Page 5 of The Marquess’s Forbidden Bride

‘Shall we walk them back along the Serpentine?’

After turning the horses over to her groom, he offered her his arm. ‘It’s a handsome expanse of water. A natural lake?’

‘It was a river originally, dammed up to enlarge it by the last king. In addition to providing fine paths for walking, it’s also been the background for celebrations. Balloon ascensions, fireworks—there was even a naval battle reenacted on it in 1814.’

‘Perhaps there will be some spectacle this Season to delight you. Or in future years. I imagine you will spend most Seasons in London once you are wed?’

‘I hope not,’ she said frankly. ‘Unfashionable as it is to admit, I prefer the country. Overseeing a small manor house, its property including a pretty wood and lots of space for gardens—that is my dream.’

Marsden raised his eyebrows. ‘No grand titled husband with a large mansion and hordes of servants?’

‘No, thank you. I’ve seen first hand how much work it is for Sarah to manage Stanhope House, Nicky’s country estate, and half a dozen other properties. How many obligations await her in London as a marquess’s wife—she barely finds time for the family! Though it might sound judgemental, quite frankly, I’ve found the single gentlemen of great fortune or title I’ve met this Season rather…unappealing. Almost everywhere indulged and flattered, they seem to think their mere presence a gift to lesser beings—especially any female other than Society’s reigning Diamonds. Apparently uninterested in cultivating intelligent conversation, they rely on the admirers around them for entertainment. And when they do speak!’ She shook her head. ‘It’s all boasting of winning wagers on which raindrop will reach the bottom of the window first, or how well-matched their new carriage horses are, or the speed of the curricle they’ve personally designed.’

Marsden laughed. ‘I encountered a few such sprigs at school. And I soldiered with quite a number of younger sons who complained about the idle pursuits and profligate behaviour of their elder brothers—while they were choking on dust or drowning in mud or fighting for their lives to preserve the England that allowed those fribbles to waste time and money. I can understand why you’d wish to avoid entanglements with one.’

‘I spent much of my time growing up with my Aunt Felicia, who resides in a small cottage on a corner of the Wellingford estate—and has wonderful gardens, which is where I developed my love for plants.’

‘A widow, is she?’

‘No, she never married. There was some tragedy, a lost love, I think, though it was never discussed so I don’t know for sure. She was fortunate to have been gifted Tricklebrook Cottage by my grandmother, so she had a home and the means to live independently. Quite honestly, her life makes a good recommendation for remaining single, if a lady possesses enough property and means to support herself. Which, alas, I do not, so I suppose eventually, it will have to be marriage. With no desire to play a leading role in Society or endlessly defer to some self-important peer, I’d prefer to wed a simple country gentleman.’

‘Have you found such a gentleman yet?’

‘No one here in London. I do have a friend near Wellingford, the son of the local squire. He will inherit the perfect position I wish for in a husband—a gentleman with a tidy estate who loves the rhythms of country life, as I do.’

‘Do I scent a relationship already settled? Is that why you are not interested in flirting—not wishing to encourage any other gentleman when your heart is already decided?’

‘No, we’re just good friends.’ She’d certainly never envisioned kissing him, as she just had the lieutenant. Pushing aside that odd thought, she continued, ‘I’m not sure Hugh would ever think of me as more than a scruffy brat covered in garden soil. I just don’t enjoy flirting. The…artificiality of it.’

‘That’s too pejorative a way of considering it,’ he objected. ‘You should think of compliments, not as insincere or “artificial”, but as an attempt to emphasise the best attributes of one’s companion. While flirtation is a way to express the delight to be found in conversation between amenable ladies and gentlemen.’

‘I suppose one could look at it that way,’ she said dubiously. ‘As long as both parties understand they are exaggerating the positive and take the compliments with a pinch of salt. And refrain from building hopes or expectations upon them.’

He nodded. ‘I’ll allow that restriction. It’s best that both parties understand the exchanges are meant simply to amuse and please. Shall we walk our mounts now?’

‘Let’s take the path by the Serpentine.’

They dismounted, then handed over the reins to the groom, who followed a discreet distance behind them.

‘You said you had no sisters,’ Emma continued, curious about his upbringing. ‘Were you an only child?’

‘Yes. My parents were not able to have children of their own. Which is why they adopted me.’

‘You were the orphaned child of their relations?’

He looked away. ‘Something like that.’

His sudden coolness was so marked, she felt as if he’d pulled physically away from her. ‘Forgive me if I’m being too inquisitive! I’ve told you much about my large family. I didn’t mean to pry.’

He sighed, then looked back at her. ‘Since both the colonel and your brother-in-law advise that I enter Society, I will likely encounter some of the individuals who attended Eton and Oxford when I did. A few of the more unpleasant sorts are bound to bring up my…circumstances, spreading stories that will set the gossip mills churning and undoubtedly reach your ears. I would rather you had the truth from me.’

‘Surely there’s nothing…disreputable!’ she said with alarm and disbelief. ‘Colonel Wexford would not have such a high opinion of you, nor would he have introduced you to my family, were there anything…notorious in your past.’

He gave a rueful smile. ‘Nothing “notorious”, exactly. And both Wexford and your brother-in-law are fully aware of my background. It’s just that my real ancestry is…completely unknown.’

‘Unknown?’ she repeated, confused.

‘We believe that my mother was a gentlewoman; about my father we know nothing at all. My adoptive parents, John and Amy Marsden, were travelling one January when a snowstorm forced them to put up at an inn. That same evening, a farmer brought in a seriously injured young woman he’d discovered by the road. The post-chaise in which she was travelling skidded down an icy hill and overturned. The postillions were killed, the horses fatally injured. She was dressed like a gentlewoman, but she was unconscious and had no identification of any sort. Mrs Marsden, whom the innkeeper begged to attend the woman, soon discovered that she was expecting, and later that night, the shock of the accident caused her to go into labour. Fortunately, Mother had attended her sisters’ lying-ins and knew what to do, for the severe weather prevented them from summoning a midwife. The young woman was delivered of a son…and died soon afterwards. The vicar, whom the innkeeper reached the next day, arranged for her burial. With no way to locate her family, no way to determine if the child were legitimate, to protect the lady’s reputation and to prevent the child from being sent to the parish workhouse, where he would almost certainly have died, the Marsdens offered to take the boy and raise him as their own. And they did. I had a happy childhood, rambling the woods and fields near Norfolk. John Marsden provided for my education, bought my army commission and intends me to inherit Harding Glen. I couldn’t have asked for kinder or more generous parents.’