But first, he brought her to their quarters. There was a family sitting area as well as separate dressing rooms for the earl and countess. Nelson had already unpacked them.
There was also a water closet. Mars gave her a moment to freshen herself and then he directed her down the hall. He opened a door with great fanfare.
The other library! This one, like the rest of the house, was smaller than Belvoir’s, however the shelves went from floor to ceiling and every one was stocked with books. She stepped inside asif entering a holy room. There were two windows for light, several lamps for reading, and chairs built for comfort. A desk was tucked beneath one of the windows.
“My grandfather started this collection,” Mars said with pride. “Some are over a hundred years old. These shelves over here”—he directed her attention to the ones in the corner by the window where the light was good—“are where I have Lowton place the most current books. I have a standing order with several booksellers. Byron’s are here because no one seems able to escape him, now he is all the rage. Shelley, Robert Owen,” he continued, tapping book spines, “and, of course, Miss Edgeworth.” He said the last name proudly, as if he believed he’d surprised Clarissa.
Her only response was to ask, “Could we move the bed in here?”
Mars laughed. The sound rose to the high ceiling, full-bodied, masculine, magical.
Dalton had come to the door. He’d been about to interrupt them but instead his mouth opened in surprise as if he’d never heard his lord laugh.
It was a short-lived moment, because Lady Fenton had been right on the butler’s heels. She entered without fanfare, waving Dalton away. “I don’t need to be introduced.”
Mars’s laughter stopped abruptly. “Mother,” he said in a heavy voice.
“And your stepfather is here. Come along, Fenton. Don’t linger in the hallway,” she ordered.
Lord Fenton entered the room. Clarissa recognized him immediately from the satirical drawings that had circulated about him over the years, drawings that had even made their way to Maidenshop. He was portly, with birdlike legs that weren’t shown to advantage in knee breeches. He combed his gray hair up and over his balding pate. He had a large nose and pointed chin. When he was younger, those features probably showed to better advantage than they did now.
He appeared a weary man past his prime. Clarissa could understand why some would wish he stepped down from positions of authority, especially when he spoke and there was a wheeze behind his sonorous words. “Pleasure,” he said, drawing out the word, “to see you, Marsden. Happy to have your support in this fight. I can’t believe Dervil is challenging me.”
His lordship offered his hand and Mars took it. “Fenton. You are looking fit.”
“I age, my lord, I age. Fortunately, I have my wife to guide me straight.” He turned to his lady, extending his hand as if to call her over to him.
Lady Fenton appeared not to notice her husband’s summons. She had pulled a book off the shelf and seemed to study it, although Clarissa was not fooled. She believed the woman heard every word and nuance and chose to ignore her husband.
While pushing her son to vote in his favor?
His mother’s behavior didn’t make sense . . . until one realized Lord Fenton was at least a decade older than his wife. And while Lady Fenton had an air of vitality, her husband appeared ready for a nap.
He endorsed Clarissa’s suspicions when he said, “Marsden, may I sit?”
“Please do,” Mars answered, offering him the most comfortable chair in the room. When his guest was seated, he said, “You have yet to meet my wife. Clarissa, this is my stepfather, the infamous Lord Fenton.”
His lordship laughed at the description. “My infamous days are over,” he assured Clarissa. “Pardon if I don’t stand. Gout has robbed my legs of strength.” He pointed to his right leg. “Unfortunately, they seem doubly bad today.”
“Fenton,” his wife said in warning, “no one wishes to hear about ailments.”
“Ah, yes.” He gave Clarissa a slightly embarrassed smile. “I should have stayed home. Wanted to welcome you to the family.”
“Thank you,” Clarissa said.
Lord Fenton barely heard her. He became interested in other things. “Marsden, my throat is parched. May I trouble you for a small glass of ale.”
“Of course.” Mars moved to the door where Dalton lingered outside.
The butler had heard the request and was turning to a footman to fetch it when Lady Fenton spoke. “We don’t have time for you to drink,” she informed her husband. “You aredue at Lord Rockland’s within the hour for the finance discussion. You need to know what is going on.”
“Except I do know,” Lord Fenton said. “Or at least you know and that is the same thing, isn’t it? They will wait for me. Besides, it isn’t anything formal.”
“Well,I’mnot waiting for you. I shall be at the meeting.”
Lord Fenton made a vexed sound but he stood, needing a moment to manage his balance. Both Mars and Clarissa put out hands to help him. He waved them away. “The wife would not approve,” he said in a mocking whisper. “She wishes me to be as strong as Hercules.”
“My lord, the coach is waiting,” Lady Fenton said. He started to offer his arm to her. She rejected him with a wave of her hand. “I will be along in a moment.”
