carriage ride, a short rest, and furious stomping about had done to Marina's curls, she had almost managed to find a shred of tranquility.
And then, the instant she exited her room, she came across Martin in the hallway, and that hard-won calm vanished like a puff of smoke.
"At least you've managed to look presentable," Martin said, tone implying that he found this to be a compliment, and Marina had to breathe through a sudden bolt of the purest rage she'd ever felt. Whatever man had designed the system that left women at the mercy of male relations they hardly knew had best be enjoying his sojourn in hell, she thought with fervor. She kept her touch featherlight as she took the arm Martin offered and seethed inwardly as he led them down the stairs.
At dinner, Marina was seated near Lady Lucy, who warmed up gradually as she became more comfortable, and the local vicar and his wife.
The vicar, a man of about sixty, was simply chuffed to have been invited to dine at the "big house" with all the "grand personages," as he put it, and genially praised each dish as being even finer than the last while his wife, a woman who appeared to be in her forties, looked on with fond exasperation.
"He is like this at absolutely every social event," she confided in an aside to Marina and Lady Lucy.
"The Lord provides," said Lady Lucy with a dry wit that had made Marina snort into her wineglass, a reaction that had evidently delighted Lucy.
"Amen," said the vicar with happy accord.
The three women had exchanged glances that all but dared each other to giggle.
The only unenjoyable part of dinner, in fact, had been the duke at the head of the table, who had, despite the convivial air in the room, remained needlessly taciturn. More than once, Marina caught him glowering out over the assembled local gentry and house party guests—and possibly, she thought, at her specifically, though that was certainly silliness brought about by the fine vintage and the giddy atmosphere growing between her and Lady Lucy—and had to resist the urge to poke out her tongue at him. What was wrong with the man, truly?
With a bellyful of good food and several glasses of delicious wine, Marina retired with the assembled party to the drawing room for drinks and parlor games. The dowager duchess, in her role as hostess, had decreed that the sexes would not, as was normal for gatherings in town, separate for their post-dining entertainment. The party was too small, she'd said, the company too good, and the opportunity to take advantage of the more relaxed rules of countryside entertaining unmissable. Martin had looked aghast.
Marina found it nice, though. She'd grown up in London and so had never experienced the laxer approach to societal rules that allegedly happened in the country—aside from in novels, of course—and so found it vaguely thrilling to experience this metaphorical loosening of the corset strings in real life. Besides, the vicar was telling a story about kidnapping a cow as a youth that was far from inappropriate for mixed company, but was just scandalous enough, coming from a man of the cloth, that Marina was loath to miss any of it.
It was thus with some small measure of disappointment that Marina spotted the two gentlemen approaching their small corner of the room.
Lady Lucy, however, jolted excitedly. "Richard! Joseph!" she called happily, then seemed to catch herself, amending in a more modulated tone, "I mean, that is, Your Graces."
The two men bowed to her, one with a grin, the other with formal solemnity. "You needn't stand on ceremony with us, Lucy," said the smiling one.
"I'm practicing," she said primly, but with a friendly gleam in her eye. "I'm finally headed to London at the end of the month." She turned to include Marina as the vicar and his wife drifted off to join another conversation. Drat , thought Marina passively. Now she'd never hear what happened at the end of that story. "In that vein, may I introduce to you my new friend, Lady Marina Fitzgerald." The two gentlemen bowed to Marina, and Marina curtseyed in return, touched to hear Lady Lucy refer to her as a friend. "Lady Marina, please allow me to introduce His Grace, the Duke of Beaumont—" the smiling one gave a nod "—and His Grace, the Duke of Culton." The serious one gave another little half-bow of acknowledgment. By God, it really was wall to wall dukes in this place, wasn't it?
"A pleasure to meet you," Marina murmured.
"Oh, I assure you," said the Duke of Beaumont. "The pleasure is all ours." There was something off in his tone, however. Marina felt her eyes narrow.
"How lovely," she said politely. The Duke of Beaumont looked positively thrilled over this tepid response.
"Richard," said Lady Lucy, interrupting Marina's assessment, "I'm so pleased you could make it. Percy said he wasn't sure you'd manage it."
The Duke of Beaumont turned to Lady Lucy. "I'm afraid I'll only be able to remain for tomorrow, alas," he said. "I can't be away from the press for too long. Who knows what nonsense the employees would get up to without supervision?"
"You run a printing press?" Marina inquired.
The duke nodded. "For the past several years, now. We produce primarily scientific texts, many of which are translated from German, French, or Italian. It's a dreadful amount of work but offers us the opportunity to be the only press in England producing certain works from some of the finest minds on the Continent."
"How fascinating," said Marina. "I must confess to a preference for Gothic novels, myself, but your work sounds much more important." She was doing a fine job at this "proper small talk" business, Marina thought with a note of self-congratulation.
