CHAPTER3
A YOUNG LADY MEETS HER MAN
For a moment, Miss Marian Copper wondered how she could have been so bold. So forward. So fast. So outlandish.
Nervousness, of course. That could be the only explanation for why she would blurt out such a query to a man she had never seen before, let alone met.
Perhaps there was hope in her anxiousness, though, too. The gentleman who stared at her in surprise was rather handsome and not nearly as old as she’d been led to believe. His dark hair wasn’t cut into the latest style, but a Titus would not have suited him nor the dark eyebrows and shorter sideburns framing a kind face. While his navy topcoat and Nankeen breeches were typical for a man of his age, his rust colored silk waistcoat featured embroidered flowers.
From his hesitant but pleased expression—Marian realized she had surprised him with her sudden appearance—she knew he hadn’t paid witness to her watching him when he entered the club and made his way up the main stairs to Mrs. Skarsgard’s office.
She could have simply waited to be introduced to the gentleman when he came downstairs to join the card game already in progress. Curiosity had her excusing herself from her uncle’s table, though, and making her way back to her room whilst the newcomer acquired the key to his.
She rather hoped his room was better suited to him than hers was to her. When she had opened the door to it for the first time the day before, she wasn’t prepared for the overwhelming first impression that she had either entered a very young girl’s bedchamber or a brothel.
Not that she knew what a brothel looked like. Obviously she had never stepped foot into such a scandalous establishment. But the thought had been there nonetheless.
What else could explain the soft pink silk on the walls? The deep pink velvet counterpane and drapes? The deeper pink curtains around the bed? The gold gilt dressing table and three-paneled japanned screen in the corner? The only redeeming feature of so much pink was that when she regarded her reflection in the cheval mirror set into one corner of the room, her complexion appeared far more “peaches and cream” than usual.
Perhaps her yellow gown was helping in that regard, too.
Uncle had told her to pack her very brightest and colorful gowns. To wear something cheerful on this day. Something to counter the gloomy weather beyond the glass windows.
She had been about to remind him young ladies weren’t really allowed to wear bright colors when he surprised her with a pasteboard box from Madame Suzanne’s in Oxford Street. Inside, wrapped in white tissue paper, was the very gown she was now wearing, a jonquil muslin confection adorned with embroidered flowers.
Flowers that looked as if they could have been created by the very same seamstress that had made Lord Engleston’s waistcoat.
“Although...”
The word brought Marian out of her reverie. The gentleman was still regarding her with an expression of surprise, and the hesitant word had Marian’s eyes rounding slightly. “Apologies, sir?—”
“Please, do not,” he interrupted before he winced. “Your words were entirely unexpected but rather welcome just then.”
Marian swallowed. “They were?” She watched as the baron’s face visibly reddened.
“As were you... a... a ray of sunshine on a rather gray day,” he stammered. “Oh, dear. I am making a cake of this, aren’t I?”
Blinking, Marian shook her head. “Oh, not at all, sir. My uncle will be pleased to learn his gift—this gown—is accomplishing its intention.”
“Gown?” the baron repeated. His gaze traveled down and then back up before his face once again brightened. “Oh, indeed,” he said, nodding. “Yellow is a good choice on such a rainy day.” He once again winced, as if he regretted his attempt at conversation.
Marian beamed in delight, heartened to realize thatshehad been the ray of sunshine and not her gown. “My uncle will be pleased to hear it,” she said. “He had it made for me. For this occasion.”
The baron blinked. “Oh? The occasion of meeting me?” he asked, obviously confused. His eyes darted sideways, as if he was attempting to sort who her uncle might be. “Or... are we already acquainted?” he added before his face once again reddened. “Oh, I suppose if we’re betrothed, we must be,” he reasoned. “I apologize if we’ve been introduced?—”
“We have not been, my lord,” Marian quickly said, her own face heating at hearing the reminder of her earlier words. She was beginning to understand that the gentleman’s nervousness was most probably due to shyness. Her uncle had warned her the baron did not easily converse with those he didn’t know.
“Oh,” he replied. He glanced around. “There doesn’t appear to be anyone to do the honors of a proper introduction.”
“Oh, my uncle will see to it. When we’re downstairs,” she said. “Although...”
“Mrs. Skarsgard said we weren’t to use names,” he remembered.
“Exactly,” she said with a good deal of disappointment.
His brows furrowed. “But... say wewerebetrothed?—”
“Aren’t we?”
