Helena gave her lord an exasperated look. "You'll do no such thing. Soon I shall be as big as one of those Vauxhall hot air balloons, and all the fabric in the world won't hide it. Until then, I mean to dress as fashionably as I please, and there's nothing you can do to—"
Bending his dark head, Harteford deposited words in his wife's ear; whatever he said stopped Helena mid-sentence. Her mouth fell open, a rosy flush staining her cheeks. With a satisfied gleam in his eye, Harteford straightened.
"I'll make myself useful and fetch you some lemonade, my dear. Lady Draven?"
"None for me, thank you."
Staring off at her departing spouse, Helena said in bemused tones, "One day that man will drive me mad."
"You married him. And did a good deal besides to secure his affection," Marianne said. "I hope it was worth it."
If possible, Helena's color grew higher. "Of course it was—a thousand times over. You know I adore Harteford. It is only that sometimes he can be a bit overbearing."
"A predictably masculine trait."
A pause, and then Helena cleared her throat. "Speaking on that, as your long-time friend and one who is concerned about your well-being, I have something to ask you."
Marianne stiffened. She knew what was coming. "Indeed."
"What is going on between you and Mr. Kent?" Tipping her head to one side, Helena studied Marianne with concerned hazel eyes. "After the fireworks at our dinner party, Harteford was reminded of a similar interaction between you and Mr. Kent during Percy's rescue. He said Mr. Kent seemed ratherprotectiveof you."
"Is that so unusual with the male sex? Really, they're not far removed from dogs, the way they growl at the slightest provocation," Marianne drawled.
Inside, panic thudded with each breath. She had not yet come to a decision about Kent. Whether to trust him. Whether to give into her impulses, which had led to nothing but trouble in the past. If she did not fully know herself, how could she explain the situation to Helena?
"'Tis true that males do tend to fall all over you. You've never seemed discomfited by it before." Though gentle, Helena's words were also perceptive. "Yet both Harteford and I have observed that you seem to enjoy baiting Mr. Kent."
Marianne despised indecision—particularly her own. Having no desire to air her laundry in this time and place, she opted for the classic subterfuge.
"Surely you are not accusing me of having interest in apoliceman, Helena?" she said in haughty tones.
Nothing like snobbery and the schisms of social class to curtail a conversation.
"If I were saying that, it would be no accusation. Mr. Kent is a good, honorable man who has done much for my family." Helena's brow furrowed. "I like him, and Harteford trusts him. As far as I am concerned, you could do a lot worse."
A quiver of old resentment broke through. "Because of my own lowly origins, you mean? Because my father was a drunken, ill-bred squire?"
"Of course not." Helena blinked at her. "Why would you even think that? What I meant was that Mr. Kent is intelligent and handsome, and he has a kind heart. You deserve a man who would care for you truly."
"Oh." Marianne swallowed, feeling small and foolish for misjudging her friend. Her next words did not improve her assessment of herself. "You think Mr. Kent is handsome?" she blurted.
Helena's chestnut curls bobbed with enthusiasm. "He looked very fine in his evening clothes, wouldn't you agree? More importantly, he is unaffected and honest—a man who knows himself. Do you not find such self-assurance attractive, Marianne?"
Helena didn't know the half of it. Or—judging by the glint in the marchioness' eyes—perhaps she knew too well.
"Yes," Marianne heard herself admit. "I do."
"Then there's no harm in getting to know Mr. Kent better, is there?" Helena said brightly. "If you'll allow, I shall arrange a small get together. A cozy supper perhaps..."
As Helena chattered on about her plans, Marianne allowed herself to envision that fantasy of a normal life. She and Kent would court like any couple, spending time with her closest friends. In this imaginary reality, she would have never lost Rosie, so her daughter would be there too, playing with Helena's brood...
For so long, Marianne had been alone, and a lump rose in her throat at the notion of somehow joining the world around her. Of being free to seek out love and true companionship. Of inhabiting her own skin.
Yet she wasnotfree. She had suspects to hunt down and a beloved daughter to regain. Could any man support her through such dark travails? Understand and accept the flawed, damaged creature she truly was?
Could Kent?
The thought shot across her mind like a bright star, dazzling in its possibility. She had to admit that Kent had proved himself rather stalwart thus far. He'd put up with being shot, cock-teased, insulted, and propositioned by her; he'd dragged her across the rooftops of London in order to rescue her. Not to mention the fact that he'd shown her time and again pleasure she'd never known existed. He'd done all of this and demanded nothing in return.
