Chapter One #2
Her son’s voice was small and uncertain. Marianne dragged her feet until the swing came to a halt, then swiveled around to find him.
“Toby, darling, come here.” She opened her arms and delighted in the feel of his small, warm body. “Did Nanny take you to the park?”
He nodded, shifting so she could lift him onto her knees and rock them both on the swing.
“Did you have a nice time?”
Another nod.
Half despairing, Marianne lifted her gaze to Nanny’s. The older woman smiled encouragingly.
“You had a penny lick, didn’t you, Master Toby?”
“A penny lick?” Marianne tried to keep her instinctive dislike of the popular sweets out of her voice.
Heaven knows, she would happily embrace anything that brought a smile to her son’s overly serious face.
Toby’s big blue eyes had once shone with life and curiosity.
His dark curls would hang disheveled around ruddy cheeks, and his hands would be forever reaching for something new.
Now his hair was neatly combed and his hands were clean, but he had learned to walk instead of run; to stay quiet rather than ask questions.
London Society is no place for a child.
If Aunt Clementine could promise her a suitor with a country house, where she and Toby could live away from the dictates and demands of the ton, Marianne thought she might even be tempted to marry again.
She ran her fingers through Toby’s silken curls and breathed in his scent of soap and talcum powder.
“There was a man,” Toby said, his voice muffled against her gown.
Instantly on high alert, Marianne lifted her eyes to Nanny. “What man?”
“Master Toby said a man was watching him eat his ice, but I saw naught amiss.” Nanny tucked an errant strand of gray hair inside her cap.
“What did he look like?” Marianne asked her son.
“I don’t know.” Toby snuggled closer. “He was tall with black eyes. I didn’t like him.”
Marianne bade herself to outwardly remain calm whilst her heart galloped beneath her bodice.
“Did you see him anywhere else?”
“No,” said Nanny.
At the same time, Toby said, “He was in the park yesterday, sitting on a bench under a tree.”
Nanny tutted. “I assure you, milady, there is no need for concern. Many men sit on benches in Hyde Park.”
Marianne swallowed her instinctive defense of her son. “Nevertheless, I would prefer it if you took a manservant with you for your outing tomorrow. One cannot be too careful.”
Nanny nodded, but Marianne could see in her pale blue eyes that she thought the demand unnecessary.
Marianne looked down at Toby’s sturdy body, clad in a pea-green cotton suit. Surely Edgar would not come for him here, at Fencham House?
Perchance Nanny was correct. Marianne was letting her imagination run away with her, again.
She closed her eyes. She had no real evidence that Edgar Chawton, her brother-in-law, intended harm to her son, just a series of mishaps and coincidences that had forced her out of Medstead Hall and into the chilly protection of Aunt Clementine.
But with Toby out of the way, Edgar would inherit the entirety of his brother’s fortune.
And the only man who loved money more than Edgar was his deceased brother, Victor.
Victor had thought that money could buy him anything he wanted. He’d learned the hard way, with Marianne’s happiness as forfeit, that wealth would only get a man so far.
Nanny cleared her throat. “Shall I take the young master up to the nursery? It’s nearly time for tea.”
“Of course.” Marianne kissed the top of her son’s head. “I’ll come up and see you later on,” she promised.
Nanny visibly bristled. Marianne knew that the older woman did not appreciate Marianne’s regular visits to the nursery, but Toby’s happiness mattered far more than society’s norms. Marianne had always prioritized her son’s happiness and well-being above all else and she saw no reason to change that now.
The ladies of Fencham House sat through an awkward dinner.
The long, polished dining table seated just the two of them; Lord Sedgewick being away on business in India.
It seemed that every scrape of silver cutlery on bone china sounded extra loud in the elegant blue-and-cream room.
The tall windows had been left open, but there was no breeze to bring respite from the oppressive August heat.
Aunt Clementine alone seemed unaffected by the high temperatures.
She was a tall, regal woman, with a slim waist and high cheekbones.
She sat coolly, wearing her customary pearls, whilst the butler perspired, and Marianne longed to fan herself with her napkin.
As they were finishing their roast guinea fowl, Aunt Clementine finally spoke.
“It is a pity, dear niece, that you were not at home this afternoon.”
With her silken gown sticking to her lower back, Marianne summed a smile. “How so, aunt?”
Clementine positioned her cutlery neatly on the floral-patterned plate. “We need to discuss your reentry to Society. In particular, your prospects of finding a husband. Lady Amberley has made an excellent suggestion.”
