The Marriage Mart (5 page)

“Here, you must eat what is left of mine,” Mary said, thrusting the plate in John’s direction as punishment for the immensity of the slice.

He accepted the plate, pretended to be overwhelmed, and slowly fell over backwards so that he was stretched out upon the ground, except for the plate which was still held safely aloft. Mary was at first astonished to see the Blade allowing himself to play the noddy, but then she could only join the others as they all roared with laughter, and even Mrs. Briggins cried out, “We tarted him to death!”, which only gained more laughter.

As they sat about, Mary dabbing at her eyes and grinning, they fell back into conversation, which turned to the running of Lord Bretwyn’s estate, which naturally led to a proposal to survey the house.

He led them from wing to wing, and then they climbed back in the carriage to drive about the grounds, for the rain was falling steadily, as ever, and they chose not to stroll. He pointed out his hydration system, which was a series of water control gates built into the madly rushing stream that wandered through his lands, and he and John fell into a serious discussion of animal and pest control.

“Really?” asked Lord Bretwyn, “I’ve never heard of them. They’re called O’Brien’s snares, did you say?”

“My steward assures me we have never before caught so many rabbits as this past season. I plan to invest in a few more, as the beasts have all but destroyed the kitchen gardens in recent years. We’ve had to purchase a deal of our produce lately, and that’s expensive business.”

“Oh, terribly, terribly,” Lord Bretwyn agreed as the carriage came to a halt. “Well, that’s the whole of it, then, good ladies. I hope Rothayne and I were not too tiresome, but we landowners must be vigilant in the maintenance of the home farm.”

“Quite the thing,” Lady Hammand said approvingly. She turned to Mary. “Charles is very clever in his investments and this land, and takes good care of his tenants. I have always said he would go far, if he had the right person beside him.”

Mary cast a quick glance toward John, who looked down with approval upon the lady’s head.

“Every man should have a wife to help him in this life,” John said, not even smiling a little at his hypocritical statement.

“Exactly so.” Lady Hammand beamed upon him.

“All one had to do was look to see the houses and grounds are well taken care of,” Mary said, a little flustered.

Lady Hammand realized at once that she had set her own mind open to viewing, for it became a suddenly obvious and a nearly tangible thing in the air between them, that she had decided this day Mary would do quite nicely in the position.

Mary blushed red to the roots of her hair. Even as she blushed, she reminded herself that John had said he would help her find a husband, not that it would ever be a matter for delicacy and discretion in the pursuit thereof. That she had so soon gained this mark of favor ought to be a good sign, but Mary could not hide the sudden confusion that filled her.

Lady Hammand saw the effects of her words upon the younger woman, and she flushed pink. “My dear,” she said. “I…shall we go in and have some tea?”

For a moment Mary could not raise her head, but then the thought came to her:
children, children, children,
and she forced her chin up. She looked first to John, who finally had the grace to look a little uncomfortable, then to Lord Bretwyn, who had evidently missed any innuendos, and finally to Lady Hammand.

“Yes, I would dearly care for a cup of tea,” Mary said.

Lord Bretwyn looked from one to the other, a faint, puzzled frown between his brows until John clapped him on the back and pointed out the carriage door. “Lead on, my good fellow. And do let us have these bricks reheated before we start off to London, yes?” And thus was the awkward moment put behind them.

The tea was very pleasant, with not a soul touching the tiny, lovely cakes sent out on the tray, but for Mary a little of the magic of the day had left. “Business” had transpired over the top of her pleasure. She was out and about, with John, for the sole purpose of finding a husband, and she must not forget it.

The ride back to London was not so giddy as before, and in fact after Lord Bretwyn had yawned for the third time, they allowed conversation to lapse except for occasionally pointing out a site or two to one another.

When the carriage jolted to a halt before her home, and the footman had opened the carriage door, Lord Bretwyn made as though to descend to assist Mary out of the carriage, but John stuck out a foot, barring the way. “Allow me,” he murmured, only moving his foot out of the way when Lord Bretwyn retreated to his seat.

As he took Mary’s hand and steadied her upon the ground, his mouth came close enough to her ear to murmur, “Tough business, this.”

It was enough; he need say no more, for she was entirely weak toward him. He could dispel her megrims with but a few words. “Thank you for a lovely day,” she said with a gentle nod.

The rallying of her spirits was rewarded by a light coming into his features. An impish grin flickered into being, and he asked in a very low voice, “Care to bag this one, madam?”

She made a small murmur of protest at the vulgar phrase, but played along. “He’s quite pleasant,” she hedged.

“Clever girl. Keep your options open. There’re more on a level with this one.”

“Whatever are you two doing, standing about whispering in the rain?” Lady Hammand called from the carriage’s interior.

“Yes, I had an enjoyable time today, too,” he said more loudly, then climbed back into the vehicle. There was only enough time for her to smile at her host for the day, and a lifting of hands in salute, and the carriage was away.

Over dinner, her family asked after the excursion, and she rambled on a bit about the meal and the estate. Her mother nodded at the pleasantness of the day her daughter had spent, her father said he was glad there was a solid fellow such as Lord Bretwyn along, elsewise he would think twice before letting his daughter go about with such a rackety one as Lord Rothayne, and Lydia changed the conversation entirely to a discussion of whether she and her daughters ought to have matching dresses made for the annual derby days coming in August.

It was only Mrs. Pennett who saw shadows behind the smile in her charge’s eyes, but try as she might, she could only solicit remarks about how pleasant a day Mary had known.

As she tucked herself into bed that night, Mary contemplated the prying inquiries Pennett had made. How did one explain the ache that came from having someone do for you exactly what you asked them to, and not what you really wanted? How did you say aloud that a bit of your heart was bruised because you were imperfect and could not have the fairytale ending? No, it was all silliness, and it served her right that she felt all befuddled in her mind, for she kept forgetting that a ring on her finger was the purpose behind her gay life these days.
Enjoy the wine, but do not allow yourself to become drunk upon it,
she chided herself as she slid toward slumber.

