A Pledge of Passion (The Rules of Engagement) (5 page)

"The kind who is favored by the king," Lady Russell replied as if that were all that mattered. "He was a gentleman of the bedchamber for a number of years before his recent diplomatic appointment. The earl's family has been royal favorites since William of Orange took the throne."

"So he's a courtier?" Mariah immediately envisioned him as a foppish, toadying sycophant. She didn't understand why she already felt such a prejudice against the earl, whom she had never even met. Had she already set her heart on another?

"Rochford is an excellent match," Lady Russell continued. "You might never have such an opportunity again."

"But how could we possibly have anything in common? If I marry, I want to be a wife, my lady.  I don't want to live separate lives."

"Whether you do or not depends on the understanding of the marital arrangement," Lady Russell said. "Not to be indelicate, my dear, but surely you understand that most matches within our class are forged by design rather than by sentiment."

Although she was aware that more aristocratic couples than not had such marriages, and it was probably what the earl would expect, it wasn't what Mariah had hoped for.

"My dear, sometimes it is best to be dispassionate in one's thinking." Lady Russell patted her hand. "We are not all so blessed to have everything we desire, but that does not mean we can't be content."

Mariah knew she was right. Very few people were fortunate enough to have wealth, privilege,
and
love. Was she being foolishly romantic in her expectations or just selfish to want so much? 

Surprisingly, she found it easy to imagine Mr. Needham embracing the role of husband and father, even though he had refused to speak of such things. His reticence about it had been more telling than if he had spoken. He wanted them but believed them out of reach. She was certain she'd felt something pass between her and Mr. Needham, but he'd already admitted that his pride would never allow him to pay suit to her. Why did such a gulf separate her from the one man she desired?

“Speaking of
desires
," Lady Russell continued, handing Mariah an ivory-handled fan, "I must offer one word of warning, my dear. During a house party, it is best to ignore any unusual sounds you may hear in the night.”

“What do you mean, my lady? Are you implying the duke’s house is haunted?”

“No, my dear.” Lady Russell chortled as she took up her fan. “Although the ghost of the former abbot is said to appear beneath an oak beside the church, I assure you the disturbances of which I speak are of a decidedly
corporal
nature.”

CHAPTER FOUR

"
Jealousy is the jaundice of the soul
."- John Dryden

NICK WAS SIPPING a glass of Madeira in the grand ballroom with a cluster of men when his gaze transfixed on the staircase. Lady Mariah was so transformed that he wondered if she were really an angel descending in a cloud of ivory silk. Suddenly aware of his senseless gaping, Nick swallowed his drink and set down his glass. He'd prepared to make straight for her side until Rochford stalled him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Needham, is
that
the Morehaven heiress?" Rochford asked, brows raised in interest.

"Yes. That is Lady Mariah," Nick replied stiffly, biting back the retort "she's not for you" that surged to the tip of his tongue.

"Not my preferred type,” Rochford remarked blandly after a thorough inspection that made Nick wonder if he was mentally undressing her. "But I suppose she is tolerable. Excuse me, gentlemen," he announced with a smile, "it appears I have some personal business to attend."

Nick watched dumbly as Rochford wasted no time in locating the duchess to present him to Lady Mariah. Moments later, as the musicians struck up the first dance, a Handel minuet, the earl led her out to the floor. Standing back from the crowd and mentally kicking himself, Nick watched the dancers moving in perfect synchrony across the floor. Why had he allowed Rochford to move in on her when he could easily have had her first dance? Envy, fierce and sharp, stabbed him as his gaze tracked the pair performing the intricate steps. He despised that the tall, fair, handsome earl and the tiny brunette baroness made such a striking couple.

"Have you any news about Marcus and Lydia?" Lady Russell appeared at his side in a soft swish of midnight-blue silk. "I am sick with worry, Needham." 

"My lady, the duke sent some men out to check the post roads, but if it would set your mind at ease, I will also ride out to look for them."

"No, Needham. I would not have you risk yourself over the histrionics of a fretful mother. My son is a man grown, so I must suffice with saying a prayer for his and Lydia's safety and follow it with a sleeping tonic."

"Perhaps that would be best, my lady," he agreed, once more distracted by the dancers.

Rochford had made his interest known to all, but Nick was having a harder time gauging hers. Every look and smile she offered the earl twisted his insides. Had she set her cap for him, or was she merely being polite? Did it matter? Why should he care? He'd never reacted this way over a woman before. His rational mind told him he was being ridiculous, that she was out of reach, but logic did nothing to relieve his growing jealousy.

