Marianne caught his eye and smiled, blushing slightly. He dipped his head in her direction as they made their way through to the dining room.
“You do remember Nathaniel and Evelyn, of course,” Rhys said.
Lucien bowed to the Duke of Sinclair and his duchess. “Of course. Your Graces. It is a pleasure to see you both again.”
“And you, Wexford,” Nathaniel said warmly. “It has been too long since you joined us. We were beginning to think you had forgotten the way to London entirely.”
“Not forgotten,” Lucien replied. “Merely… avoiding.”
Evelyn smiled kindly. “We understand completely. Though I must say, your return to society has caused quite the stir. The scandal sheets have been working overtime.”
“When have they ever not?” Nathaniel replied. The group chuckled, and then Rhys motioned to another lady. “This is Lady Eugenia. These young ladies’ aunt.” Rhys gestured to the older woman who wore a purple and turquoise turban over her gray hair. The lady nodded her head once.
“We did not have the good fortune of being introduced at the ball, but I have heard all about you, my lord.”
He wanted to ask exactly what she had heard and from whom, but refrained. Perhaps it was simply a platitude.
They took their seats at the long mahogany table, and the first course was served. The conversation flowed easily enough—talk of the weather, the just passed Christmastide celebrations, the latest gossip from court.
It was midway through the second course, as the rest of the party discussed the events of the past year, that Marianne spoke up.
“I must say, I think 1816 has been the most interesting thus far,” she said, smiling at Lucien, who looked up at her, glad she had finally spoken.
Lady Eugenia turned her attention to her niece.
“Indeed, our Marianne has had quite the unusual year,” she told the table at large, her tone bright but pointed. “Six months in a convent, can you imagine? Most young ladies spend their time preparing for the Season, but not our Marianne.”
“It was hardly unusual, Aunt,” Marianne said, her fork hovering over her plate. “Other young ladies attend also.”
“For much more scandalous reasons, surely,” her aunt said. “Marianne went purely for pleasure,” she informed Lucien. “And now that she has returned, she still insists on waking at the most ungodly hours. Four in the morning! As though the nuns are still ringing their bells for her.”
Charlotte shifted uncomfortably. “Aunt Eugenia, I dare say that is not unusual either. I am often awake at that hour because ofJames. He is an early riser, just like his aunt.” She winked at her sister, who flashed a grateful smile. Lucien, who had no siblings of his own, always liked observing such familial displays.
“Well, that is natural. You and Evelyn both have good reason to rise early, given you reject the idea of governesses and nurses,” she said, her dislike for those decisions evident in her tone. “I will say, the convent certainly helped instill discipline in Marianne, which is never a bad thing.”
“I can confirm that,” Lucien said with a smile. “Discipline is a virtue we all should strive to possess. If the convent taught Lady Marianne that, we ought to be grateful.”
“They taught me much more than that,” Marianne said, her eyes filled with gratitude.
“Yes, but they also instilled in you an aversion to dancing,” the older woman continued, seemingly oblivious. “Really, I do not understand it. You used to be so lively. And now you prefer silence and solitude. It is quite the curiosity, is it not?”
Marianne’s jaw tightened, and her hands folded in her lap. Lucien noticed the way her knuckles whitened.
“I never enjoyed dancing.”
“That is true,” Evelyn confirmed. “She would always hide when the instructor came. Marianne knows the location of every jib door in father’s home.”
“It is essential for a young lady to dance,” Aunt Eugenia said. “Lest one ends up on the shelf due to a lack of such accomplishments. I would never seek to force marriage as your father did, but I do agree that a lady must possess certain skills.”
Lucien set down his wine glass with more force than necessary. “Some women know their minds,” he said coolly, his voice cutting through the uncomfortable silence. “That is not a fault, madam. It is a virtue. An accomplishment in its own right.”
Every eye turned to him. Aunt Eugenia’s mouth opened slightly, then closed.
“In fact,” Lucien continued, his tone still measured but firm, “I should think a woman who understands what brings her peace and contentment is far more sensible than one who simply follows the dictates of society without question. That is not peculiar. That is intelligence.”
Nathaniel cleared his throat, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Hear, hear. Well said, Wexford.”
“Indeed,” Evelyn added, her eyes warm with approval. “I have always admired Marianne’s spirit.”
