The Earl of Wexford? Marianne stopped in her tracks, one hand resting on the banister. What in the world was he doing here? They had barely spoken at dinner. Well, they had for a few minutes towards the end. And yes, they had had somewhat of an understanding. He did not appear to judge her for her odd habits, as her aunt called them, nor did he appear opposed to any of them. He had even defended her. But beyond that? There seemed to be no reason why he should be calling on her.
She pulled her shoulders back. “Did he say why he was calling?”
“Why, to see you, of course,” her aunt said, shaking her head as if this was the silliest question imaginable. “Now come. Shoulders back, chest out, head held high. You are a lady.”
“I am aware,” Marianne said. She followed her aunt, stopping outside the drawing room. Aunt Eugenia stepped in front of her and, without any prior warning, pinched her cheeks.
“Aunt!” Marianne cried, moving backwards as though she were a small child.
“There you go. Now your cheeks are nice and rosy. Come on in,” she said.
Marianne took a deep breath. She loved her aunt. Ever since the death of her father, she had been her only relative outside of her sisters. And yet, there was no denying that a certain pushiness ran in that side of the family. Her aunt had always been the sisters’ defender, mediating between them and their father, but since her father’s death, she had taken on a more active role in trying to find Marianne a husband—more so than she ever could have imagined. She missed the aunt who had lived with her in Brighton, the one who had taken her to eat sweets and have picnics by the seashore.
She knew that her aunt was still in there somewhere, only buried under previously unknown pressures.
Her aunt walked down the hall and disappeared into the dining room across from them. Marianne took a breath and pulled back her shoulders as instructed before stepping into the drawing room.
The earl stood at the window. His arms were crossed behind his back, fingers interlaced, and she noticed that he was fiddling with one of his cufflinks. Was he nervous? She had observed this habit in Nathaniel whenever he was about to give a big speech at the House of Lords. But what could Lord Wexford have to be nervous about?
“My lord,” she said, curtsying.
He turned and looked at her.
“There you are, Lady Marianne,” he said with a bow. His hair flopped forward and then back again as he rose to his full height. “It is good to see you.”
“And you,” she replied. “I see you have been served tea.” She motioned to the periwinkle-painted tea set. A cup stood untouched. Steam still drifted from it, giving her an indication as to how long he had been waiting.
“Oh yes,” he said. “I am not very thirsty. Shall we sit?”
He motioned to the chaise, and she sat on the right-hand side while he sat on the left. Sitting on the same chaise? How irregular. Usually, when gentlemen called, they would sit in aseat across the room, and there would be some sort of chaperone present. And yet there was no one. Her aunt had left them entirely alone. She bit her bottom lip, alarmed once more. What was the meaning of all of this?
“I do not like civil whiskers,” he said, starting out.
“No, neither do I,” she replied, smiling in spite of herself at the use of the slang.
“Good. Well, in that case, I shall not waste your time with platitudes or talk about the weather.”
She crossed her feet at the ankles and folded her hands in her lap, nodding.
“I wish to make you an offer of marriage. I have discussed it with your aunt already, and she is in agreement. I will, of course, speak to your brothers-in-law, but if the two Dukes agree, I see no reason why we should not be wed by the end of the month.”
Marianne blinked rapidly. Marriage? End of the month? Had he already spoken to her aunt? That explained why there was no chaperone present. Her aunt assumed her already a married woman—or near enough.
“I beg your pardon, my lord, but we barely know one another.”
“That is not quite true,” he said. “I think we know sufficient about each other to know that this would be a wonderful marriage indeed. It would suit us both.”
“Suit us both? We have spoken not even a handful of times, and in those conversations, I have made it very clear that I do not wish to get married. Exactly where in these conversations do you see us having any commonality?”
“I think we are aligned in what matters most.”
“And what is that?”
“Neither one of us wishes to be tied down in marriage in the traditional sense. Both of us wish to be free. I have never looked to replace my wife, and I have never believed in romantic marriage anyhow. I think we could make an excellent arrangement—a marriage of convenience that benefits us both.”
“You think that I am so undesirable and so odd that I would simply consent to this? So much so that you already announced yourself to my aunt? And I am certain it was her words at dinner that convinced you I am so beneath everybody else’s touch that I would fall on the ground and kiss your feet upon you, making such an offer?” She crossed her arms, too annoyed to trust herself to say more.
This time it was the earl’s turn to blink. Confusion spread across his face. It was clear he had not expected this response. No, indeed, he had surely expected her to fall to her knees and beg him to make her his wife immediately. Well, if she had learnedone thing from her sisters’ escapades, it was that she was not going to be made a fool of so easily.