"Why, my dear Needham," Lady Russell tapped his shoulder with her fan, "do you also aspire to the hand of our little heiress?"

"Why would you suggest such a thing, my lady?" he asked, wondering if anyone else had noticed his unusual behavior.

"Come now, Needham, don't play coy. You've watched her like a hawk since she arrived in this ballroom," the countess answered with her usual candor.

"I assure you I don't entertain any such fantasies, but would it even matter if I did?"

"She is of an age to wed, and Rochford is the ideal candidate for a lady of her rank—titled, handsome, cultured, witty, and influential." She ticked off his unquestionably superior attributes. "He is everything a woman of her station should desire."

"
Should?
" Something about that particular word choice struck him as odd.

"She is a hopeless romantic, Needham." Lady Russell shook her head with a sigh.  "The poor child dreams of a love match."

"You don't think Rochford would treat her well?" Nick asked, inclining his head to the couple, who had just finished the set with the requisite curtsy and bow.

"I daresay he would treat her as a countess," she replied blandly.

"And what precisely does that mean?"

"The
meaning
is highly subjective," Lady Russell replied. "Suffice to say she wouldn't want for anything."

"No. I am certain she wouldn't," he agreed. "But she won't be happy with him."

"Oh?" She arched a brow. "And just how would you presume to ascertain such a thing on such short acquaintance with her?"

"Simple, my lady. She has been raised in the country and has no experience of courts and courtiers. She is not accustomed to the kind of life he leads, and he is not a man who would make any great effort to accommodate her. Rochford will wed her, bed her, and then go on his merry way."

"And you would have it differently?"

He replied bitterly, "As nobody with nothing, it doesn't matter how I would have it."

"Indeed?" She smiled. "Escort me to supper later, Needham."

"Don't you already have a companion, my lady?"

"Don't concern yourself about that, my dear. I'll deal with the duchess." She departed with a smile.

After a time, Nick also sought a dance with Lady Mariah. Although she laughed and smiled the whole time, the lively gigue didn't allow him the intimacy of a private word with her. The earl swooped in again the moment the dance ended, clearly staking his claim for the benefit of any others who might presume to set their sights on her. 

***

Mariah's cheeks were aching with her continued effort to smile. When she'd agreed to come to this house party, it had been as Lydia's companion. She'd never imagined being left to fend for herself during the longest night of her entire life. Where were Lydia and Lord Marcus? She hoped the party would become more bearable with her cousin's company.

Of all the assembled guests, which probably numbered close to fifty persons of consequence, she knew only Lady Russell and Mr. Needham, both of whom were too far away to offer her any moral support. To Mariah's dismay, they were seated at the opposite end of the table near the duke. While, as Lord Rochford's dinner partner, she was placed at the duchess's end of the table, leaving her feeling rather lost.

Mariah had first counted it a blessing when Lord Rochford had asked her to dance. He wasn't quite the foppish, preening peacock she'd imagined he would be. He was actually rather handsome with fair hair, leanly chiseled aristocratic features, and clear gray eyes that smiled in a mocking way. He was elegant, attentive, charming, an excellent dancer and exceptional conversationalist, yet the more they spoke, the less they had in common.

The earl was widely traveled and had a command of three languages. She had hardly ever left Derbyshire and spoke only one. He was mad for gaming and sporting events while she disapproved of extravagant wagers. He had several large estates but preferred to be in town. Except for short visits, Mariah preferred the country over the city. He was much enamored of Italian opera. She had never been to an opera house. Mariah once more wished that Lydia had been here. Her cousin would have made a perfect match for such a man.

At first, the earl had been both amiable and attentive, but midway through the meal, his eye contact with her had lessened, and his gaze swept languidly over the other guests. Eventually, he addressed more of his remarks to the Countess of Cumberbatch seated across the table, who, by her stream of titters and flirtatious remarks, seemed to have a great appreciation of his charms. He made a pejorative remark about one of the king's ministers that set the entire head of the table chortling. While others around her seemed enchanted by his wit, most of his remarks seemed to go completely over Mariah's head.

By the fifth cover of the seemingly endless courses that had begun with fish and ended with fruit, she realized that she could never marry such a man. They would live as total strangers. And that could never be enough for her. Once more, her thoughts strayed back to Mr. Needham. 

