‘I don’t care about scandal!’
‘You did on our wedding day. As I recall, your stated reason for going ahead was that you didn’t want to bring any shame on your family.’ He flexed his fingers. ‘In any case, I won’t allow my name to be tarnished any more than it has been already. I’ve had more than enough of being a laughing stock to theton.’
Her posture went rigid. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I should think it was obvious. I’m the Marquess of Rainton. Your father is a gentleman farmer, is he not?’
‘My parents are perfectly respectable.’
‘I don’t doubt it. However, I also doubt they ever expected to have a marchioness for a daughter.’
Her nostrils flared, as if she was restraining her temper with an effort. ‘I still think there has to be a way out of this marriage.’
‘There isn’t.’
‘So that’s it?’ She stared at him with an appalled expression. ‘You’re just going to give up?’
‘Yes.’ He sighed, feeling very tired all of a sudden. This whole argument seemed to have been revolving around his head for weeks. Ironically, tonight was the first time he’d involved her in the discussion, but every time he’d come to the same disheartening conclusion, that there was no way out. The marriage trap had well and truly closed around him. ‘Now, I think that’s enough of a tour for tonight. I suggest we both retire and get some sleep.’
‘Well, that explains it.’ She rose slowly to her feet, her gaze still fixed on his. ‘That’s why you look at me so coldly, like you despise me. It’s because you do.’
‘What else did you expect?’ He didn’t deny it. ‘This marriage isn’t what I wanted.’
‘Me neither, no matter what you think.’ She wrenched her shoulders back. ‘All I know is that there has to be some explanation for what happened and I’m going to find out what it is.’
He looked her up and down, impressed despite himself. With her chin thrust outwards and a fierce glare on her face, she looked magnificently, almost regally defiant. If he weren’t still so angry, he thought he might have been tempted to reach out and haul her against him, to stop her lips with his own. Desire rippled through him at the thought of how she would feel, what she might taste like…
‘Then I wish you luck.’ He turned away quickly, reaching for her candle and heading for the door. ‘Come on, I’ll show you the way.’
He didn’t look back to see if she was following.
Chapter Five
‘…And in here is the Print Room,’ Mrs Fitch intoned solemnly as she led Florence into a wood-panelled room filled with mahogany cabinets. ‘The former marquess was a great collector of engravings and paintings, particularly scenes of nature. He had a profound interest in the sublime.’
‘How interesting.’ Florence took a step forward and immediately bumped her hip against the corner of a table. ‘Ouch. It’s very dark.’
‘Deliberately so, to prevent sun damage.’ The housekeeper drew back some heavy damask curtains and lifted the blind a couple of inches, admitting the faintest influx of light. ‘As you can see, the walls are also pasted with prints. The former marquess himself painted the borders to resemble picture frames. He was an extremely talented artist.’
Florence peered closer at the wall. Mrs Fitch was right, the brushwork was exquisite. The marquess had even gone to the effort of painting tiny picture hooks and chains. From a distance, the illusion would be very convincing. Only it was still so gloomy, the effect was somewhat wasted.
‘Now, if you’d care to look in here, my lady…’ The housekeeper slid open one of the cabinet drawers and pulled out an album. ‘These Alpine scenes were His Lordship’s favourites. He was a great traveller in his youth and purchased them whileon his Grand Tour. He told me once that he felt a great affinity for mountains.’
‘Mmm.’ Florence smiled politely, inwardly bracing herself for the ten-minute lecture she knew was coming. Mrs Fitch had knocked on her bedroom door that morning just as she’d been finishing her breakfast, introducing herself as the housekeeper and offering a tour of the house, ‘as per the marquess’s instructions’. He might as well have sent a note saying that he didn’t want to do it himself, Florence had thought, though in all honesty she’d been relieved. It had been two days since their midnight conversation, two days of enforced bed rest, fuming, and no progress at all with her memory. The fog in her mind was just as impenetrable as ever, no matter how hard she tried to push her way through.
She simply couldn’t believe she was married to such a cold-hearted, close-minded, implacable man! Obviously, she’d only gone through with the wedding because she’d had no other choice. After being compromised, refusing him would have made her a social pariah, bringing shame on her entire family, so howdaredhe accuse her of being a fortune hunter! Admittedly, the circumstantial evidence seemed to be against her, but therehadto be some other, logical explanation. All she had to do was figure out what it was and then…well, then hopefully she could find a way out of this marriage. He might have given up on finding one, but she certainly hadn’t. In the meantime, she didn’t want to see him again for at least another day…a week…a month! In fact, why not make it a full year?
But shehadstill wanted a tour of the house, which was why she’d set her cup of hot chocolate aside and clambered straight out of bed and into a dressing gown when Mrs Fitch had arrived. With her leg muscles almost recovered and her nose feeling significantly less blocked than before, she’d felt positively energised.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t reckoned on the housekeeper’s enthusiasm for her subject. Mrs Fitch seemed determined to talk her through the entire history of each room, including when it was last decorated, which family members had favoured it, and the reason why the furniture was arranged ‘just so’, as well as anecdotes about specific objects, of which there were many. Florence had never seen so many porcelain birds in her life. It was like walking through a giant aviary. Still, the tourmighthave been interesting, if only the housekeeper’s monologic delivery hadn’t made her company as cold as any of the marble statues they’d passed in the sculpture gallery.
Thathad been Florence’s least favourite room so far, reminding her of a cave her father had once taken her and her brothers to visit, a small opening in some rocks that had led down into a vast underground cavern filled with dripping water and strange-looking stalagmites and stalactites. Being there had given her an eerie sensation she hadn’t felt again until today. In both cases, she hadn’t been able to escape quickly enough.
But Mrs Fitch was still speaking…
‘This entire drawer is filled with pictures of the Matterhorn, the former marquess’s favourite mountain. And if we look in this drawer…’
‘Is the current marquess a collector as well?’ she interrupted, trying to distract the housekeeper before she could open yet another album.
