The Madcap (11 page)

Pennington seated the girl and her parents in the
front row of the box and took a chair next to her. The
act was gallantly polite on Pennington’s part but it also
unintentionally offered Brantley a full look at the
heiress. By God, the girl was lovely, all of that beautiful soft gold hair intricately piled on top of her head.
She turned to speak with the man behind her, revealing the exquisite curve of her jaw. Brantley thought it
would be no hardship wedding her and her fortune
even if she wasn’t English. He could do far worse and
he was in no position to be picky. Beside her, Pennington laughed at something she said. Brantley frowned.
The handsome viscount was welcome to charm her all
he liked, because in the end, it wouldn’t matter.

The lights went down. Alasdair reached for Marianne’s hand where it lay in her lap. He didn’t care
what was happening on stage. He only cared that the
dim lights allowed him the ability to touch Marianne,
to make a physical connection with her. After the picnic today, he’d known without doubt that he’d never
been drawn to another the way he was drawn to her.
She was all laughter and light, and yet shrewd, always
assessing a situation. He had no doubts about her
virtue, yet she was refreshingly blunt.

It was the American gift, he supposed. Englishwomen who possessed such forthrightness were usually not also in possession of a virtuous lifestyle. But American girls avoided that trap. Audrey had explained
to him that American girls didn’t waste away in
schoolrooms until their debuts. They sat at dinner tables with their parents and conversed with adults as if
they were adults themselves, voicing their opinions to
an eager audience that encouraged free speaking at an
early age.

Marianne had certainly benefited from such an education. Perhaps it was that very same education which
created her vivacity and lent her the air of confidence
that perpetually surrounded her. Even today, when
she’d been unsure of her course in the boat, she’d kept
her wits and questioned him. Alasdair could not have
admired her more than he had at that moment in the
boat when she’d looked him in the eye and asked him
his intentions. More girls might benefit from such behavior. Too bad there wasn’t a guidebook for debutantes that suggested such a thing.

Marianne squeezed his hand and shot him an impish look he could barely make out in the dimness of
the box, but it was acknowledgment enough of their
secret-hands trysting in the dark. He’d prefer kissing
her again but he could hardly step out into the corridor
with her and engage in such flagrant behavior.

Besides, purloined kisses weren’t what he wanted
from her. The kiss that afternoon had been brief by
necessity. He wanted more than that. He wanted kisses
that lingered, that explored, that weren’t rushed be cause social convention demanded that they not occur
at all. It was ridiculous that even the quick peck he’d
stolen was considered out-of-bounds. No wonder a
plethora of married couples ended up unhappy. They
hardly knew each other in the ways that mattered.

Property lines and finances were not enough on
which to build a marriage, at least not the type of marriage to which he aspired. He wished he could make
his mother understand that. Alasdair understood that
his dilemma was not a new one. The aristocracy had
long been plagued with the dichotomy of marrying for
love or for money. He rather hoped that in Marianne
he’d found the perfect solution to combine both.

The curtains went down and the lights went up, signaling the intermission. Alasdair quickly disengaged
his hand from Marianne’s and rose. As always, the
Camberly box was immediately swarmed by acquaintances and friends. Tonight, many of them were eager
to meet Marianne. Alasdair was happy to give her over
to Audrey and watch her at a distance until Brantley’s
perpetually bored, nasal tones demanded his attention.

“She’s a lovely girl, Pennington. Quite striking, if
you ask me. Introduce me, Pennington. A belated introduction is better than none at all. You owe me that,
at least”

Alasdair had no choice. It would be the height of
rudeness not to make the introduction, and to refuse
might heighten Brantley’s determination. Alasdair knew that if he protested too much Brantley would guess
aright that more than money was engaged. Such knowledge would be a powerful weapon in Brantley’s hands.

“Miss Addison.” Alasdair broke into the small group
of people with whom Marianne stood. “This is Lord
Brantley. I believe you’ve only met briefly before”

In her characteristic fashion, Marianne extended her
gloved hand to shake his. “I am charmed, my lord. I’ve
heard your name before, haven’t I?” she mused aloud.
“Oh yes, now I remember. Pennington spilled your
champagne. We were supposed to dance”

“Yes, he got the jump on me, I daresay. If I’d known
what a delightful partner I was missing out on, I would
have danced in a wet shirt. Perhaps I might be fortunate
enough to claim another dance in place of the one we
missed” Brantley was all smooth manners. Alasdair’s
eyes narrowed. In evening clothes with his blond hair
combed neatly, the man might easily be mistaken for
the gentleman he claimed he was.

“The second act is about to begin,” Alasdair quickly
interceded. The last thing he wanted was for Marianne
to dance with this scoundrel. Brantley would not play
fairly when it came to winning his bet. All it would take
would be one short walk on a verandah after a dance
and Brantley would not hesitate to compromise Marianne. The damage would be done.

As the overture started and people took their seats,
Camberly leaned close to speak in low, private tones. “I think you should tell Marianne about the bet. Brantley
has thrown down the gauntlet tonight. He approached
her directly. She needs to know his intentions.”

Alasdair nodded and sighed. He accepted the wisdom of Camberly’s advice but that didn’t mean he liked
it. Courting Marianne was becoming a difficult ambition and she hadn’t even met his mother yet.

Dressed in a smart walking ensemble of pale blue
gabardine, Marianne strolled beside Alasdair the next
morning, trying to look at everything around her without appearing to be overeager. Alasdair was showing
them the sights of London, starting with the Tower.
On his other side, her mother made polite comments
while Alasdair pointed out various points of interest.