She found herself darting glances down the far end of the table in search of his friendly and familiar face. Mr. Needham had asked her for one dance, then all but disappeared. Had his business taken him away, or had she just deluded herself that he could be interested in her? He'd barely looked in her direction the rest of the evening.

She could barely wait for the endless supper to be over so she could excuse herself, but there seemed no escape. Her throbbing head told her she'd drunk far too much wine. Her vision was beginning to blur, and the conversation had become a buzz in her ears. She desperately needed some fresh air. She hoped to God she wouldn't make a fool of herself when she rose from the table.

A footman entered with a message on a silver salver that he presented to the duke. He appeared to examine the seal with a frown. Without breaking it, he stood and made an excuse to his guests. He then nodded to Mr. Needham, who also rose. The two men departed the dining room together. Was it some urgent matter of state, or was it perhaps a message from Lord Marcus? If the latter, Mr. Needham would surely return soon and notify Lady Russell.

Once the last cover was removed, the ladies withdrew as a group to leave the men to their politics and drink. But rather than joining the duchess and her female guests in the drawing room, Mariah perceived the opportunity to slip away for some much-needed air. She'd felt smothered in the crowded dining room and so horribly out of place. 

The first doors she encountered led outside onto a small terrace. Closing the door quietly behind her, she leaned out over the white marble balustrade and drew in a deep lungful of crisp night air. She shivered lightly. She considered going back inside to retrieve a shawl but feared she'd be seen by Lady Russell and drawn back into the party. It was chilly enough to give her gooseflesh, but she didn't care. If she had to sacrifice some comfort for a moment of privacy, so be it.

She was accustomed to seeking her moments of solitude in the night, after everyone had gone to their beds, often walking alone in her private garden on moonlit evenings. Tonight a full moon shone brightly, illuminating the gravel walks of the parterre gardens. She gazed up at the stars blinking in the vast blackness of the night. She hadn't had a particularly enjoyable time at the party, but the experience had surely been enlightening.

***

Seated down the table on the opposite side of Lady Mariah, Nick had the advantage of being able to watch the interplay between her and Lord Rochford. She had seemed distracted, picking at her food and taking frequent sips of wine. He'd noticed with irritation how solicitous Rochford was about seeing her glass refilled. Was he purposely plying her with wine? Surely the earl didn't seek to soften her for a seduction. Would Rochford stoop so low to ensure he ensnared the heiress? Nick didn't know the man well enough to say, but his protective instincts were on high alert. She had little experience of men, of that he was certain. It would be child's play for a man like Rochford to tarnish her reputation and force her hand into marriage.

Nick had promised himself he would stay close by and ensure that she got safely to her bed tonight, but then he'd been abruptly pulled away from supper, and by the time he'd returned to the dining room, the guests had dispersed.

Most of the women had sought the drawing room while a number of men lingered at table over bottles of port. He noted that Rochford was not among them. He immediately sought out Lady Russell, hoping Mariah would be with her, but found Marcus's mother paired with the duchess at the card table.

"Needham! Have you come to alleviate my anxiety at last?" Lady Russell asked with what could easily be interpreted as a careless smile, but it was all too clear to one who knew her well that she was beside herself with worry. "Is there word from Marcus?"

"Yes," Nick replied. "The duke is in receipt of a dispatch."

Lady Russell heaved a great sigh of relief. "Thanks to heaven above. What does Marcus say?"

"He informed the duke that he had urgent business that necessitated a detour to Westminster. He assured His Grace that he would depart once more for Woburn Abbey the moment he has taken care of the matter. "

Her brows furrowed as she proceeded to shuffle the cards. "What business would take Marcus to Westminster?"

"He did not expound, my lady, but Marcus does not yet despair of arriving late this evening."

"It is
already
late this evening," she replied. "What is that foolish boy about to risk traveling the roads late at night?"

"I suspect I have an idea what he is about, but it is not for me to say. You will have to hear it from Marcus." He gazed about the room. "I don't see Lady Mariah. Do you know where she is?"

"I have not seen her since we left the dining room." Lady Russell glanced up as she began to deal the hand. "Lord Rochford seems to have taken an interest in her. Mayhap they are taking some air together?" She accompanied the remark with a meaningful glance toward the terrace.

Her suggestion confirmed his worst fears—that Rochford might try to seduce Mariah. "I will go and look for her," he said. "Surely she will wish to know the news of her cousin."

"I am certain she would," Lady Russell replied. "Please promise you will bring word to me when Marcus arrives."