He smiled, and she felt an answering smile rise to her own lips.
‘Agreed,’ she said. She stood up. ‘I think I’ll take a turn round the cave.’
‘A good idea.’
The sun had moved round a little, and the strip of brightness that ran along the centre of the cave had moved with it. Marianne stood up and walked up and down in the patch of sunlight. Before long it began to warm her through.
The cave was one she had always liked. Although there were other caves along the seashore, there were few with holes in the roof. They were dank and dark, but this one, with its access to sunlight and fresh air, was always pleasant. It held the tang of the sea, of salt and seaweed, without having a fishy smell. Its sandy floor was clean, and there was often some kind of life – a gull that had waddled in through the crack and would leave by flying through the roof, or, as today, a crab that scuttled across the floor, sending the dry sand flying as it hurried along with its curious sideways gait.
But as she walked around the cave she was aware of Luke’s eyes following her, and was conscious of the harsh and disturbing admiration in his gaze. It was predatory; devouring. No gentleman had ever looked at her in that way - but then, Lord Ravensford was not a gentleman. It made her uncomfortable and restless. It also made her tingle from head to foot.
She fought down her disturbing sensations. But she could not stop herself from being very aware of Lord Ravensford. He reminded her strongly of a wolf. A ruthless predator who threatened her long-held beliefs. Men, she had thought, were one thing or the other: kind-hearted if bumbling like Jem; good company like her brother; or cold and frightening like Mr Windham. But Lord Ravensford was a disturbing mixture of parts; of light and dark, sun and shade. Dangerous and mocking on the one hand, but absorbing and compelling on the other. He was alarming and perplexing and difficult to understand. But when he looked at her as he was looking at her now, he was utterly magnetic.
‘I think I should see how far the tide has turned,’ she said, making an excuse to remove herself from a situation she was finding it hard to understand. She stood up and went down to the mouth of the cave, bending down to go through the small opening and standing up straight on the other side. The sea had receded, and most of the rocks were now above water, with only a trail of seaweed and a stranded starfish to show where it had been. It would not be long before they could leave, and she could retreat to the haven of Seaton Hall. Away from Lord Ravensford. Away from his lazy smiles and disturbing manner. Away from the searing intensity of his glances and the burning heat of his touch. Away from the dangerous air that surrounded him. Immersing herself once again in the safe, if boring, details of running her father’s estate.
‘She should ’ave been back long ago. Why ’ave you not sent Tom out looking for her?’
These were the words that Marianne overhead as she arrived back at the Hall, flowing out of the open door of the kitchen.
‘Why, bless you,’ came Trudie’s voice in answer to Henri’s worried questions, ‘Miss Marianne’s often gone an hour or more when she’s out for a walk. There’s no need to fret.’
‘But she may ’ave been attacked, or ’ad an accident.’
‘Marianne’s not the type to go round having accidents, and as for being attacked, why who would want to attack her on her own estate?’
‘There are bad people in the world,’ said Henri. ‘Me, I know it.’
‘The English aren’t like the French,’ said Trudie comfortably. ‘They don’t go round chopping people’s heads off. She’ll be back again soon, never . . . why, here she is now,’ she said as Marianne walked in at the door.
‘Alors! There you are!’ exclaimed Henri, neglecting to point out that the English had chopped off their own king’s head in the seventeenth century in his delight to see Marianne safely home again. He hobbled over to her and kissed her on both cheeks; a Gallic gesture which brought a look of horror to Trudie’s face.
‘There’s no call for that,’ she said.
Whereupon Marianne smiled. ‘It’s all right, Trudie.’
‘Oh, is it now?’ demanded Trudie. ‘You’re forgetting your place, my girl. Being kissed on the cheek by a servant indeed!’
‘A thousand apologies,’ said Henri. ‘I was just – ’ow you say? – overjoyed to see Miss Marianne safely ’ome again.’
‘I’ve only been down to the sea shore,’ said Marianne, taking off her damp cloak and hanging it on a chair in front of the fire.
