Chapter 15
The front door of Ashwell Park did not merely open; it was thrown back with the force of a minor artillery strike.
“I have been assaulted,” Vivienne announced to the entryway.
Corinna paused her descent on the grand staircase, her hand hovering over the polished mahogany banister. Below her, Vivienne stood trembling with absolute fury. Her usually flawless alabaster complexion was a mottled, violent shade of pink, her cheeks swollen to the size of small, unripe apples.
Beside her stood Lord Ravenswood, holding Vivienne’s parasol as though it were a highly volatile explosive. The confident earl looked profoundly helpless.
“Good heavens!” Gerald Ashwell cried, rushing out from the morning room. “Vivienne, my darling, what on earth has happened to your beautiful face?”
“The countryside has happened to it, Father,” Vivienne snapped.
The swelling made her words slur slightly, robbing her of her usual piercing enunciation.
She glared furiously at a potted fern near the door, as if suspecting the plant of premeditated treason.
“Lord Ravenswood suggested a walk to the old ruins. He claimed the morning air would be restorative. Instead, I was forced to navigate a veritable jungle of malicious weeds. Something brushed against my cheek, and within minutes, I felt as though my skin had caught fire.”
“It was a patch of nettles, I believe,” Lord Ravenswood offered, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining his aristocratic composure while actively suppressing a wince. “I attempted to steer Miss Ashwell clear of the brush, but the pathway was remarkably narrow.”
“It was an ambush,” Vivienne insisted, batting away her father’s fluttering hands.
“I am hideous. I am entirely deformed. I shall not be seen by anyone until this grotesque affliction is completely banished. I require cold compresses, Father. Immediately. And a darkened room. I will not have my Season ruined by a rustic weed.”
“Of course, darling, at once,” Gerald fretted, taking her eldest daughter by the arm.
Vivienne turned her swollen, pink face toward the earl, attempting a tragic, brave smile that merely made her look like a deeply offended cherub. “You must forgive me, my lord. I am devastated to abandon our morning, but my constitution simply cannot bear this indignity.”
“Your health is paramount, Miss Ashwell,” Lord Ravenswood said, offering a deep, flawless bow that hid his face entirely. “I shall pray for your swift recovery.”
Vivienne allowed herself to be swept up the stairs by their frantic father, marching past Corinna without a single glance. Corinna waited until the door of Vivienne’s bedchamber slammed shut on the landing above.
The echoing thud seemed to act as a physical release valve for the entire manor. The suffocating, high-strung tension that had gripped the household since their arrival from London simply evaporated into the dust motes dancing in the morning light. The house exhaled.
Corinna descended the final few steps. Lord Ravenswood was still standing in the foyer, staring at the closed door upstairs.
“I did warn her about the leaves,” the earl murmured, turning to look at Corinna. His polished mask was slipping, revealing an exhausted, desperate man beneath it.
A low, rich sound echoed from the shadowed archway of the library.
Mr. Marsh leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his broad chest. He wore his plain brown secretary’s coat, but the subservient posture was entirely gone. His broad shoulders shook slightly, his jaw locked tight in a losing battle against his own amusement.
“It is not funny,” Lord Ravenswood muttered. “She looked at me as though I had personally orchestrated the nettles to attack her.”
“I think,” Mr. Marsh managed to say, his deep voice vibrating with suppressed laughter, “that you have finally met an opponent you cannot charm, my lord. The local foliage.”
Corinna pressed her lips tightly together, fighting the laugh bubbling in her throat.
She looked at Mr. Marsh, catching the dark amusement in his blue eyes.
For the very first time since they had arrived at Ashwell Park, he did not look away, nor did he pull the impenetrable mask of the quiet companion back over his face. He simply shared the joke with her.
Arabella stepped out of the morning room, holding a book to her chest. She looked up the stairs, then back at the earl, her gentle brown eyes wide. “Is she truly retiring for the entire day?”
“She demanded absolute darkness,” Lord Ravenswood confirmed, letting out a long, heavy breath that seemed to deflate his entire posture. “I believe we are, for all intents and purposes, entirely unsupervised.”
They gathered for luncheon in the small dining parlor. The atmosphere was startlingly light.
Thomas Briggs joined them halfway through the cold meats and bread. He walked in with his usual quiet competence, dropping his riding crop on the sideboard. He took a seat beside Corinna.
“The village green is already being cleared,” Thomas announced to the table, pouring himself a glass of water. He looked at Corinna, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You haven’t forgotten the festival tonight, I hope?”
Corinna set her fork down, a genuine, delighted smile breaking across her face. “The midsummer fair? Tonight?”
“Fiddles, lanterns, and roasted pork,” Thomas confirmed. “The entire village will be there. It is entirely informal. I thought perhaps our guests might enjoy seeing how the country truly entertains itself.”
