“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Wexford,” she said.
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” he replied with a smile. Marianne forced one back. However, the commotion in the ballroom was starting to overwhelm her. She had been to a few dinners with her aunt since returning from the convent, but she had never been in this much company, and the combination of people talking and laughing, coupled with the sound of the band, was becoming too much.
“If you will excuse me, I think I shall rest for a while,” she said. Charlotte opened her mouth to object, but before she could say anything, Marianne had rushed away.
She found a retiring room and sat down on one of the chaises, closing her eyes and draping her forearm over them to block out what remained of the light. Why did she have to be here? Why was this necessary? Why could her aunt not leave her alone? Was it not enough to have two Duchesses in the family? Would it really be so bad to have one spinster sister who preferred to stay in the seclusion of her convent? After all, given all the shame her father had brought upon the family, her decision not to marry would do little further harm to the family name.
“You really are not one for the ballroom, are you?” A warm, deep voice broke into her thoughts. Her eyes flickered open, and she saw the Earl of Wexford standing before her, a smirk on his lips. She rose at once, her head spinning from the speed with whichshe had stood. She took an awkward step to the right, and he rushed over to steady her. His hand felt strong against her arm, and she looked down at his fingers as they gently propped her up.
“No,” she said. “I have never quite enjoyed them. But this is my first ball in some while. I spent the last six months at Saint Catherine’s.”
“The convent?”
“You are familiar with it?” she asked.
“Not intimately, no, but I have heard of it. They hold fundraisers every now and again.”
“That is how I found out about it. My sisters donated, and I visited it once, and well... I wanted to live there.”
“You wished to be a nun?” he asked, eyebrows drawn together and his head tilted to the side.
“No. I do not. I enjoyed it for the solitude and the peace as much as for the religion. But all in equal parts.”
“If I were not a gentleman, perhaps I could find some solitude there also,” he said, continuing on.
“I dare say it is much easier for a gentleman to find his peace and quiet than it is for a lady.”
“That might be so,” he replied. “And yet we both find ourselves here to attend a ball we do not wish to attend.”
She wanted to ask who or what had pushed him to be here, but it was not really her place. Besides, an ache had spread across her head, and she knew that even resting on the chaise was not going to rid her of it. She had to go home. There was no other way.
“Well,” she said, “I do hope you find your peace and quiet—tonight and every night. But I must excuse myself now.”
He bowed, and she made her way out of the door, noticing as she went that he was looking after her. And she could not deny that the knowledge gave her a thrill she hadn’t expected.
CHAPTER 3
LUCIEN
December 30th1816
Lucien climbed the steps to Rhys’s London townhome. The structure loomed in front of him. From the outside, it did not look terribly impressive—it looked just like the other narrow houses, five stories tall with a narrow pathway. But he knew that once he actually stepped inside, the house would be much larger than one might imagine. Rhys’s father had purchased the much larger corner building some time ago and joined the two houses together, making Rhys’s home possibly the largest house in all of Mayfair.
He took a deep breath as the door opened. From inside, the murmur of the attendees drifted towards him. He had almost not accepted the invitation. He’d enjoyed the quiet of Christmastide, but he knew at this time of year, one had to attend events.
Rhys was one of his oldest and most particular friends, though, and he knew he could not deny his invitation. Indeed, Rhys and Charlotte’s boisterous home had been a sanctuary at times, especially since the birth of their son James the previous year. Henry adored their little boy, even though James was only a year and a half to Henry’s four. Yet he could see the two of them becoming fast friends in the future.
He’d enjoyed visiting with them and would continue to do so, even though a big family dinner like the one tonight was not what he preferred.
Still, he could not deny that he had been thinking about Rhys’s sister-in-law more than once. There was something about her that felt so very familiar. Perhaps it was her desire for peace and quiet, or her aversion to the bustle of society, but he felt that somewhere in there might be a kindred spirit.
The butler showed him through to the drawing room, where the family already waited for him.
“Lucien, we thought you were not going to come,” Rhys said, slapping a hand on his back. “Dinner is growing cold, old chap.”
“I do beg your pardon. Henry had a bad dream, and I could not leave him without reading another story.”
“Well,” Charlotte replied, “I suppose you are excused then. We all understand what it is like to have children who require attention and will not take no for an answer.” She glanced at her sister, Marianne. “I mean, most of us do.”