Marianne swallowed, careful not to show her dismay. She fixed her gaze on Clementine’s elegantly coiffed silvery-auburn hair. Not a strand of hair dared to stray out of place, whereas her own chignon drooped with the heat.
“I am in no hurry to marry again.”
“Lord Thaddeus Albright,” Clementine continued as if her niece had not spoken. “You may already be acquainted with him?”
Marianne took a sip of wine to steady herself. “Thaddeus Albright,” she repeated, faintly. The name was familiar, and her eyes widened as the memory clarified. “Did he not—” She floundered for words. “Did he not deflower a clergyman’s daughter?”
“Gossip.” Clementine shook her head. “Nothing was ever proven, my dear. The girl herself made no accusation.”
“But Thaddeus Albright is nearly sixty years old.” Marianne’s shock was greater than her usual reticence. “And more importantly, he is not a kind man.”
“Not a kind man?” Clementine arched her eyebrows. “My dear niece, you are no blushing debutante. Surely you don’t anticipate a fairytale romance?”
“No, aunt.”
She leaned back in her chair. “Then what is it that you want?”
Marianne held onto the edge of the table, the linen cloth bunching beneath her trembling fingers. “All I want is for Toby to be happy.”
Tears blurred her vision. It was a statement of the obvious and simultaneously an ambition so great that giving voice to it felt like a daring risk.
Clementine made an indistinct noise. “Happiness is not a tangible goal. You need a husband, Marianne. Someone who will keep you safe and protect you from further slander.”
A surge of frustration rippled through her.
It was certainly in Clementine’s interest to protect her niece from further slander.
For whilst no self-serving member of the ton would dare to openly disrespect a close relative of Lady Sedgewick, the undercurrent of gossip that had ebbed and flowed over the last two years was doing neither of them any favors.
But Marianne had never cared less about gossip.
She gripped the tablecloth tighter. “I want Toby to have a childhood full of magic and laughter. For him to run across fields, splash in streams, and pick apples straight from the tree.” She gave voice to cherished memories from her own childhood.
Clementine held her eye. “Thaddeus Albright has a home in Mayfair. There are no fields or streams, but he will ensure Toby is sent to the best schools. I have already made certain of it.”
So great was Marianne’s distress that she almost spilled her wine. “He is too young to be sent away to school,” she whispered.
“Do not upset yourself, dear. Nothing will happen right away. But you must accept the very best course of action is for you to take a husband. A man with the wealth and connections to silence these slanderous allegations and most of all, to keep you safe.” Clementine dabbed her lips with her napkin and rose from the table.
“There is much to discuss in the days ahead. I will retire early and suggest you do the same.”
As much as Marianne, a grown woman, balked at following such dictates, it was a relief to retire to the sanctuary of her bedchamber and to the familiar ministrations of Andrews as she brushed out her hair.
“There is something troubling you, milady. I can read it in your face.” Andrews spoke to her through the gilded looking glass.
There was little to be gained by prevaricating. “It seems my aunt and her circle of friends have already selected my next husband as Lord Thaddeus Albright.”
Andrews was a highly trained lady’s maid, and her moue of surprise was quickly disguised.
“A wealthy man,” she remarked, removing the final pins from Marianne’s hair.
Marianne pulled a sapphire ring from her finger and set it spinning on the dressing table. “I care little for his wealth and even less for his title. I cannot allow Toby to grow up in a house where he is not wanted and loved.”
“But he will always have you, milady. Is that not enough?”
“Not while we are here, in London. Where Society has so much power and my name is so blackened. How can he be happy when women snigger behind my back? He is too young to notice now. But soon, he will understand it all. Including how I accepted a husband because I had no other choice.”
Andrews paused, hairbrush in hand. “If things are really that bad, I suggest you take control of the situation.”
Marianne almost laughed. “And just how might I do that?”
“You are a woman of means, are you not?”
Marianne looked down at the sapphire ring. Victor Chawton had been a wealthy man, but his Will left little provision for the wife he despised. Her father, however, had left her a significant sum to be inherited on her thirtieth birthday.
“I will be soon,” she acknowledged.
Andrews put her face close to Marianne’s. “You remember your father’s gambling days?”
Marianne gave an unladylike snort. “How could I forget?”
Andrews gave her a meaningful look. “A lot more goes on in the Lyon’s Den than just gambling, milady.”