The Bride's Seduction. Louise Allen
is served, my lady.’ As Bunting held the door Lady Winslow appeared at Lord Mortenhoe’s side. Charlie was already offering his arm to Mrs Hinton and the other guests sorted themselves out, leaving Marina to bring up the rear with Cousin Hugh.
She had arranged the place cards earlier, positioning herself between Mr Philpott and Hugh, but as she neared the table she realised that the two remaining places were between Lord Mortenhoe and Mrs Philpott.
‘Bunting, the place cards have become muddled,’ she hissed.
‘No, Miss Marina, Lord Winslow moved them earlier,’ the butler assured her.
It was too late to make a change now. Putting a good face on it, she took her place, trusting that Mrs Philpott would not feel slighted by being next to young Hugh. At least their neighbour was happily occupied in conversation with Charlie at the head of the table. She began to talk to Hugh about his plans for the summer, leaving Lord Mortenhoe to her mother. It would no doubt be a relief to him: the poor man must be thoroughly tired of her company by now.
Far from experiencing any ennui, Justin was pleased with how the evening was going. Lady Winslow and her son had managed to throw him together with Marina with considerable aplomb and she appeared quite ignorant of any ulterior motive to his presence. Her clear, unselfconscious gaze was a pleasure to meet, even while he experienced an uneasy pang of conscience about deceiving her. How he was going to propose marriage without breaking his agreement with Winslow and yet at the same time salve his own conscience was a puzzle.
Lady Winslow was pleasant, vague and, he suspected, a lady of little energy. Certainly she appeared to rely heavily on her elder daughter and he soon realised that it was to Marina that Bunting looked for direction during the service of dinner. Another count in her favour if she was as competent a housekeeper as she appeared. Knightshaye would be a far bigger household than this, of course, but he did not think she would be daunted by it.
It would be neglected now, he knew that, mentally bracing himself for finding the immaculate, warm home of his memory dusty and unloved. Winslow had said something about continuing his father’s arrangements for its upkeep, but that was not the same as it being lived in by a family. What would his mother have felt if she knew she would be succeeded by the daughter of the very man who had ruined their lives and left her a widow?
He hoped that he would have had her blessing in recovering Knightshaye, even in such a manner, but he had to force a lightness into his voice as he replied to a question from that man’s wife. And yet, although he doubted she knew it, Lady Winslow was another victim of her husband’s arrogance and cold-blooded selfishness.
She was certainly in her son’s confidence over his scheme for Marina. Her expression as it rested on Justin was benevolent and satisfied. As well it might be, he thought with a flash of resentment. Without arrogance he knew quite well he was a considerable matrimonial prize for the daughter of a baron; there had been enough encounters with matchmaking mamas to convince him of his worth.
But not such a big a prize as all that, he reminded himself grimly as he passed a dish of minted peas to his hostess. Not such a prize as would hold a woman once she had seen she could land an even more prestigious catch. It was as well for his pride that no engagement had been announced, although, from what Winslow had said, it seemed rumours had got around about his relationship with Serena Henslow, now the Marchioness of Andover.
‘And have you any family in town?’ Lady Winslow was asking, making a good show of not knowing his family history inside out.
‘No, ma’am, none in town and few at all except for some distant cousins in Scotland and a great-uncle in Cornwall.’
‘How sad,’ she said sympathetically. ‘All the more reason for settling down soon and starting your nursery.’ Her vague smile settled on her daughter and lingered just as Marina turned her head to look at them.
What are they staring at me for? Marina glanced down, convinced that her bodice must be gaping or that she had spilled butter sauce on the silk. A rapid glance assured her that everything was as it should be. But now Mama was regarding her with a fond smile and Lord Mortenhoe was positively...no, not blushing, he was far too assured for that. But his colour was certainly up and that spark of controlled anger was back in his eyes.
There was a stir as the footmen brought in the next course and Marina turned her attention to what they were doing. By the time she had nodded approval to Bunting and turned back again, her mother was conversing with Mr Philpott, and Lord Mortenhoe was patiently waiting to offer her a dish of asparagus.
‘Thank you.’ She took some spears, then, without allowing herself to consider too carefully what she was saying, asked, ‘Did something in the conversation just now anger you, my lord?’
‘Did I appear angry? I beg your pardon, Miss Winslow.’ His eyes were a calm hazel now and the flash of green was gone.
‘No, not angry,’ she corrected herself, struggling to find the right words. ‘You had your...dangerous look. Your eyes turn green then—did you know?’
One dark brow rose slowly and Marina felt colour staining her cheeks. ‘Forgive me, my lord, that was an impertinent observation.’
‘Not at all, merely perceptive. I apologise if I appeared dangerous. Lady Winslow had made a perfectly innocent remark that happened to touch a nerve, that was all. My momentary irritation was with myself for my own weakness.’
‘What...?’ Marina shut her mouth with a snap. She had been within a whisker of asking what the sensitive subject was. Whatever has come over me? she thought frantically. It was this man, that was the trouble. She looked at him and felt an immediate affiliation, a sense that she could tell him anything, ask anything, rely on him.
‘What did she say? That was what you were about to ask me, was it not?’ He ignored Marina’s flustered murmur of denial. ‘Lady Winslow referred to the fact that I am unmarried and implied that perhaps I should be seeking to remedy that.’
‘Ah.’ He did not seem annoyed now, but she could quite understand that he might well be. How on earth to turn the subject?
‘She is quite right, of course,’ he said calmly, slicing through an asparagus spear.
‘Oh.’ Marina gave herself a little shake; she really could not sit here uttering monosyllables like a dummy. If his lordship wished to confide in her, then so be it. ‘Perhaps there is a lady with whom you have an understanding?’
She watched his profile and saw the black lashes sweep down, momentarily hiding the betraying eyes. When he looked at her, the hazel gaze was clear and friendly. ‘I believe I am far from understanding women, let alone reaching an understanding with one.’
He had turned her question very neatly and she experienced a sense of relief that she could step on to safer ground. ‘We are not so difficult to fathom, my lord.’
‘You smile, Miss Winslow, you are obviously mocking me.’
It was he who was mocking her, she was certain. ‘No, I would not dream of it. Everyone is different, of course, but I think that all women would want to feel wanted, needed, to have a loving family and to know that they are useful in whatever way they can be.’
‘That is very laudable, ma’am, but I cannot help but feel we are back to ladies not admitting to enthusiasms! What about rank and status, riches and luxury? Do ladies not covet those?’
Marina felt that she should piously point out that covetousness was a sin, but the crinkle of humour at the corner of his eyes made the unspoken thought seem prissy. ‘To have enough money to indulge in little luxuries is very pleasant, of course.’
‘And rank and status?’
‘Those would bring great responsibility,’ she said thoughtfully,