Loving Lady Marcia (22 page)

Finn narrowed his eyes at him and stormed out of the house. He attempted to slam the front door behind him, but reliable Jenkins caught it first and closed it properly.

Duncan returned to his desk. The flames in the grate were steady but low. Faith, hope, and love seemed such shiny ideals, the stuff of a meaningful life. So why did clinging to them bring such misery?

With Aislinn in her room tonight, perhaps it was best that Joe have an ordinary evening with him before he left for the opera. They’d have dinner together. Duncan would read him a story. Joe would go to bed and dream about dragons and tigers and whatever else it was that happy little boys dreamed of.

The opera, Duncan supposed, would be some distraction for him. Despite everything, his heart lifted at the thought of seeing Lady Marcia. Would she remember what had happened yesterday afternoon? That odd connection that had thrummed between them after they’d said their farewells on the street?

The ticking of the clock on the mantel echoed in the silence. Every second brought Aislinn’s departure—and Joe’s inevitable heartbreak—closer.

Duncan poured himself another drink and vowed to forget, at least until tomorrow morning, that he’d face the crisis alone.

Chapter Eighteen

Marcia didn’t know what to think. She should have been vastly happy when Finn sent a note round to Mama stating that he’d be accompanying his brother, after all, to the opera. But instead of that thrill of anticipation she was sure she’d feel at the news, she’d developed a headache instead.

“What’s wrong?” Janice asked her as they were getting ready.

“Nothing,” Marcia said.

“Aren’t you excited Mr. Lattimore is coming?”

“Yes,” Marcia said in a high voice, and nodded her head stiffly.

Janice made a puzzled face. “Are you nervous?”

“No,”
Marcia snapped. “Well, yes. But I don’t know why.” She smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Janice studied her with interest. “You’re obviously not happy about something. What?”

Marcia stared at her. “I don’t know.”

But all it took was a moment’s introspection, and she
did
know. Why was it that just when she’d decided to tie up those loose ends with Finn, Lord Chadwick occupied her daydreams when she disliked him so? And his brother, the one she admired, didn’t do a thing to make her heart beat faster?

She couldn’t reconcile the matter.

She was irritated because she was confused, and she hated to be confused. No woman of action—no headmistress—liked ambiguity.

Janice gave her an undeserved hug about her shoulders. “Tonight, you’ll forget your troubles. We’re off to the opera.”

Marcia rallied. “And we’ll have a delightful time. You’ll shine like the brightest diamond.”

But at the Theatre Royal, Janice was suddenly too shy to sit in the front of the box. Maneuvering must be done. So Mama and Daddy sat in front instead. Gregory and Peter occupied two seats in the second row. And Marcia and Janice sat behind them.

Already, they’d had several visitors, mainly male admirers of the girls. Marcia remembered what Lysandra had said about her lack of style and was glad she wore a fashionable pale blue satin gown with capped sleeves. It was ready-made from the modiste but altered to fit her exactly as it should.

Kerry had done wonders with her hair, putting it up à la Sappho and running a gold ribbon through it. Mama had lent her a single strand of pearls holding a large sapphire pendant surrounded by diamonds, quite a piece of jewelry, but Mama had said, “You never had a debut in London, so I insist you make a splash tonight when you’re out with your family.”

Janice turned to Marcia now, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “I’m so thrilled to be at the opera. Finally.”

“You look perfect for it.”

Janice was exquisite in her pale ivory muslin gown with ivory sequins that twinkled in the light of the glowing gas lamps.

Peter, his chestnut-brown hair arranged in the “frightened owl” style, tugged a bit at his cravat and grinned back at them. “I hope you girls won’t talk through the whole affair.”

“Why?” Janice’s tone was teasing. “Are you planning on listening closely? Or shall our talking interfere with your taking a nap behind your mad curtain of hair?”

Marcia chuckled. “Perhaps he’d like to ogle the soprano behind that hair. I hear she’s quite beautiful.”

“She is,” said Gregory. “I tried to send her flowers the other day, but Daddy wouldn’t let me.”

Daddy turned around. “Peter, what’s the rule? Gregory needs a reminder.”

