The Earl Next Door

  Then came the Stocks, and behind them the Pargeters and Kents; until soon the house was ringing with the lively chatter of dozens of guests.

  ‘Well, my boy, I think it’s time for you to lead your lovely young bride-to-be out to dance,’ said Mr Travis, turning to Kit.

  Marianne breathed a silent sigh of relief. Lord Ravensford had not arrived, and it seemed he did not mean to come. Although her heart sank, her courage rose. It would make it much easier for her to enjoy the evening if she did not have to see Luke with Nicole. That would have tested her to the limit, and been very hard to bear. But now she could relax, and put all her energies into making sure that Kit and Adèle had a night to remember.

  Kit, however, seemed surprisingly reluctant to leave the foot of the stairs and formally open the dancing with his betrothed. Instead of falling in with his father’s suggestion he fidgeted and looked at the door. ‘Not just yet, Papa.’

  ‘Not just yet?’ asked Mr Travis in surprise, wondering why his son should be so reluctant to dance with Adèle, who was looking positively radiant.

  ‘No. There’s something . . . someone . . .. Ah!’ He gave a sigh of satisfaction, his eyes riveted on the door.

  Marianne, too, turned towards the door, which had opened one more time, to admit a party of four people, all beautifully dressed.

  ‘Luke!’ she breathed. Against all reason her heart leapt as she saw him, and then fell as she saw that, on his arm, was Nicole. But there were two more people with him . . . two people who looked . . .

  ‘Mama! Papa!’ With a cry Adèle rushed forwards, and threw her arms round the necks of two middle-aged people who had run towards her.

  Marianne, taking in the scene with joyful surprise, felt a surge of happiness for her friend; a surge which almost, but not quite, counteracted her pain at seeing Luke standing next to Nicole.

  ‘You did it,’ said Kit, with a catch in his throat, turning to Luke.

  ‘Yes.’ Luke’s dark smile was genuine, with no trace of his usual mockery.

  ‘You did this?’ asked Marianne, turning towards him, all else forgotten in the joy of the moment. ‘Oh, thank you, Luke!’

  His eyes danced. ‘You never suspected? I was sure you must have guessed what had been keeping me away.’

  ‘No . . . I . . . that is . . . no, I had no idea,’ she said, with another delighted glance at Adèle, who was chattering away ten to the dozen in French and embracing her parents over and over again.

  ‘Quite by chance, I discovered a possible lead to the Comte and Marie-Anne's whereabouts and went up to town to see if I could find them.’

  ‘So that’s why you went,’ she remarked in surprise.

  ‘Yes, of course. Why did you think?’

  ‘I – never mind what I thought. But go on,’ she said, determined not to lose the happiness of the moment by dwelling on more painful things. Her composure was not helped, however, by the way Luke’s dark eyes were roving over her, drinking her in as though he had been parted from her for a year, instead of only weeks.

  ‘That gown is new,’ he said. His eyes dropped to her bare neck and throat and then they dropped again, taking in the elegance of her figure which was accentuated by the gown’s stylish cut.

  She flushed, perplexed at his manner. She had expected him to be distant with her; brotherly, perhaps; but not like this. Not acting as though nothing had changed between them. ‘Yes.’ She replied to his comment, hoping to keep their conversation in practical channels. That way, she hoped, she would be able to talk to him without disgracing herself.

  ‘It suits you,’ he said, his eyes looking directly into her own. ‘It makes you look even more beautiful.’

  She flushed, and dropped her eyes. ‘Don’t.’ The word came out huskily, and there was a catch in her throat.

  ‘Why not?’ He looked amused. ‘Why should I not say what is true?’

  ‘But you were telling me . . . about Adèle’s parents.’ She made a valiant effort to turn the subject back into less painful channels. She could not understand why he was complimenting her, and she felt confused, so that she wanted to talk of other things instead.

  ‘Of course.’ His eyes left hers with reluctance and went to the happy scene. ‘Once in London, it was surprisingly easy to track them down. They had gone to London so that they could arrange for a rescue party to go after Adèle. They had already organised one fruitless search and were about to organise another, with the Comte going himself, when I managed to find them. You can imagine their joy when they discovered that Adèle was safe and well. After that, it was easy to arrange the journey to Sussex. They would have been here days ago, but Adèle’s mother had a slight indisposition and they had to delay their start. But now all is well. Their family is back together again.’

  ‘Yes, all is well,’ said Marianne, watching her friend, forgetting in the joy of the moment that all was far from well with her.

  Until there came a delicate cough, and looking round she saw Nicole.

  If only she could have disliked the young Frenchwoman, she thought with a stab of pain. But Nicole had such a sweet expression that Marianne, knowing all she had been through, could not take against her.

  ‘And now, Marianne, there is someone very special I would like to introduce to you,’ said Luke. ‘Marianne – Miss Travis – may I present Mademoiselle Fancheau – Nicole.’

