“Your vows?” Charlotte said, in a voice that was much louder than was necessary, and which instantly drew multiple pairs of eyes.
“But you are not even religious,” Evelyn replied, her tone scandalized.
“I do not know if I am religious. I find peace in it, that I know. I certainly believe in God. Do I wish to make it my life, though? That I do not know. I’ve thought of it since I left. I must tell you, I was happier there than I have been since my childhood. I had company...”
“You have us,” Charlotte argued, pouting.
“Do I?” Marianne replied. “You are both far too busy with your adventures. Evelyn, you are always working with the women’s society on one project or another, and Charlotte, I feel as though you are always opening a school or expanding a school or some such thing.”
Charlotte threw up her arms. “But that is no reason to become a nun!”
“Hush,” Evelyn said. “He is here!”
“Here? Who is here?” Marianne asked. Evelyn jerked her chin toward the door, where a tall, dark-haired gentleman in a pair of tight pantaloons and a burgundy waistcoat had just entered.
“The Earl of Wexford,” she said.
Marianne frowned. Wexford... the name sounded familiar, but she could not quite recall where she had heard it before. Sensing her confusion, Charlotte leaned forward. “His wife passed away a few years ago, leaving him with his little one. He has been rusticating in the country ever since, somewhat like you, but for much longer. I am surprised he is re-entering society. I wonder if that means he is looking for a wife.”
Around them, whispers erupted as the ton started talking about the young man who had just entered. Marianne caught snippets of conversation—he never got over his wife...his poor little boy...has rejoined society after so long.
The man was obviously aware of the chatter because he looked about in a most uncomfortable manner, as though he would rather be anywhere but here. That was certainly something she could empathize with.
He looked miserable indeed; perhaps more miserable than even she felt.
“You did not tell me he was rejoining society,” Evelyn said to Charlotte, drawing Marianne’s attention.
“Do you know him?” Marianne asked.
“I do. He and Rhys are particular friends. He has ventured out every now and again to call on us for dinner. His son is adorable.But I never thought I would see the day when he would actually rejoin society, which is why I have not mentioned him—even though Evelyn appears to think that I had a duty to do so. Now that he has, I am certain you will both be better acquainted with him in due course.”
Marianne looked once more in the direction of the young man, who had been drawn into conversation with Lady Penelope Heathcliff, mother to three unmarried daughters. Of course, she would waste no time in throwing out her lures at such an excellent catch.
For the briefest moment, their eyes met across the room, and a prickle rushed down her back, making her stand straighter.
He was indeed handsome. Before she could make any more of the matter, however, Lady Heathcliff had the man’s attention once more, and Marianne looked away.
The evening continued in the usual humdrum way society events always went. A number of young women she remembered from her time at finishing school came up to her, welcoming her back. She engaged in food and drink and further conversation with her sisters, but counted the hours until she could return home.
The clock had struck almost eleven o’clock when her brother-in-law, Rhys, appeared at her and Charlotte’s side. He slung an arm around his wife and kissed her in a way that was definitely not proper, but Charlotte only giggled, used to such antics from her husband.
“My dearest Marianne,” he said and gave her a hug—drawing more than a few scandalized looks, for it was quite particular behavior. “You have finally returned to us. I thought I was going to have to send a search party out to pry you from the nuns’ hands.”
“I assure you, quite the opposite. You might have to send a party of strong men to pry me from the arms of our dear Aunt Eugenia so that I might return to the convent.”
“I see you were not persuaded that London is preferable to the solitude of St Catherine’s?”
“Not at all,” Charlotte said. “She almost took her vows.”
“Vows?” he said, raising his eyebrows. “I have never seen you so much as open a Bible.”
“It was not for the religion,” she said, growing tired of having to explain—when Rhys’s eyes suddenly flicked to the right, and he grinned.
“Well, it is capital timing indeed that you have returned, just in time to meet my friend who has just rejoined society, much like you. Marianne, meet my friend Lucien Montgomery—the Earl of Wexford.” Footsteps sounded as the man approached, making Marianne’s breath catch in her chest.
“My lord,” she said, glad her aunt had made her practice curtseying, since she had not had to do it at all at the monastery.
“This is my youngest sister-in-law,” Rhys introduced. “Lady Marianne Langley.”
