He’d been Marielle’s best friend in childhood, her first and only romantic passion, her greatest loss, and her fondest memories.
“We were infatuated, before my come out. We’d grown up together, spent all of our holidays and summers racketing about, and then friendship turned to foolishness. I fancied myself in love with him.”
“Have some tea,” Petunia said. “It’s not cold yet.”
But it would be tepid. Marielle was done with tepid comforts. “No, thank you, but I’ll have that shortbread, please.”
Petunia passed the plate. “Was your head turned by all the wonders of Town, milady? Was that why you and his lordship parted ways all those years ago?”
Marielle and Leo had pieced together the details of their separation over supper. “My father intercepted a note from me wherein I’d agreed to elope with Leo, and to meet him here at the Ox and Ass at a specified time and date. Papa copied the note, but moved the time up by several hours, and met Leo here in my stead.”
“Papas can be vexatiously interfering.” Petunia rapped her spoon against her tea cup with particular vigor.
For a moment, Marielle’s woes subsided beneath surprise. “Petunia, my dear, you have a past.”
“I had a beau,” she said, glowering at her tea. “A lovely lad by the name Charlie Dale, though Papa didn’t care for him. Charlie would have waited for me forever, then one of his second cousins was caught misbehaving with some earl’s son, and Charlie was told to offer for her. Kept the money in the family, my mother said, but mostly, it kept my Charlie and me apart. Mr. Jones put me in mind of Charlie.”
Were all papas so bent on ruining their daughters’ happiness? “Petunia, I had no idea. I’m sorry.” Though who on earth was Mr. Jones?
“I made up my mind, if I couldn’t have my Charlie, then nobody would have me. Papa ought not to have meddled.”
“Meddling is too kind a word for it. My father told Leo I’d had a change of heart, that I wanted my London Season and a chance to marry a man of suitable rank. He convinced Leo that the better part of gentlemanly honor was to accept a commission and leave me to the future I’d chosen.”
“So you ended up with Lord Drew. His cousins called him Dreary Drew, growing up, because he was such a bookish little fellow.”
“He was a good man.” But dreary wasn’t much of a stretch, God rest him.
“Mr. Jones says his lordship is a wonderful man,” Petunia said, swirling her tea. “They’ve been together for years and years.”
Ah, Mr. Jones was the loyal Raphael. “When did you talk to Mr. Jones?”
“We shared a toddy or two while you and his lordship were getting re-acquainted. One shouldn’t celebrate the holidays alone, I always say. Mr. Jones sang his lordship’s praises, said he’d never met a better man.”
Marielle dabbed butter and jam on her shortbread. “Why do you refer to the colonel as his lordship?”
“I thought you and he were old friends.”
“We are.” And more than that, Marielle had hoped. “But I know only that he rose to the rank of colonel. His father was Whitbyshire gentry, and comfortable, but certainly not titled.”
“My lady, your fellow is a blooming marquess now, the Marquess of Cadeau. He inherited from some distant cousin and has come back from the Continent to find himself a proper English wife. Mr. Jones said his lordship was on his way to finalize the settlements.” Petunia glanced around, as if she feared the parlor’s plain furnishings might carry tales. “I’m sorry, milady. I’m so very sorry. Mr. Jones vowed his lordship was the most honorable of gentlemen.”
Leo was honorable, so honorable he’d even told Marielle about being on the hunt for a wife, but this revelation turned everything on its head.
Leo was the Marquess of Cadeau, the wealthy nobleman who’d been “traveling on the Continent” for years and was ready to settle down.
Merciful Cupid. What an absolute muddle.
Was Leo so honorable, he’d terminate marriage discussions with the lady in person before embarking on a courtship with Marielle? Didn’t he know to whom she’d been married? Or had he known exactly with whom he disported, and decamped at first light rather than keep his appointment in Chelsea?
“We’ll depart for London,” Marielle said, rising. “If his lordship is interested in pursuing his acquaintance with me, he can find me through my solicitors.”
Except solicitors were always going on about privacy and discretion. Even Leo might not be given specifics, and Marielle lived quietly rather than as a society widow.
“He seemed like such a nice man,” Petunia said, draining the last of her tea.
“His lordship?”
“Mr. Jones. Put me very much in mind of my dear, departed Charlie. He assured me his lordship was in every way a worthy fellow. too.”
Doubting Leo had cost Marielle ten years with him, ten years when Leo had risked his neck daily in battle after battle, and Marielle had gone slowly daft stitching endless samplers.
“I need to borrow your lap desk again,” Marielle said, “and somewhere in this inn, I must find an oilskin. Then we’re for London.”
And if Leo didn’t present himself on her doorstep by the New Year, well then, Lisbon was warm even in winter, and it was time Marielle saw something of the world.
“The roads are a trifle difficult,” Mr. Hollyburn said, for the third time. “I’m sure her ladyship will be here shortly, my lord.”
Leo had refused tea three times, assured Hollyburn of Mama’s good health twice, and paced a hole in the solicitor’s carpet waiting for the widowed Lady Drew Semple to keep her appointment.
“Women aren’t as punctual as we gentlemen,” Mr. Inverivy said. “They get distracted easily, poor dears.”
Marielle didn’t get distracted. She fixed on an objective and flew at it, and Leo had been certain his future was her target. “Her ladyship is your client, Mr. Inverivy,” Leo said. “Do you imply she can’t tell time?”
The solicitors exchanged a look that Leo had seen enlisted men toss among themselves when a newly commissioned captain gave some daft order.
“Perhaps,” Hollyburn said, “Mr. Inverivy meant that her ladyship didn’t account for Boxing Day traffic in Town, or how her progress would be hampered by the weather. We are getting a bit of snow, my lord.”
The snow started had after Leo had left the Ox and Ass, and had the steady, relentless quality of a substantial winter storm.
“No wife of mine would fail to grasp something as obvious as winter weather or holiday traffic,” Leo said, which was ridiculous as he hadn’t ever had a wife. “In any case, I’m here to inform you both that I’ll not be pursuing negotiations with Lady Drew. I’m sure she’s a lovely woman, and I’d be lucky to have her for my marchioness, but I’ll not be making an offer.”
A beat of silence went by, and then both solicitors babbled at once.
“But my lord, her ladyship is in every way appropriate to one in your unusual circumstances!”
“You can’t mean that, sir. I spent hours and hours coming up with a list, and you’ll not do better.”