Marianne And The Marquis. Anne Herries
with valuable objects from gold snuff boxes to Chinese vases and oil paintings that had been perfected by a master long ago, and he hated it. It was not a home, had never been home to him. For two pins he would sell it or tear it down and build something more comfortable, and yet that would be sacrilege. And he knew that it didn’t belong to him; he was merely the custodian, and he must pass it on one day to someone more deserving.
Perhaps it wasn’t the house that he hated, Drew thought as he stared at a reflection of himself in a magnificent gilt-framed mirror. Maybe it was his life—himself. Since he had been forced to resign from the army and come home to face his responsibilities as the eleventh Marquis of Marlbeck, he had become aware that he was almost as empty as this vast house—empty of anything worthwhile.
He frequented the clubs when he was in town, drank with other young gentlemen, drove his horses and sparred to keep himself fit—but where was the point of it all? At least when he was out there in the thick of battle, not knowing from day to day whether he would survive, he had known who he was and what he wanted of life. Now there was nothing but the prospect of the lonely years stretching ahead.
But at last there was something he could do—something that might ease the anger he had held inside him since his friends were killed…betrayed by a traitor who had traded their lives for gold. If he could bring that man to book, it would at least give some purpose to his life.
His eyes gleamed, self-mockery driving away his fit of the blue devils as he shouted for his manservant. He had promised Jack he would do what he could, and now that his duty was done here for the moment, he would keep his word. Suddenly, he felt better than he had since he came home. It would be a mad adventure, perhaps his last before he did what he knew to be his duty and settled down to finding a wife in order to provide an heir for the estate.
But where would he find a wife that he could bear to live with for more than a month? Most of the young ladies that were paraded under his nose every time he attended a social affair would drive him to distraction within hours. He needed…wanted…he did not know. At times there was a yearning need in him, but he had no idea what it was that he needed…
Suddenly he laughed out loud, the sound of it echoing in the vast hall. What a damned fool! He was like a wounded dog, howling at the moon for no other reason than a feeling of deep loneliness inside.
Chapter Two
Marianne glanced at the woman sitting opposite her in her uncle’s comfortable carriage. Lord Wainwright employed Sally as the housekeeper’s assistant, and he had insisted on sending her with his niece, because she was five and twenty and a capable young woman.
‘You will need to break your journey for at least two nights, and if there should be an accident to the coach you might be marooned at an inn for a day or so while the repairs are done. I should be anxious if I thought you alone, Marianne. You are still young and innocent, though I know you are very sensible. However, I should feel easier in my mind if you had Sally Jones to accompany you, because she will look out for you, my dear.’
‘Then I shall be very happy to have Sally as my companion for the journey,’ Marianne told him. ‘You have been so considerate, Uncle, and I cannot thank you enough.’
‘You are a good girl and deserve every consideration,’ he had told her and kissed her cheek.
So far her uncle’s fears for her journey had proved unfounded, but it had passed the hours more pleasantly having someone to talk to—though Sally had been sleeping for the past hour or so. Marianne might have followed her example, except that she enjoyed looking out of the window. Her thoughts were already with her great-aunt. It was some years since she had seen Aunt Bertha and she was wondering if she might find her much changed.
Suddenly, the coach halted amidst a jangling of brasses and some juddering that shook Sally awake, making her rub her eyes and look at Marianne in bewilderment.
‘What has happened, miss?’
‘We have stopped for some reason,’ Marianne said. She looked out of the window. ‘I think there has been an accident to a coach ahead of us…yes, it appears that several men are helping to push it to the side of the road.’ She opened her door and got down, looking at Lord Wainwright’s groom as he came up to her.
‘I had to stop, Miss Horne. I’ll give them a hand and then we’ll soon be on our way again.’
‘Yes, of course, George,’ Marianne said. She followed the groom along the narrow country road towards the damaged coach, because she had seen two ladies standing at the edge of the road. They looked upset, as they might well do, the younger almost in tears. ‘I am so sorry for your misfortune,’ Marianne said. ‘It could be some time before your wheel is repaired—may we take you up with us as far as the next inn?’
The older lady looked at her for a moment and then nodded. ‘How kind of you,’ she said. ‘We should be glad of that, should we not, Henriette? My grooms may fetch help and follow us with the coach as soon as they are able.’
‘Oh…yes, Mama,’ the girl said, but she was not looking at her mother. Her eyes were on one of the gentlemen helping with the carriage. Marianne glanced in the direction of the girl’s gaze, seeing a man with fashionably cropped black hair. He had taken off his coat, his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He looked to be very strong and was directing the operations, but as he did not glance their way, Marianne could not see his face. The two ladies followed her to the coach and climbed inside.
‘I should introduce myself,’ the older of the two said. ‘I am Lady Forester and this is my daughter Henriette. We are on our way to stay with friends in Devon.’
‘I am Marianne Horne, and I am visiting my great-aunt. She has been unwell and needs some company.’
‘Ah, yes, illness always makes one so low,’ Lady Forester said.
‘Yes…’ Marianne glanced out of the window as she heard a shout. ‘They have moved your carriage, Lady Forester. We should be on our way at any moment now.’
As she spoke, the man who had been directing operations turned in their direction and looked towards their coach. Marianne could see his face now. He was attractive with a strong, determined face and eyes that looked a very dark blue. He was such a striking man that she was not surprised that Henriette had been more interested in watching him than listening to her mama. For a moment his eyes seemed to dwell on Marianne’s face and she was aware of a peculiar flutter in her stomach. He was so…very masculine, so very different to every other man she had met in her sheltered life. Her cheeks felt a little warm and she looked down. When she dared to look again, he had turned away and was about to mount his horse.
‘It was kind of that gentleman to help us, was it not, Mama?’ Henriette said.
‘Yes,’ her mama agreed. ‘But no more than any decent man would do, I dare say.’ She spoke dismissively, as if the gentleman were of no consequence to her mind, though her daughter’s face reflected rather different feelings towards their gallant rescuer.
As their carriage drew level with him, the man glanced towards it once more. For a moment Marianne gazed into eyes that were so blue and bright that she felt suddenly breathless. Something about him made her heart race for no reason at all that she could think of. He looked directly at her, his eyes bold and challenging. He did not drop his gaze, continuing to stare at her until they had passed him. It was unsettling to be looked at in that way, and she decided that he was not a gentleman, for surely a gentleman would never have looked at any lady in that way, particularly one he did not know. Meeting Henriette’s gaze across the carriage, she saw the slightly wistful expression and smiled, understanding that the girl had been smitten. She was very young, not much above Lucy’s age, and the incident must have seemed like something out of a fairy tale perhaps…a handsome prince riding to their rescue.
‘Tell me, Miss Forester,’ she said. ‘Do you read much?’
‘Oh yes,’ the girl replied, her face lighting up. ‘I love the romantic poets, do I not, Mama?’
Her