"Never underestimate the value of a good novel," said the duke. "Though the press is fascinating; you should come see it sometime. I would give you a personal tour."
"Richard," said the Duke of Culton in a warning tone.
"What?" said the Duke of Beaumont in an innocent tone. Marina didn't have brothers, but she still recognized boyish mischief when she saw it. Alas, so much for propriety; her eyes narrowed again. "I think it's a splendid idea. Don't you, Percy?"
The Duke of Beaumont directed this last question over Marina's shoulder, and she whirled to find the Duke of Haddington standing behind her, looking predictably cross.
"I very much doubt Lady Marina wishes to go to a place of business filled with ink-smudged workers and machinery so loud you can scarcely hear yourself think," he said, not so much as looking down at Marina as he spoke about her.
Marina tried. She really, really tried. She felt the words bubble up inside her and tried to quell them, but it was just so unbelievably rude , so appallingly condescending, for this man to speak for her when he hadn't even had the decency to speak to her upon her arrival at his home where, once again, she had been invited .
And so she simply could not help herself.
Marina pasted her most insipid smile on her face and asked, "Why would you say that, Your Grace?"
The Duke of Haddington frowned more deeply, the Duke of Beaumont's eyebrows shot up, and the Duke of Culton closed his eyes briefly, as if praying for patience.
"I beg your pardon?" said the Duke of Haddington.
Marina let her smile sharpen. "You said you did not believe I would enjoy a printing press, that I would not like the workers or the noise. I simply wondered why you might think that."
For the first time, she really looked at the Duke of Haddington, looked at him as more than just an unexpected rain cloud hanging over what should have been a perfectly sunny party. He was handsome; she had scarcely noticed, what with all the frowning. Or maybe she hadn't noticed because this was the first time they were truly coming face to face. He had the loveliest green eyes.
Marina perhaps ought to have had less wine at dinner.
"I, ah." The duke paused and Marina held her gaze and her smile. "It's not a place for young ladies."
"Ah," said Marina. "We are all the same, then?" She turned to Lucy and was relieved to see that she appeared to be having a smashing time. "Did you know that, Lady Lucy?"
"Oh, please," said Lady Lucy. "Call me Lucy. I feel we are going to be great friends." Then she snickered at her brother, all traces of her earlier shyness gone.
Marina smiled—this time, in a manner that was actually friendly—at Lucy. "Then you must call me Marina. Or—" Marina turned back to the duke "—would giving your sister leave to use my Christian name, as well, be another sign of the homogeneity of young ladies?"
If the Duke of Haddington frowned any harder, his face was going to fold in half. "I did not mean to offend, Lady Marina."
"What a rare talent to be able to manage something without even trying!" she exclaimed as if she were offering effusive praise.
The duke opened his mouth, then closed it again and for the barest second, Marina tracked the movement before glancing back up to meet his gaze. Was that--? She was almost certain there was a glint of amusement in his eye.
Her lips quivered and she had to press them together to stop herself from laughing. This was not funny. It was not charming that this insufferably rude man maybe (it was a very remote possibility, she told herself sternly) knew how to take a well-delivered quip.
And it was certainly not interesting that his gaze dipped briefly to her mouth, as well.
"What can I say, Lady Marina?" the duke said after a beat of silence. "I am a duke. We are quite rare." Even his voice was a bit nicer, once he let go of his glowering aspect. It was low, and warm, and the tiniest bit humorous.
He was still frowning, but something about it felt playful, now. They were leaning towards each other ever so slightly, Marina realized suddenly. She'd been drawn in by his charm—which he did have, apparently, when he allowed it to come forth. If she wasn't careful, she'd be in danger of actually liking the man.
It was fun to spar with him like this, she realized. Fun to test her wit on someone who could take it, against someone who wouldn't be shocked, because Lord only knew that his tongue was sharper. But then Marina paused. She wasn't here to have fun —or, well, at least not the kind of fun that came from bantering with a handsome gentleman. She was here to befriend Lucy and to meet someone eligible—and nice , which eliminated the Duke of Haddington right off, no matter how wealthy or high born. Dukes in general, actually, seemed like more trouble than they were worth, though the quiet Duke of Culton might be worth casting her eye over.
Marina took a step back, widening the circle of their conversation, needing the discourse between her and the duke to feel less intimate.
She waved a hand, encompassing Lucy and the other two dukes. "Not in this company, I'm afraid," she said, adopting a gently chiding tone. "Can't go two steps without tripping over a duke tonight." Before the Duke of Haddington had a chance to reply, she turned firmly to regard the Duke of Culton, the tall, quiet, proper one. "Do tell us, Your Grace, will you be able to stay for the whole of the house party?"
And as the Duke of Culton began to reply, she resolutely put the Duke of Haddington's clever green eyes out of her mind.