“I said many things, as I recall,” she whispered.
He smiled as memories of her kindness that day almost seven years before flooded him. “You did, all of them helpful. But the one that did the most good was when you told me that the pain would never be erased, but that it would fade and mellow with time. That it would become part of the fabric of my being, the last gift from an uncle to his nephew.”
Marianne’s chin tilted down. “Yes, I do recall that.”
“And it was true,” Sebastian said quietly. “As it will be true for you eventually. Take some comfort in that.”
“Thank you.” Her gaze flitted up. “I think perhaps her passing would not hurt as much if I hadn’t realized…”
She trailed off and Sebastian found himself leaning forward in curiosity. “Realized?”
She shook her head slightly. “I realized today that Claudia…perhaps like—like me…meant very little to anyone else. But she meant the world to me. And I miss her greatly.”
Sebastian’s brow wrinkled. He didn’t like that she compared herself to the emptiness of Lady Claudia’s death. It was as if Marianne thought that no one would care if she were suddenly gone, which wasn’t true at all. Was it?Hewould care, her brother would care, even that batty aunt of theirs who shared Marianne’s home would care.
She blinked to send away the tears that had returned to her eyes. “I’m so glad you’re here tonight, Sebastian,” she said with a wobbly smile. “You are exactly what I need to feel better.”
Sebastian cleared his throat. He doubted there was another woman in the world who would say such a thing to him and not mean her words with an intensely sexual twist.
“Oh? And how shall I make you feel better?” he asked.
Marianne smiled. “You will tell me some terribly ribald tale and turn my tears into ones born from laughter before my brother returns. You are the only one who will allow my maidenly ears to be burned by such talk and I think it would make me feel so much better tonight.”
Sebastian tilted back his head and laughed. He did delight in telling Marianne naughty stories, if only to see her blush and swallow and stammer. Though he did tone down his jokes and tales quite considerably, whether she recognized that fact or not.
He leaned forward, closer to her ear. She smelled of lemons and the faint hint of roses, a charming combination that was fresh and light.
Quietly he began to whisper a joke he had recently heard told in a pub in a humble part of town. And while he toned down the language and took out at least one lightskirt from the punchline, in the end Marianne still blushed to the tips of her ears and covered her mouth as a giggle escaped past what had been pale and pinched lips until that moment.
“Sebastian, that isterrible,” she finally said when she could manage words.
At that moment, Delacourt returned to the room. He frowned and Sebastian recognized why in an instant. His friend was always irritated when Sebastian stood too close to his sister. He wasn’t the only friend who felt that way, of course. With his reputation, Sebastian supposed he deserved it, but great God! He and Marianne were friends. He had never considered her more and he doubted she considered him at all.
But still Delacourt scowled. “I apologize again for having to leave you. Please, allow me escort you to supper, Marianne,” he said in a pinched tone as he stepped closer and held out an arm to his sister.
It was only then that Sebastian realized he was still holding her hand. With a quick inhale of breath, he released her and she stepped toward her brother, oblivious to the undercurrent of Delacourt’s displeasure, just as she always had been.
But as Delacourt escorted her toward the dining room, she half-turned and sent Sebastian a grateful smile.
Sebastian felt a swell of uncommon emotion in his chest at the expression. Of pride that he had helped her in a moment of heartbreak. And a warmth toward her that he had never allowed for any other woman, because he had never called another something so dear as “friend”.
If he had it his way, that would never change.
CHAPTER 2
Marianne sat at her dressing table, hair down around her waist, robe tied tightly to keep out the night’s chill, and stared at the box wrapped in plain brown paper in front of her. She had returned home from a surprisingly pleasant supper at her brother’s, thanks mostly to Sebastian and his attempts to raise her spirits, to find that Claudia’s brother had been true to his word. Her friend’s final gift to her had been sent over while Marianne was out.
And now she just stared at the paper-wrapped parcel, reluctant to open it or even touch it for fear that doing so would only cause a return of the intense grief that had been briefly chased away by good company.
Finally she reached out and picked it up. With trembling fingers, she used a letter opener on her table to cut the string that had bound it for its transport. It fell away to the floor, forgotten before it even hit the wooden surface. She tossed the paper aside just as carelessly and then sucked in her breath.
The jewelry box was as beautiful as she had remembered. Intricately carved from the finest rosewood, it had then been inlaid with brass along the edges. The metal had been cut in exquisite curves and swirls. Finally, an ethereal and rather lonely image of a lady in the midst of her toilette had been painted on the top of the lid. There was a lock at the seam on the front and from it two small keys dangled, one fitted into the lock, the other free.
“Oh, Claudia,” Marianne sighed as she set the box back down on the dressing table and stared at it.
As the marquess had done, Claudia had also mentioned before that her maiden aunt had given her the jewelry box. Unlike Claudia and Marianne, the aunt had been an eccentric and adventurous spinster, who traveled the world and had even been whispered to have scandalous affairs. Perhaps that’s where Claudia had gotten her occasional whispered dreams of adventure and independence.
Marianne knew how much the gift had meant to Claudia.