“Don’t get entangled with opera singers or actresses,” Peter said in respectful tones, but he wasn’t really listening. He was already eyeing a lovely young lady in the box across from them, the daughter of Viscount Pinkerton.

“I thought the rule was ‘Avoid empty flattery,’” Gregory said in droll tones.

Mama beamed at him. “That’s a rule, too.”

“As is ‘Take care of your horse before yourself,’” added Peter.

“Always a favorite.” Gregory grinned. “Along with ‘Pay your vowels long before anyone must ask you for them.’”

Daddy was full of rules, wasn’t he?

Marcia and Janice exchanged amused glances.

“What about ‘Never take advantage of a young lady’s tender feelings’?” said Peter. “But Daddy, I’ve spent the last eleven years being bossed about by three sisters. Are you sure young ladies have tender feelings?”

Both brothers laughed, and Janice swatted them with her fan.

“Oh, don’t make fun of that rule,” said Mama earnestly. “That’s my favorite. Your father knew I was desperately in love with him, but he never used that knowledge to his advantage, although he could have easily.” She threw her husband a sweet smile.

Daddy smiled back and kissed her hand. “Aye, that’s the most important rule of all. You boys must always hold your ladies in the highest regard. Protect them and cherish them. Sacrifice your own needs to look after theirs. I promise the reward will be well worth it—the steadfast love of a good woman.”

“Oh, Michael,” Mama said, her eyes misty.

It was all very romantic, and when Marcia was a young girl blossoming into womanhood, she used to enjoy seeing the obvious attachment between her parents.

But these days she felt more melancholy when she observed them.

Of course, she knew the reason why. No one else in her family ever would, however. It was her secret to carry to the grave, that she’d given her entire heart and body to Finn, only to have the offering become meaningless, a casualty of circumstances beyond her control
and
his.

Janice pressed her hand. “You look rather sad,” she whispered to her.

Marcia blinked and smiled. “Oh, no. I’m fine. Really.”

“I wonder if we’ll ever find that kind of love?” Janice asked wistfully.

Marcia wrapped her sister’s hand in her own. “I’m sure you will, darling. Just be patient.”

Janice snuggled a little closer to her, and Marcia felt a cozy contentment. She had love, didn’t she? Just not the romantic kind that lasted, the kind Mama and Daddy had. Not all lives were destined to contain it, she supposed.

And she wouldn’t waste time pitying herself or resenting Finn for not defying his brother and marrying her all those years ago. He’d been young, too young to know what to do with the love she’d freely given him, much less fight for it against the strong will of the earl.

A few minutes later, Janice sat up tall, her eyes sparkling. “They’re out in the corridor.”

“Who?” Marcia turned her head and saw a wall of people.

“The Lattimore brothers, of course. An elderly widow has detained them. Sit up straight and act like you don’t care that Mr. Lattimore’s here to see you. Lucky girl. He’s so incredibly handsome. I must admit I enjoyed going to Astley’s with him.”

Poor Janice. She already had a
tendre
for Finn. Any sane girl would. He had an earnest charm and was devastatingly attractive.

“But aren’t they both here to see Marcia?” Peter whispered back to them. “Lord Chadwick split Mr. Lattimore’s lip over her.”

“You weren’t supposed to be listening to us, or to foolish gossip,” Janice chided him.

Peter grinned and turned to face the front of the box again.

Marcia adjusted her skirt, her heart pounding. What would Finn think of her gown? And would Lord Chadwick say anything about it? If he did, she would thank him but be careful not to be too warm. She was already mortified that she’d kissed him
three times
—the man she wanted least to do with out of all the men on earth!

When the men came into the box, the earl was resplendent in his black evening clothes, swarthy and dark, much more intimidating than Finn, who was all golden sunshine and good looks.

Finn made his presence known to the rest of the party amid much laughing and talking. Duncan participated in the social banter, too, as much as anyone. But around the eyes …

He wasn’t happy.

Marcia felt a jab of concern. What was wrong? Not that she cared, she reminded herself.

When he saw her, his expression lightened, and she couldn’t help feeling flattered. And then he kissed her hand and her heartbeat accelerated.

Good God, what was wrong with
her?