‘And so I told him. But would he listen? He was all for me sending Tom out after you. As if Tom didn’t have enough to do!’
‘Even so,’ said Henri stubbornly, ‘you ’ave been gone a long time, Miss Marianne. I worry!’
‘Well, here I am, and in one piece,’ said Marianne, touched at Henri’s concern. Ever since he had discovered that her papa kept to his room he had seemed to take on the rôle of her protector, looking after her and trying to make life easier for her.
‘Now you are back, the butcher’s been pressing for his bill to be paid,’ said Trudie. ‘I don’t like to worry you but –’
‘No. You’re quite right to mention it, Trudie. I’ll deal with it at once.’
‘Non. Not until you ’ave ’ad something to eat. You are cold. Sit ’ere, and Henri will pour you some good ’ot soup.’
He was as good as his word, and placed a steaming hot bowl of soup in front of Marianne. She ate it gratefully, and the appetising bread that went with it, thinking again how fortunate they had been to find Henri. It had been a piece of good fortune for all concerned.
‘How is your leg today?’ she asked, when she pushed the empty bowl away.
Henri pulled a face. ‘It gives me no trouble, but to walk far – non, it is not possible.’
‘Don’t worry. I wasn’t going to suggest you made the trip to London,’ said Marianne, adding teasingly, ‘I am beginning to think we will not be able to part with you when your leg finally mends.’
‘Ah!’ Henri gave a satisfied sigh. ‘The good chef, ’e is ’ard to replace, non? Mademoiselle, you make me proud.’
Marianne laughed and then, much refreshed, set about seeing to the accounts. But as she did so, Lord Ravensford was never far from her mind. What had been the meaning of his behaviour in the cave: half predatory, half protective? And what had he meant to say when he had stopped himself half way through the sentence: If I was trying to seduce you, you’d already be . . . ?
She didn’t know. But she had a feeling it would be exhilarating as well as dangerous to find out.
Chapter Five
The weather turned colder overnight. Frost sparkled from the trees and ice glinted in the ditches. Marianne, having played her morning game of chess with her Papa, was busily cleaning the morning-room when she saw Jem Cosgrove riding up to the house. Hastily she took off her apron – although the neighbours knew the Travis's means were straitened, they did not know that Marianne often helped out with the cleaning – and ran upstairs, changing out of her plain woollen dress and into something more suitable for receiving guests.
‘A good thing you saw him coming, Miss Marianne,’ said Trudie, fastening the wide green sash that girdled Marianne’s trim waist and giving a last brush to the glossy ringlets that fell down her back. ‘It’s bad enough for the neighbours to see you go visiting in a horse and trap; you’ll never hold your head up again if they know you do the dusting as well.’
Slipping her feet into a pair of satin slippers – a dark green, to match the colour of her dress – Marianne ran downstairs, and was sitting elegantly on the chaise longue in the drawing-room when Jem was shown in, just as though she had been sitting there all morning, with nothing better to do than to browse through the latest edition of The Lady’s Magazine.
‘Raw weather!’ Jem greeted her cheerfully as he came stamping and blowing into the drawing-room. ‘Cold enough to . . .’ His face fell, as he remembered that he was in a lady’s drawing-room and not a gentleman’s club. ‘That is to say, cold en
ough to make a man feel cold,’ he ended rather lamely.
Marianne smiled. Jem, though good-hearted, had never had a way with words. ‘Won’t you sit down?’ she asked, indicating the sofa.
‘Yes. Rather. Raw weather,’ he said again. He looked round the room once he had planted himself on the sofa. ‘Trudie not about?’ he said.
Marianne shook her head. Trudie usually joined her when she had visitors, sitting and sewing discreetly in the background, but Jem was such an old family friend that he was not likely to do Marianne or her reputation any harm. Even so, Marianne knew that Trudie would join them just as soon as she had finished her present chore.
‘Hem.’ Jem went bright red and looked at the wall. ‘I say, Marianne,’ he broke out a moment later, ‘you shouldn’t have to be doing all this.’
