Marguerite (Dances by Candlelight #1)

Chapter 1

MARGUERITE WAS SUMMONED to the drawing room to find a gentleman standing with her parents: a tall, lean man with broad shoulders, a strong, aquiline nose and straight black brows above deep-set dark eyes.

His coat was somber but of superb cut, his waistcoat plain, but he had no fobs, seals, or eyeglasses about his person. No rings on his fingers.

Lady Lennox said, ‘Ma chérie, I think you know the Duke of Argyle.’ She was a small and elegant Frenchwoman, of slightly faded beauty.

‘Yes, we have met before, on several occasions.’ Marguerite did not smile, only curtsied, deeply and gracefully. ‘Your Grace.’

The duke bowed and said, ‘Mademoiselle.’ He did not smile either, and his face was a little harsh in repose.

Marguerite recalled those occasions well—he had asked her to dance as if he was conferring a great honour upon her, then he had been stiff and expressionless, mostly silent.

Each time the dance ended, she had left him without a backward glance; and when their eyes had happened to meet across a room, she had let hers drift off indifferently.

She was surrounded by young men who were handsome as well as amusing to talk to, and was enjoying her first London season immensely—she had only accepted to dance with him when it would have been impossible to refuse.

Lord Lennox, Marguerite’s father, said, ‘His Grace has made an offer for your hand, Marguerite.’

Marguerite lifted her expressive eyebrows. ‘Oh? And why is that?’ She looked the duke in the eye.

‘I—have been captivated by your charm, Lady Marguerite. I would like you to be my wife.’ He spoke gravely.

She looked at him for a moment, then said, ‘You must pardon me, Your Grace, but I am in no great hurry to be married. I have only been in London for a short while, and find I am greatly enjoying myself. But thank you for the offer, sir. You do me a great honour.’

Her father said, in his mild voice, ‘My dear, you will do well to consider.’

‘I already have, Papa. Maman, Your Grace … Pray excuse me.’ She swept them all another deep, graceful curtsy and went out.

Lady Lennox clasped her fan with nervous hands. ‘I must apologise, Your Grace. My daughter can be a little opinionated, but she is still young. She did not mean to offend—I believe you took her by surprise. I am sure when she has had time to think, she must consider your offer.’

The duke did not appear disconcerted. ‘I am sure she must.’ His manner was polite but haughty—he soon took his leave, refusing offers of refreshment.

When the door closed behind him, Lady Lennox, letting herself sink into a chair, fanned her face.

‘Mon Dieu, I fear our daughter is sadly lacking in manners. And common sense. The duke is one of the great catches of the marriage market. There are many who would be delighted to be in her place.’ Her fair complexion was flushed.

Lord Lennox, a man of genial countenance and greying hair, had a twinkle in his eye and his lips twitched a little. ‘Well, I have tried to bring her up to have an opinion about matters. I do confess that I am proud she is not a mere follower of fashion.’

‘Pourtant, mon cher, it is a brilliant match. She would be a duchess, with a great position in society. And he is very wealthy.’

Her husband said, ‘Be that as it may, it will be her own decision to make.’

‘She is nineteen!’

‘Old enough. I do not wish her to be unhappy.’

His wife gave a small smile. ‘Enfin, you mean you do not wish to lose her to a husband so soon. Admit it.’

Her husband shrugged and returned her smile, a wicked glint in his eyes.

The door opened and Marguerite came back in with a flounce of her muslin skirts.

She was a pretty girl, but her heartshaped face tended towards liveliness of expression rather than classical beauty: she had a small straight nose, a wide smiling mouth and intelligent hazel eyes.

Her dark blonde hair was too straight by nature to be fashionable and when, as was the case this day, she could not be bothered to have it curled, it was bundled on top of her head in a knot from which strands kept escaping.

‘Is he gone?’

Her father grinned at her—an only child, she was the apple of his eye. Since setting eyes on her, he had never once regretted not having a son. ‘My sweet, he did you a great honour. Every girl in town would like to be in your place.

Her upper lip curled in a sarcastic smile. ‘Yes, and I am sure he is very conscious of it. I have never met anyone more arrogant. When he danced with me, he barely looked at me, and never said a single word.’

Her mother, sitting up in her chair, said, ‘Ma chérie, you could have made more of an effort to be polite.’

Marguerite distractedly noticed her mother’s fading blond hair exactly matched the straw-coloured satin of the chair back. ‘He is detestable. And why would he want to marry me? There are any number of dukes’s daughters available— why make a mésalliance?’

Lady Lennox said, her voice unusually sharp, ‘Mon coeur, you could never be a mésalliance.’

Marguerite smiled at her. ‘Thank you, Maman chérie, but still, as Papa said, every girl in town would be delighted by a proposal— whereas I would not marry him if he were the last man on earth. I have never given him the slightest encouragement.’ She paused, then gave her mother a piercing glance and said, ‘Do you like him, Maman?’

Her mother hesitated. ‘I do not know him well enough to say, mon coeur.’

‘Alors? All you care about is his title and his fortune. That is not what makes for a happy marriage, in my opinion.’

Lord Lennox bent a stern look upon her. He cleared his throat and said, raising his bushy eyebrows, ‘I will admit his manner is not the most—er—charming, but he is known to be extremely intelligent. He inherited much debt and a heavily entailed estate and has been very shrewd and diligent, in setting it all to rights.’