  ‘How do you do?’ The polite words, calmly uttered, cost Marianne every ounce of self control.

  Although they sounded completely unnatural to her own ears, apparently they sounded perfectly all right to everyone else, because Nicole smiled prettily and said, ‘Enchanted,’ whilst Luke looked on with pride.

  ‘Nicole is —’ he began.

  But he was interrupted by Jem Cosgrove’s cry of relief. ‘Marianne! There you are! Quick, or we shall miss the start.’

  Jem, Marianne’s first partner for the evening, hurried into the hall looking harassed, and almost before Marianne had excused herself, he had whisked her into the ballroom and begun determinedly to dance.

  As she caught sight of herself in one of the gilded mirrors that lined the ballroom, Marianne was relieved that he had done so. There were lines of strain around her mouth, and she felt that another minute of being polite to Nicole would have been more than she would have been able to stand. But now she could at least begin to recover herself. The steps of the dance were reassuring, the music soothing, and her strain began to gradually lessen. Now that she had been introduced to Nicole she would not have to speak to the young Frenchwoman again, she reasoned with herself. She need only avoid Nicole and Luke for the rest of the evening and all would be well.

  Although that still did not explain Luke’s attentive manner.

  Could it be, she wondered . . . but no. That was just wishful thinking. She had seen the look of love on his face when he had embraced Nicole, and Henri had seen it, too. “Young love, it is beautiful,” he had said. She must not make too much of Luke’s manner, which was most probably just the jubilant air of a man in love.

  By the time the dance was over, she had recovered much of her composure, and a glass of punch gave her the strength she needed to move on to the next dance. Fortunately the ball was a formal one, and as she had deliberately filled in her card before the ball had begun she would not be forced to dance with Luke. Knowing him to be in love with Nicole, that would have been something she would have been unable to bear.

  During the course of the evening she danced with almost every eligible young man in the neighbourhood, as well as many of the elderly gentlemen, and then with Jem again. She was about to dance with Lance Gutheridge when she saw him reeling towards the card room and realised with a sudden sinking feeling that the young fool had had too much to drink. Which left her standing at the edge of the dancefloor without a partner, and with Luke striding across the room towards her.

  With an impoliteness born of desperation, she seized Jem, who happened to be passing by, and cajoled him into taking her onto the
floor. It was highly irregular - she should not be dancing more than twice with any young man - but she had no choice. She could not bear to dance with Luke. To hear him speaking of Nicole, to listen to him telling her how happy he was – no, it was impossible.

  She saw Luke’s look of frustration, but he could do nothing about it and fell back as the music began.

  Marianne tried to look as though she was enjoying herself. She smiled and made an effort to entertain Jem with her conversation, but all the time she was afraid of what would happen when the dance was over. There had been a determined look on Luke’s face that told her she would not be able to avoid him for ever.

  As the dance drew to an end she was relieved to see that Luke had been buttonholed by the Comte. She herself had had no opportunity as yet to speak to her godfather. She had wanted to greet him, for the Comte was her godfather as her own Papa was godfather to Adèle, but she had generously held back so that Adèle could have her parents to herself for a while. Once she had the opportunity, though, she meant to hug him and hold him and hear all about his perils in getting out of France, just as she wanted to talk to Marie-Anne.

  But for now that would have to wait. The Comte was busy with Luke, and Marie-Anne was still chattering lovingly to Adèle.

  Marianne, however, felt she could face no more company for a little while. Overcome by heat and fatigue, she decided to slip out of the ballroom. The musicians were tuning their instruments and she knew she would have a few minutes to catch her breath before the next dance began. The hall was cool, but it was also full of guests who were milling about with glasses in their hands, and Marianne felt a need for solitude. Her exertions to appear lively and at ease had taken their toll. She made for the library and slipped inside, glad to find herself alone.

  She walked over to the bookshelves and began idly running her fingers along the spines of the well-loved books. But after a minute or two she began to be aware that there was someone in the next room. The library adjoined her father’s study, and the inter-connecting door between the two rooms was not properly closed. Not wanting to overhear a private conversation, she moved towards the door, meaning to close it fully, when her attention was caught by one of the voices. It belonged to her godfather, the Comte. A minute later she heard Luke’s voice. She stood, frozen, too surprised to move. Their conversation was becoming heated.

  ‘You must marry her,’ the Comte was saying. ‘By your own admission you ’ave compromised ’er —’

  ‘The circumstances were difficult,’ Luke was responding reasonably. ‘The situation made it impossible for us to have a chaperon –’

  ‘That is no excuse. If ’er father were ’ere ’e would tell you so ’imself. As ’e is not, I regard myself as taking ’is place. You must marry ’er. Your own conscience must tell you so.’

  ‘I’m not going to marry a woman I don’t love,’ growled Luke. ‘Particularly when I am in love with another.’

  ‘Pah! You must give ’er up. You must do the honourable thing.’