‘All what?’ asked Marianne, wondering whether Jem could have seen her dusting as he approached the house.
But Jem, obviously embarrassed, was being even less coherent than usual. ‘All this,’ he said vaguely. ‘At least, that’s what m’mother says. And I agree,’ he added hastily.
Marianne, usually able to follow Jem’s somewhat incoherent speeches, was mystified.
‘Looking after everything. Running the whole show,’ he explained suddenly. ‘Need a man to do that kind of thing. Two estates. Joining one another. Join at Nether Field. At the corners. Can’t say they don’t. May not join anywhere else, but join at Nether Field. Oh yes. So what d’you think?’
He looked at her hopefully.
Marianne was at a loss. Then the light dawned. 'You’re offering me Bates,’ she said. She was touched. Bates was the Cosgrove estate manager, and Jem, it seemed, had been sent to offer her his services.
‘Bates? Good God. Can’t mean to say you’d marry Bates?’ asked Jem, amazed.
‘Marry . . . ?’ asked Marianne, startled.
‘Not the thing,’ said Jem, shaking his head. ‘Not the thing at all. Can’t marry Bates, Marianne. Good man, I’ll grant you. One of the best. But got a wife. And children. Any number of ‘em. Ten, there were, at the last count. And still rising.’
Marianne smiled broadly. ‘I wasn’t thinking of marrying him. I thought you were offering me his services to help me manage the estate!’
‘Oh!’ Jem slapped his thigh and roared with laughter. ‘You thought m’father meant to share Bates! Lord, no, Marianne! M’father would never share Bates.’ He suddenly sobered. ‘Don’t mean “Marianne”. Mustn’t call you “Marianne”. Got to call you Miss Travis. M’mother says so. M’mother’s never wrong. Though why in Hades I should call you Miss Travis when I’ve known you since forever’s beyond me. Still, better do what m’mother says.’
He paused, obviously having lost the thread of his conversation.
Marianne prompted him kindly. ‘You said your father doesn’t want to share Bates?’
‘No, Marianne – Miss Travis – dash it, Marianne – that’s right. M’father don’t want to share Bates. He wants to share me. Well, not share me exactly . . . Lord, I’m making a mull of this,’ said Jem, tugging at his cravat. ‘Jennifer said I would. Looks like she’s right. Damn fine girl Jennifer. Oh! dash it! Didn’t mean to say damn! Told me to go down on one knee or some such thing. Don’t half like it. Look a fool. But the ladies like it.’ And to Marianne’s amusement he knelt down in front of her.
‘Oh, don’t Jem,’ she said, much to his relief. ‘Do get up, I beg of you. I’m very fond of you Jem, you know that, but if you mean to ask me to marry you I’m afraid I must refuse.’
‘Thought you would,’ said Jem, gratefully getting up off his knees. ‘Not dashing like Ravensford. Don’t know how to sweep a girl off her feet.’
‘Oh, Jem it isn’t that,’ said Marianne, whilst being uncomfortably aware that his words held far more than a grain of truth. ‘It’s just that we have been such good friends for so many years that it would be a shame to spoil our friendship. I like you very much, Jem, but I can’t marry you. We just wouldn’t suit.’
‘Ah well, can’t say I haven’t tried,’ he said philosophically. ‘Pity, though, Marianne. Devilish pretty girl, you know.’
‘You’ll find another devilish pretty girl, Jem. One who can love you in a way I can’t.’
‘Might have something there,’ said Jem, whose feelings, whilst honest, did not run deep. ‘Might find one at Ravensford’s do.’
Marianne looked at him enquiringly.
‘Got an ice yacht,’ Jem explained.
‘Who has?’ Marianne asked, finding it difficult, as usual, to follow Jem’s rambling speech.