“We should go,” Corinna said immediately, turning her head to look at the other three. “It is wonderful. It is entirely unlike anything in London.”
Lord Ravenswood leaned forward, his dark eyes brightening with genuine interest. “Informal, you say? No receiving lines?”
“None whatsoever, my lord,” Thomas replied smoothly.
“Then I absolutely insist we attend,” Lord Ravenswood declared. He looked across the table at Arabella. “Would you care to see a country fair, dear sister?”
Arabella’s cheeks flushed a delicate, pretty pink. “I think I should like that very much.”
Corinna glanced at Mr. Marsh. The tall secretary let out a quiet sigh and gave a single, consenting nod.
By dusk, the village green was a chaotic, brilliant tapestry of noise and light.
Dozens of paper lanterns hung between the twisting branches of the great oak trees, casting a warm glow over the trampled grass.
A trio of local musicians stood on a wooden cart, scraping out a lively country jig on two fiddles and a drum.
The four of them walked into the crowd together, immediately swallowed by the joyous, unpretentious noise. Something loosened in all of them within the first half hour.
Lord Ravenswood stepped toward a vendor’s cart, returning a moment later with two steaming cups of spiced cider.
He handed one to Arabella, his fingers brushing hers.
Corinna watched Arabella look up at the earl and laugh, a genuine, open, unguarded sound that carried over the fiddles. She did not remember to stop herself.
Corinna smiled, turning away, and found Mr. Marsh standing directly beside her.
He was watching the earl and Arabella as well. As Lord Ravenswood gestured animatedly, the lantern light caught the edge of his white cuff. Corinna’s eyes narrowed slightly. Faint, permanent smudges of dark ink were layered into the creases of the earl’s knuckles.
“His lordship has ink on his hands,” Corinna observed softly, stepping a fraction closer to Mr. Marsh.
The secretary stiffened slightly. “His lordship writes a great deal of correspondence.”
“I thought he was a painter,” Corinna countered.
Lord Ravenswood, catching the drift of their conversation, turned toward them with an easy grin. “I am a man of many talents, Miss Ashwell. Oils, charcoal, ink. Creating something with one’s own hands is the only way to truly understand the world.”
Arabella looked at the earl, her brown eyes filled with admiration. “It must be a wonderful thing, to be able to capture beauty on a canvas.”
“It is,” Lord Ravenswood said, his gaze fixed entirely on Arabella.
Corinna felt a sudden need for quiet. She walked toward the dark edge of the green where the lantern light faded into the shadows of the trees.
She heard the heavy crunch of boots on the grass behind her. Mr. Marsh fell into step beside her as they reached the shadow of a large elm tree.
“You do not care for the music, Miss Ashwell?” the secretary asked, his deep voice a quiet rumble.
“I love the music,” Corinna corrected, turning to look at him. “I simply needed to breathe. The countryside always makes me feel free. In London, I feel as though I am constantly holding my breath. I feel like I am pretending to be someone else entirely.”
Mr. Marsh stopped walking. He looked down at her, the usual guarded vigilance completely stripped from his blue eyes.
“I feel the same,” he said gently.
They looked at each other, and something vital, warm, and entirely private passed between them in the dark. The air grew impossibly thick. Corinna could smell the clean scent of his soap, mixed with the woodsmoke from the fair.
Mr. Marsh’s chest rose and fell in a sharp breath. His usual carefulness slipped. He opened his mouth, the words forming on his lips. Corinna found herself leaning very slightly toward him, waiting for it.
“Corinna!”
The spell shattered instantly. Mr. Marsh took a quick step backward. Corinna turned to see Thomas Briggs walking toward them through the grass.
Thomas smiled easily, greeting a passing farmer by name before stopping in front of them. His dark eyes flicked from Mr. Marsh’s rigid posture to Corinna’s flushed face. He gave Corinna a knowing look. He had seen something, and he had filed it away for later.
“Thomas,” Corinna managed to say, her voice trembling slightly.
Thomas nodded and walked back toward the lights.
Mr. Marsh watched the estate manager walk away. “He seems remarkably familiar with you.”
Corinna looked at him, surprised by the slightly defensive edge in his tone. “Thomas and I have known each other since we were children. We share common interests. We are very good friends, and I love him dearly.”
Mr. Marsh’s expression shifted from jealousy to concern. They fell into a conversation about the nature of true friendship.
“I owe his lordship my life,” Mr. Marsh said quietly, the truth bleeding into his voice as he looked toward the earl and Arabella. “He is fiercely loyal. But sometimes I fear that loyalty will cost him his own happiness. He deserves a life of his own.”
Corinna stared at him, captivated by his honesty. “You are a very good friend, Mr. Marsh.”
They gathered Lord Ravenswood and Arabella a short time later, leaving the bright noise of the village green behind them.