“Well, I hope. I shall see her after dinner. I wish to show her the estate.”
“Do not let me keep you,” he said, noticing that she had already finished her meal and had declined dessert. Now he understood why.
“Are you certain you will be quite all right on your own?”
He smiled at her. “I assure you, this is how I have lived my life for a very long time. I can take a meal on my own. I am perfectly content with my own company. I always have been, as are you. And when I do find myself lonely on occasion, there is always Mrs. Greaves and Henry.”
She looked at him for a moment, her eyes searching and her lips parted, as though there was something else she wanted to say—something perhaps she wanted to ask—but she thought better of it. After a moment, she rose and left the room.
He sat there looking after her, and then stared at her place setting and then Henry’s. For an odd moment, they had almost been a family. A rather dysfunctional family, but a family nonetheless.
CHAPTER 11
MARIANNE
Marianne was in her chamber getting changed into her nightdress. Her thoughts wandered to dinner. It had ended so suddenly, she wasn’t sure what to make of it.
She’d tried her best, she really had. But Lucien – he was a difficult man to know and understand. Her hand wandered to her cheek, where he had briefly touched her while removing evidence of Henry’s misbehavior. His finger had brushed against her cheek for a brief second – but it had been enough.
Her body had wanted to lean into his hand, and it had taken all her willpower not to let it. She could not let him know that his touch had done something to her. Exactly what it had done, she didn’t even know. But it had caused a surge of something in her stomach. Heat. A tingle. Something she knew was utterly inappropriate to feel for a man one was only married to for convenience.
A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. Juliet entered without waiting to be admitted.
“Marianne?” she said as she came into the room. She wore one of the simple maids’ dresses Marianne and Mrs. Greaves had selected earlier. She would take her friend shopping on Bond Street very soon, so she could select a few better options, but for now, it suited her well enough.
Marianne realized she had never seen Juliet in anything other than the plain gray dress at the convent.
Her friend rushed over to her side, hugging her tightly.
“Oh, Marianne, I feel as though an entire week’s worth of information has been shared with me in a day, and I cannot remember even one thing.” She chuckled. “I fear I will be the worst lady’s maid that ever lived.”
“I doubt that very much,” Marianne replied, her mood lifting now that her friend was here. “Come and sit with me.”
They jumped onto the huge bed together. Juliet fell backwards. “Faith! I thought the bed in my chamber was soft, but this is like sleeping on a cloud. The nuns would not approve.”
“I am certain they would not,” Marianne said. “But it is one thing I missed when I was at the convent.” She paused for a moment. “I did not grow up with such a bed at my home. Mine was comfortable enough, but nothing like this.”
Juliet looked at her, her green eyes shimmering. “You need not diminish yourself on my account, you know. I know that you grew up an Earl’s daughter. I am well aware of how rich you were. How rich youare.”
Marianne laughed. “I did not mean to boast to you.”
“You are not,” Juliet said. “Do you think superiority comes from who has more riches? If you do, then I might well teach you some things yet.”
“No, no, that is not what I meant.”
“You are quite overwrought, my friend,” Juliet said kindly. “What is the trouble with you? I heard there was some incident or other at the dinner table. And...” She paused and sat up, then slipped her fingers into Marianne’s hair, removing something. She flinched as she examined the yellow ball. “Goodness gracious, what is this? Some sort of fancy beauty treatment I do not know of yet?”
“No,” Marianne said ruefully. “Potato. Henry threw some potatoes at me this evening at dinner.”
“He did?” Juliet said. “Mrs. Greaves would have me believe that the boy is a pure angel.”
“He did not do it to be unkind, I believe. It was just...just a food fight of sorts.”
“The higher echelons of society really do things differently, eh? Can you imagine if we attempted to waste food at the convent by throwing it at one another? Sister Bernadette would take off our heads immediately.”
“She certainly would,” Marianne replied. “But he apologized. And his lordship sent the little boy to the nursery immediately.”
“Well, good. I am certain he will feel terribly about it and will not repeat it.”