  Marianne could bear it no longer. Her frozenness having left her, she crept back from the door. She had been intending to close it, but she feared she could not do so without drawing attention to herself, and in light of what she had just unwillingly overheard she could not face being discovered: her godfather, telling Luke he must marry her because he had compromised her. She could not bear it. Thank God Luke had refused. If he had proposed to her out of love it would have fulfilled her most precious desires, but if he proposed to her out of duty, because he had compromised her on board ship – she could not bear to even think about it.

  She went over to the library door, but the sound of conversation from the hall outside made her loath to leave the room. She had privacy and solitude in the library, and just at the moment she needed them. She could take a few minutes to master her emotions before going back out into company.

  After a little while she felt she could face her father’s guests again. She was about to return to the ballroom when the door opened abruptly and to her horror, standing framed in the doorway, was Luke.

  ‘So this is where you are hiding,’ he said with a smile.

  ‘Lord . . . Lord Ravensford,’ she said, trying to keep her voice even.

  ‘Lord Ravensford?’ he asked softly, coming into the room. ‘Marianne, we have gone far beyond that.’

  ‘Don’t . . . ’ she said, stepping back as he approached her. Surely he had not given in? she wondered, confused by his manner. Surely he did not now intend to propose?

  ‘Don’t what?’ he asked in surprise.

  ‘Don’t come any nearer.’

  He halted, puzzled. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because . . . ’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Because it would not be wise.’

  ‘Wise?’ He gave a wolfish smile and took a step towards her. ‘When have we ever been wise?’ The old, familiar seductive tone was back in his voice. He took her hands and kissed them, and with the greatest of efforts Marianne wrenched them away.

  ‘Don’t,’ she almost shouted at him.

  He frowned. ‘Marianne . . . ’

  ‘No, Luke . . . Lord Ravensford . . . don’t.’ She took a shuddering breath to gather her thoughts and steady her nerve. If he proposed to her now she would break down, she knew she would. And so she said the first thing she could think of that would prevent it, at the same time leaving him to marry his real love - free to marry Nicole.

  ‘Did . . . did you not wonder why I danced with Jem Cosgrove three times this evening?’ she asked.

  He gave a wry smile. ‘I can’t say I was counting.’

  ‘There . . . there is a reason.’ She hurried on before he had time to speak. ‘It is not permissible for a young lady to dance more than twice with the same gentleman, but you see, there is a reason for it. Jem has asked me to marry him. ’

  ‘Old news,’ said Luke with a predatory smile.

  Marianne shook her head. ‘I mean he has asked me again, this evening,’ she lied. ‘And . . . I said “yes”.’

  ‘You said . . . what?’ The last word came out half amused, half incredulous. ‘Marianne, you can’t be serious. No, it must be a joke. Marry Jem Cosgrove? Throw away all your life and vitality on a bumbling creature like Jem – and no, don’t upbraid me for saying it. I know he is a good young man; decent; honourable; and I admire him for it. But he is not the husband for you, and you know it. You are teasing me . . . unless you have had too much to drink?’ he asked with a smile. ‘The punch is rather overpowering.’

  ‘Certainly not,’ she retorted, wishing he would not make it so difficult for her, and wondering why indeed he wanted to. She had expected him to be delighted at this way out of his predicament. ‘I fail to see why it is so impossible that I should marry Jem,’ she said, lifting her chin. ‘He is, as you say, decent and honourable. He also comes from a well-established family, and would make any young lady a good husband.’

  ‘Dear God, you’re serious. What has happened?’

  ‘Luke?’ a musical voice came from the open doorway. ‘It is nearly time for us to go into supper, mon cousin.’

  Marianne was about to turn away when she caught Nicole’s final words. ‘Mon . . . cousin?’

  ‘Yes, of course, mon cousin,’ said Luke in surprise. ‘You speak French, Marianne, you know what mon cousin means . . . ‘ His voice tailed away as he realised the implication of her words. ‘But that’s not what you thought, is it?’ he asked incredulously. ‘Dear Lord, you didn’t think Nicole was my cousin, you thought . . . what exactly did you think?’ he asked, his eyes becoming hard.

  ‘I thought . . . ’ She looked at him perplexedly, finding it too much to take in.

  Nicole murmured, ‘I will wait for you in the ballroom,’ and discreetly left the room, closing the door behind her.

  ‘Yes?’ he demanded, his eyes kindling. ‘Just what in hell did you think?’

  ‘You have no right to speak to me like that,’ she said, her emotions a confuse
d mix of relief, surprise, elation, and resentment, together with a whirl of other emotions that she could not begin to separate or understand.

  ‘I have every right.’ He was across the room in two strides, holding her by the arms, his eyes boring down into her own. ‘After all we have shared, you tell me I have no right to be angry when you think I presented you to my mistress?’

  ‘I never said that,’ she returned, pulling herself free and facing him, her own eyes kindling. ‘I never even thought it.’