‘Lord Ravensford. Having a party. Sail the ice yacht on the lake. Frozen,’ he explained helpfully. ‘Got the invitation this morning. Reminds me. Got one for you.’ He pulled a crumpled card out of his pocket and handed it to her. ‘Servant came round with them. Said I’d bring yours. Coming here anyway. Save the man a trip.’
‘Yes. Thank you.’ She turned the card thoughtfully between her fingers. ‘However, I’m not sure I shall be able to go.’ Her feelings for Lord Ravensford were becoming deeper and more difficult to control, and she wasn’t sure it was wise to see any more of him than was necessary, however tempting it might be.
Jem’s face fell. ‘Got to,’ he said. ‘M’family’ll be there. Got to tell ’em I didn’t make a mull of it. Otherwise m’mother’ll tell me to offer for you again.’
‘Oh dear, Jem, are you sure? I’m not a good match, you know. I don’t have any dowry to speak of. Can’t you persuade her it’s better this way?’
Jem shook his head. ‘Can’t say it’s not a good match. Old family, Marianne. Good stock. Good match without a dowry. Devilish pretty girl. Can’t tell her it’s not a good thing for you, either. Not much of a catch, but still, husband to take care of you. Make life easier. Use the carriage. No more horse and cart. Good thing all round. Or so m’mother will say. Likes the idea, don’t you know?’
Marianne sighed. It seemed there was nothing for it. She would have to go to Lord Ravensford’s gathering and convince the Cosgroves that Jem had done the thing properly, but that she had still refused to marry him.
‘You’ll come?’ asked Jem hopefully.
Marianne nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Good show. Should be interesting,’ he said, by way of consolation. ‘Don’t have to spend the whole afternoon with m’mother. Just enough to convince her I did it right. Down on one knee, don’t you know?’
Marianne smiled. ‘You did it very well. And I’m grateful to you, Jem. Truly I am. You will make some young lady an admirable husband.’
Jem went pink. ‘Pish,’ he said, but nonetheless looked pleased. ‘Well, must be off,’ he said, obviously deciding that as his task had been done he should not trouble Marianne further. ‘Tell Ravensford you’ll come, shall I?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Good. No, don’t trouble,’ he said, as Marianne accompanied him to the door of the drawing-room. ‘See m’self out.’
‘And what was all that about?’ asked Trudie, coming in a minute later, having just seen Jem leave the house.
‘He came to propose to me,’ said Marianne with a sigh.
Trudie nodded sagely.
‘Trudie, you can’t say you were expecting it?’
‘And why not? Jem’s of an age to be married, and you should have been married long ago, Miss Marianne. If you’re not careful you’ll end up on the shelf.’
‘I don’t intend to get married just so that I won’t end up a spinster,’ Marianne returned with spirit.
‘No. It’s love or nothing for you, Miss Marianne,’ said Trudie, looking worried. ‘You turned down three offers in London at your come-out, and all of them from rich and handsome gentlemen, and now you’re turning down Jem. But you can’t go on turning down gentlemen for ever, or it will be nothing, Miss Marianne.’
Marianne sighed. She went over to the window and looked out at the gardens, which twinkled prettily under their coating of frost and ice. Love or nothing. Yes
, it had always been that way with her. She had received a number of offers from unexceptionable gentlemen during her London Seasons, as Trudie said, but had turned them down. Why? she wondered. Perhaps it was because they were all unexceptionable gentlemen. They would never have wanted her to lend a hand in running her family estate, and they would have been horrified at the idea of her rescuing a man from a mantrap. And as for her bandaging his leg . . . ! No, it would never have done. She could not have accepted any of them. Because, as they were unexceptionable gentlemen, they would have expected her to be an unexceptionable lady. And whilst she was most assuredly a lady, she could never be a milk-and-water miss who would sit sketching and sewing all day long. She simply had too much spirit.
And now she had turned down Jem. Dear, sweet, bumbling Jem. But she had no choice. She could not have accepted Jem, even if he had proposed to her before she had met Lord Ravensford. And now . . . Her thoughts went to the dark man who was never far from her thoughts. Now it was impossible.