***

Two nights later, Mary had her outing with one Lord Revenshaven, one promised to him last night at the fete thrown by Lord and Lady Elsworth.

He took her to see the opera. He was very pleasant, and knew quite a bit about the music. Mary enjoyed his comments, for she was somewhat musically inclined herself, and found it entertaining to discuss the various arias and chorus ensembles they witnessed. They enjoyed sips of champagne and some of the dainties the theater offered for sale. Afterward, when Mrs. Pennett escorted her charge back into the house, that lady prattled on a bit about the gracious manners of Lord Revenshaven, all comments with which Mary could not disagree.

She was not sure she had made much of an impression herself, however, for Lord Revenshaven had not asked if he might take her about again, or if he might come to call.

Mary could not be unduly disturbed, however, for tomorrow evening she was to go with Lt. Hargood to a dinner and musicale. It might sting to have a gentleman be lukewarm to one’s company, but it was the briefest sting when one considered that another man had requested the favor for the very next day.

The play was a farce, entitled, “Her Sister’s Husband’s Folly,” and it was a little risqué. At first Mary did not know if she ought to laugh at the innuendos, for Lt. Hargood’s face was stoically arranged. After pretending to cough several times into her napkin, she accidentally caught the lieutenant’s eye, and then they were laughing together. They then gave themselves up to an evening of mild vulgarity, and enjoyed themselves very well.

Mrs. Pennett pretended to disapprove, for a while anyway, until Mary caught her grinning behind her fan at a lewd joke.

After the actors took their bows, Lt. Hargood apologized, even while he laughed a little. “I had no idea! I suppose the title should have tipped me to the way of things, but…”

“I will not think you wicked if you will not think it of me,” Mary said with a smile.

“I never could. No, it takes a true lady to make a fellow feel comfortable in such a situation.”

“Why, I thank you for the compliment, Lieutenant.”

“But it
was
amusing when the husband walked in on them dancing, wasn’t it?” And then they were laughing again.

They talked for another hour, until finally the theater proprietor entered the lieutenant’s hired box and discreetly coughed, clearly wanting to close his establishment.

Mary was pleased when, as Hargood left her at her front door, he asked if he might come to call soon. “Lovely,” had been her answer.

When she went inside, she looked through the bits of correspondence the butler had set aside for each member of the family. She found several invitations to parties in her pile, and among them was a note from Rothayne. At once she broke the seal and read the contents, which merely read:

You’re not here! I will assume you will receive

me tomorrow morning. At ten. Until then--

Your Adoring, John

Of course she would receive him. Even if she’d had plans, she would have cancelled them, for John was calling tomorrow.

***

Mary was dressed and waiting in the front parlor by a quarter to ten. She was plying her needle absentmindedly while actually glancing out of the corner of her eye toward the view of the drive. What did the Blade have in mind today? Was it merely a visit? An outing? Was Lord Bretwyn to be a part of any excursion?

When she saw the crested carriage arrive, she glanced even more surreptitiously, intrigued to see two strangers come from the vehicle after John. She waited, almost patiently, until her visitors were announced, and put her embroidery tambor aside as they were led into the room. She stood in her lemon yellow gown--one of her prettiest--and when the butler had bowed himself out, made them a pretty curtsy.

“Lady Mary, you look lovely today,” John said, smiling as he took her hands. He turned at once to the couple who had followed him into the room. “Lord Faver and Lady Gardner, this is Lady Mary Wagnall.” He went on to introduce them to Mary in turn.

They murmured their how-do-you-dos, and then John announced, “We are off to the British Museum collections today.”

It was not as jolly a carriage party as the one to picnic at Lord Bretwyn’s estate had been, for Lord Faver and his aunt were not of the kind to be silly, but they were very pleasant, and Mary and Lady Gardner discovered they had read many books in common.

“For myself, I do not care what her detractors say of Mrs. Ratcliffe. And even though there are whispers that ‘she’ is really a ‘he,’ I have enjoyed every book so far written under that
nom de plume.”

Mary nodded. “Oh, surely the author is a woman, don’t you think? And the books are filled with excitement, one cannot deny that.”

Seeing the gentlemen were looking skeptical at their announcements, Lady Gardner changed topics. “Do you go to Lord Maker’s this evening?” she inquired of Mary.

“Oh, yes, I am so looking forward to it. I understand Maestro D’Allicio will be performing for us. I have heard he is most remarkable in his talent,” Mary said enthusiastically.

“I have had the pleasure of hearing Maestro D’Allicio sing before, and it is true, he is a marvel.”

“Mary sings beautifully herself, and has quite the ear for pitch and style. I will be interested in soliciting her opinion after the performance,” John said.

“Do you indeed, Lady Mary?” Lord Faver inquired. He was one of the youngest whom John had brought into Mary’s circle, his face free of any lines as yet, and his cravat as high as was currently fashionable even though he did not quite have the length of neck to support such a structure, and so must pivot his head most carefully. He did, however, have dark, inquisitive eyes, a reflection perhaps of an eager mind, and he was every inch a gentleman. Mary had begun to like him at once, despite the fact he was perhaps a bit shy speaking up in the company of ladies.

The museum was not crowded, so they could admire the displays at their leisure. Lord Faver proved to be something of an authority on Renaissance sculpture, and Rothayne entertained them all with true tales of the lives of the artists.

Afterward they treated themselves to ices at Gunther’s. As they proceeded to return Lady Gardner and her nephew to that lady’s home, they agreed to look for one another at tonight’s festivity.