Marguerite shrugged. ‘My friends tell me he is a heavy gambler and wins a lot at cards. Also ruthless, and a … a rake. With many beautiful mistresses. Why would he want to get married now?’

Her father said, ‘Marguerite, you listen too much to gossip. He has been amusing himself as a bachelor so far, but I am sure he is conscious of the need to acquire an heir.’

Her mouth twisted in a pout. ‘Oh, Papa, I am not a broodmare. I mean to marry for love.’

‘Very commendable, I am sure.’ Her father smiled.

Lady Lennox sighed. Her husband, seeing this, put a serious expression on his face. ‘But in that case, my sweet, make sure you are careful who you fall in love with—because the consequences could be disastrous.’

* * *

Lord Lennox had been named foreign envoy to Paris in his youth, and there he had stayed, having met, fallen for and married an attractive young Parisian.

Lady Lennox, a sweet tempered and cultivated woman, had been disappointed that she was able to have but the one child, but her husband was content.

He doted on his wife and daughter, and enjoyed listening to them chatter in two languages.

However, somewhere inside him lurked nostalgia for his native country.

So, after the defeat of Napoleon, he had resigned his post and taken his family back to England.

He took a house in London and was happy for them to enjoy the Season but was looking forward to rediscovering his estates in Dorset.

Despite her initial misgivings about entering an alien milieu, Marguerite had quickly made friends.

Her cousin Alice, daughter of her father’s sister, was her age, and they immediately found they had much in common.

Alice promptly introduced her to all her friends, and this led to many hours of delightful gossiping and giggling.

And then there was Charles, son of her father’s old friend, Mr Barnfield, whom she vaguely remembered as a small, mischievous boy on the one or two occasions they had met years before.

He had grown into a handsome man with warm brown eyes and charming manners, only slightly older than her, and there had been, from the start, a delicious, if lighthearted, frisson between them.

He was already known to Alice, which facilitated matters further.

These two young people assured her smooth entry into London society.

She found, to her surprise, that the ton considered her to be a diamond of the first water, due to her high spirits and exotic background and upbringing.

‘I envy you, cousin,’ Alice said, as the three of them walked together in the park on a sunny morning. ‘You have only to start speaking French, and men will fall at your feet in droves.’

Charles made a face. ‘I do not want men to fall at her feet in droves. Then she will be married off in a few weeks, and where is the fun in that?’

Alice patted his arm—she was quite taken with him herself. ‘Don’t be so selfish, Charles. We all like to have admirers. I saw you preening when the Williams girl was making sheep’s eyes at you.’

‘Yes, she is quite pretty, isn’t she?’ Charles said, momentarily distracted from his purpose. ‘But still, I would like it to be known that Marguerite is my—our—friend, first and foremost.’

‘Our discovery,’ said Alice.

Marguerite laughed. ‘I am very happy to be your discovery, both of you. I was dreading being a wallflower with nobody asking me to dance.’

‘No fear of that,’ said Charles, shrugging.

Since their families were connected, they were invited to the same dinners, dances, assemblies, balls, and picnics.

They enjoyed the company of other young people, trying to avoid the constraints of society rules and the looming prospect of marriage.

Marguerite, riding in the park and dancing to her heart’s content, compared this lifestyle to being a duchess, wife of a difficult and entitled man, and laughed out loud.

* * *

Lady Lennox, taking advantage of an afternoon when they were alone embroidering in the drawing room, raised the subject of marriage again with her daughter. ‘Alors, mon coeur, you think you prefer young Barnfield to the duke?’

Charles had by then established himself as Marguerite’s main escort, and their banter had a flirtatious edge to it— something which had not escaped her mother’s notice.

‘Maman, I like Mr Barnfield, but he’s only flirting. He has never declared his feelings or intentions. Which suits me well for the moment—I meant it when I said I have no thoughts of marriage yet.’

Lady Lennox raised an eyebrow. ‘I am happy for you to enjoy yourself, ma chérie, but you must not throw your future away. You will not have endless opportunities.’

Marguerite shrugged. ‘I hope to get more agreeable offers than the duke’s. Would you like me to spend my life with someone so aloof and unlikeable?’

Her mother smiled. ‘Voyons, I think you misjudge him. He is only a lot more serious than Mr Barnfield and his friends, although he is still young. And he is a handsome man, don’t you think?’

‘Handsome? No. He has a hard face, and his hair is always disordered—and his clothes are so plain.’

Her mother considered. ‘I admit he does not smile much, and he is not a follower of fashion, like your friends—he probably dislikes using pomade on his hair. But he has a fine figure—and I do not agree with you about his clothes. They are impeccable.’

‘Yes, and boring. But it is his manner I object to the most.’ Lady Lennox gave up. ‘Well, I will not try to convince you. As your father says, you must choose for yourself. But try to choose well.’

Marguerite grinned. ‘For the moment, then, I choose Charles —Mr Barnfield—but only as a friend.’ The duke’s unexpected offer had not disturbed her peace of mind and she soon forgot about it.

She had more interesting and amusing things to occupy her— offers of marriage were not her first priority. At least for now.