“Are you all right, my lord?” she asked him. “Something seems amiss.”

“How astute of you to notice,” he said. “There is something, actually. But I can’t say.”

“Please tell me.”

He looked about them and saw everyone else engaged. “Joe’s favorite maid is leaving early tomorrow morning,” he said in low tones. “He’ll be heartbroken. His whole world will change.”

“That’s terrible news,” she whispered. Poor Joe. She knew that many of her girls at Oak Hall must have suffered when she’d left them so abruptly, particularly the charity girls. She couldn’t help feeling she’d abandoned them. “I’m so sorry.”

“We’ll make it through,” the earl said.

She dragged her gaze away from his only when Finn appeared at her elbow. He was, she reminded herself, the man she’d been waiting to see. Not his brother.

When he kissed her hand and looked up at her with that secret smile they’d always shared, nothing happened. Nothing.

But no wonder. Her heart was still sore about Joe. And she’d been thinking about her girls at Oak Hall.

Not to mention that she and Finn had had little time together alone. She hoped to remedy that. Surely at some point tonight they could hold a private, whispered conversation. And then perhaps at intermission, they could find a quiet spot by a potted palm and
really
talk.

But by the time the opera started, she found herself seated between Janice on her right and Lord Chadwick on her left. His thigh accidentally touched hers, and she felt a shock of awareness, quickly followed by a spurt of indignation. How had he managed to sit by her?

Finn was on Janice’s right, so Marcia certainly wouldn’t be able to lean over her sister to talk to him. Janice already had him laughing. It was impossible not to notice that an easy camaraderie existed between the pair.

Marcia looked straight ahead. She was tempted to pity herself, but she never got around to it. She was too busy thinking about the earl, whose masculine presence was impossible to ignore. Together—too close together, it seemed—they took in the performance. She was painfully aware of the fact that his thigh was mere inches from her own. If she simply reached out her hand, she could touch him.

During the first act, Janice proved she was enjoying Finn’s company by giggling out loud on two inappropriate occasions.

Peter turned to mock stare her into submission.

At one point, Marcia couldn’t resist taking a peek at the earl. He was staring intently at the stage, caught up in the drama between the hero and the heroine.

Or so she thought.

Seconds later, he placed a hand on her lower back. “You look stunning in that gown,” he whispered in her ear, and dragged his hand away, so slowly he left a trail of tingles across her back.

She could barely breathe.

She wasn’t a virgin. But she’d only been with a man once, and as she recalled it, she’d felt no pleasurable, physical sensations during the actual coupling. She’d been living in her head, with thoughts of love with a capital
L
.

What had happened to her body on the night of her sixteenth birthday had only been awkward, and so quick, she’d felt she’d missed something.

Or misunderstood something.

But she seemed to understand very well right now that the current running between her and Lord Chadwick was an enticing but dangerous one, one that thrummed through her entire body, bypassing the common sense she knew she had in spades, threatening her sense of who she was now and who she planned to be.

She couldn’t forget those plans: tie up loose ends with Finn—move back to Oak Hall. Nothing else was possible for her.

It was a good plan. An
excellent
plan.

And she wouldn’t let the man who’d wreaked havoc with her romantic hopes ruin it.

“We must prepare for our talk with the Duke of Beauchamp,” she said to Lord Chadwick in her headmistress’s voice.

When he turned his head, she could see a glint of amusement in his eye, even in the dark of the theatre. “Must we? Right now?”

Janice was whispering with Finn. The soprano was in an argument with a tenor.

And Lord Chadwick put his hand on Marcia’s thigh. High up her thigh, all the while looking at the stage. “You shouldn’t have sat in the back row,” he leaned over to whisper in her ear, and slowly caressed her thigh beneath the satin. “It’s a very bad place to talk about important things to a man who longs to touch you.”

The soprano on stage had fallen to her knees and was singing her heart out. The entire audience looked spellbound toward her and the line of dancers behind her, all twirling paper parasols.

His hand still on Marcia’s thigh, the earl leaned over very slowly and placed a kiss on her earlobe. She couldn’t help herself—she leaned toward him, wanting more, and he moved to nuzzle the nape of her neck with his lips.