Marianne was enjoying herself immensely. She’d
been surprised to learn that the Tower of London
wasn’t a tower in the strictest sense at all, but a large
fortress sitting on the banks of the Thames in view of
the Tower Bridge. It was early in the day yet for the
bulk of sightseers, and the three of them virtually
had the place to themselves. Marianne appreciated
the peace and quiet. The Season was proving to be as exciting as she’d thought it would be, with all its parties
and entertainments, but she was discovering just how
wearing it could be to be surrounded by crowds of people and the din of their conversation on a constant basis.

Today at the Tower, there was plenty of space around
them as they moved from sight to sight and there was
plenty of quiet. The morning was comfortably cool,
the sky blue overhead. Best of all, she had Alasdair to
herself, or at least as much to herself as she could expect. While they were sightseeing, there were no limits
to their time together, unlike when they were both in
attendance at the balls and routs, where she could not
dance more than twice with Alasdair the entire evening, or at the theater where they’d been among a large
group.

Alasdair was an adept tour guide. “Sir Walter
Raleigh’s chambers are up those stairs. He spent a significant portion of his life there. Would you like to see
them?”

“The same Walter Raleigh who is credited with discovering North Carolina?” Marianne’s mother asked
with interest.

“The very same” Alasdair motioned them on ahead
of him through the narrow doorway. The chambers
were not impossible living quarters, Marianne noted.
They were certainly not anything akin to her dark
imaginings of a prison cell. There was a wide fireplace,
a sitting room big enough to receive guests, a place to
work, and a bedchamber.

Marianne ran her fingers over the dark wood of a
long table made smooth over time. “He had a window.
He could see the river.”

“You sound surprised.” Alasdair came up behind
her, leaving her mother to explore the bedchamber.

“It’s not what I thought a prison would look like,”
Marianne confessed.

“Oh, we have other dank holes, I assure you. I’m
convinced Newgate is one of the most barbarous places
on the planet,” Alasdair said in a cavalier tone.

But Marianne was in a more thoughtful mood and
did not return his banter. She stared out the window,
watching a boat head toward the mouth of the Thames.
“I wonder if, living in these surroundings with at least
some creature comforts, Sir Walter Raleigh didn’t really believe the queen would have him executed.”

“For all the luxury he may have had in these chambers, he still didn’t have his freedom” Alasdair’s voice
carried a subtle undertone to it that caused Marianne to
turn from the window.

He’d sounded so cavalier the previous moment, the
haunted tone surprised her. The Alasdair she’d come
to know in the past two weeks was a carefree man, unfettered by the world. His tone now suggested otherwise. The shadow in his dark eyes, which until now
had only sparked with mischief and laughter, hinted
that he knew the lure of freedom and the agony of
living without it. She would not have guessed that a man like Alasdair would relate so strongly to the situation of Sir Walter Raleigh.

“Prisons are not made of walls alone,” Alasdair said,
looking past her to the small window.

His words moved her and touched something primal at her mind’s core. Unmindful of anyone who
might happen upon them, Marianne raised a gloved
hand to his cheek. “I cannot conceive of a prison that
could hold you if you did not wish it,” she said softly.

Something Marianne could not define moved in
Alasdair’s eyes, the shadow receding to be replaced
by a warmer look. He took her hand where it rested
against his cheek and brought it to his lips to kiss in a
smooth gesture. “Perhaps that is why I’ve come to
cherish you so dearly, Marianne.” He held her eyes
over her hand. “I admire in you that which I don’t possess myself. You are sunshine and lightness, the pure
embodiment of all that is bold and good in this world.”
His voice was low, husky with intense emotion.

Marianne’s own voice was hardly more than a trembling whisper. “What prison holds you, Alasdair?
Surely one must, if you think so highly of me, for I fear
that pedestal is one from which the fall would be too
great”

“I would not darken your light with my burdens,
Marianne. My burdens are no different than anyone
else’s of my station.”

Marianne opened her mouth to coax more from him, but her mother’s return to the room preempted the opportunity. In any case, one glance at Alasdair revealed
that the moment was gone. He was smiling, offering his
arm to her mother and already chatting about the next
spot of interest. His performance was so convincing,
Marianne was hard-pressed to believe their intimate
moment had even occurred. The threesome exited the
room and Marianne cast a last look backward, imprinting on her mind the spot by the window. She wanted
to remember that moment always; never had anyone
shared so deeply with her.

She would treasure each word, each idea. She would
remember both Alasdair’s confession of inner turmoil
and his confession of feelings for her. It put an undeniable spring her step, when they moved on to the Jewel
House, that the handsome man beside her thought of
her as sunshine and light. But she’d meant it, too, when
she’d said such a pedestal was too high. She wasn’t
sure she deserved such adulation. She had burdens and
secrets too, although they were no doubt of a different
nature than the darker burdens he professed to carry.

Still, they were secrets for a reason. If it were up to
her, she’d much prefer Alasdair not hear about her experience in New York. Apparently the Countess of
Camberly felt the same way, since she’d not brought
up the event in New York at all. Marianne was thankful for the countess’ discretion. Perhaps the countess
believed as she did-that it didn’t seem fair for a single
event of little account to affect the rest of one’s life.

The rest of the Tower passed quickly. They took in
the armory and the tragic White Tower. The place was
filling with more visitors when they decided to leave.
Marianne was happy to get away from the growing
crowd. The bustle of groups being herded from spot to
spot would diminish her experience. Marianne hugged
her remembrances to herself all the way home in the
open carriage and all through changing her gown for
an afternoon ladies’ tea at Mrs. John Mackay’s.