It’s Marriage Or Ruin. Liz Tyner
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I can scarce tell you apart from a distance.’ She stopped him, reaching out. She tucked away a piece of his neckcloth which had escaped his waistcoat. ‘But, I doubt I’ve spoken to Mr Westbrook in years.’
‘Occasionally people mistake me for my brother and he for me. If I am in the act of doing something well, I correct them.’ They moved into an alcove. ‘If I am not so sure of my actions, I thank them for their greeting. He said he is the same.’
‘I am sure you must always correct them.’
‘Of course.’ He smiled, putting innocence into his words and following them with an exaggerated leer. Her laugh would have fitted a tavern woman.
‘And what of Miss Emilie Catesby? Are you well acquainted with her family?’ He kept his voice bland, but her reaction told him she read the direction of his reasoning.
‘Miss Catesby. I’ve heard her mentioned.’ She straightened the turban, again moving the silver fringe. ‘You’ve not asked me in the past if I know of any female. You tend to know much more about the young women of the ton than I do.’
‘I suspect she has been brought to London to find out if any of the men might suit her as a husband.’
‘That is what I’ve heard also. I’ve also been told she’s had no beau because it would limit her time at a canvas. Her mother has brought her to search among the rakes of the ton for a suitable husband. A shame. With the exception of yourself, many men in this town might blind her to their follies so they could make an offer for her. I know from experience that can happen.’
‘Do you predict I might not be able to do that?’ he asked, smiling.
‘I assumed you had no follies to blind her to.’ She touched her ear.
‘I would hope not.’
‘I am sure.’ She paused. ‘How well do you know her?’
‘Hardly at all. She’s got some connection to Wilson, the Duke of Kinsale—and the Duchess has seen that Miss Catesby has many events to attend. Perhaps in search of a romance.’
‘Sad to have a parent pushing offspring to do such a thing. Your father is still pressing you to marry, isn’t he?’
Marcus remained silent.
She laughed. ‘Do not let him give you that old rubbish about dying without holding a grandchild. He will likely outlive us all. By many years.’ She smiled. ‘Remember, whom the gods love dies young.’ Her lids dropped. ‘Please pass that information along to him from me. He is so forgetful. The type who might forget a secret betrothal.’
‘You and I both know he has never truly forgotten it.’
Elbows tucked at her side, she shrugged. ‘Good. But we both ended up the better for it. Except…’
Except his mother. ‘She is not thrilled with him. Perhaps, they share a bond that is between them. They occasionally share a few civil words. Much more recently than they have in many years.’
‘I do feel better for your telling me that. He didn’t treat either her or me fairly.’
‘Mother has also mentioned a grandchild and how she feels inferior to the others who natter on and on about the accomplishments of their cherubs.’
Lady Semple sighed. ‘That is a first, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. But the volume of my parents’ discussions hasn’t lessened. It’s best if they communicate by message or letter. Mother has her discreet lady’s maid read Father’s letters aloud and the woman omits irritating references. It is the best for everyone and Father doesn’t know.’
‘If it works for them.’
‘Once the lady’s maid read three pages, gave her an awkward cough and said, He judges you are in good health. Then Mother pointed to the fire and the maid tossed the letter in.’
Marcus had reasoned that moving out of the family home would distance himself from two things: the rows his parents had on the rare occasions they spoke and the opinions of his father. Nathaniel hadn’t even asked Marcus if he could move in, just followed with his belongings a few days later. Now their father showed up on a whim, questioning them about their pursuits and chiding them on their responsibilities.
‘And now your mother has joined in?’
‘Yes.’
‘Your father does like to get his way. Like his sons.’
‘I would agree. We are more alike than I aspire to be.’
‘Many of the women here have tried to catch your eye, have they not?’ Lady Semple asked.
‘I cannot say for certain.’ He clasped his hands behind his back.
‘I can,’ she insisted, ‘as I have watched on the occasions you have graced us with your presence. At least, I think it was you,’ she teased. ‘Perhaps they were searching for Mr Westbrook.’
‘Well, if the women have tried to catch my attention, then you must assume they were hunting for me and not my brother.’ The earlier irritation returned to him.
Emilie hadn’t pretended to mistake him for Nathaniel. She really had.
Lady Semple clasped his arm.
‘Don’t marry to spite your father or to please your mother.’
‘It would seem a simple task.’
‘Your father forsook love to please your grandparents. That turned out wonderfully for your father, to a point, and the best for me, but he’s fortunate your mother hasn’t smothered him in his sleep.’
‘They tend to sleep in different residences.’
‘Ever stuck your hand in the fire to see how hot it is?’ the older woman asked, eyebrows arched.
‘If a woman is on the way to nuptials above all else, what difference would one rake over another make?’ he asked.
‘This could be interesting.’ Lady Semple chortled. ‘I will watch to see what happens. Would you invite me to see such a thing? That is the only way I would believe it.’
‘I will keep your words in mind. But I don’t know that my mother would appreciate it.’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘We’ve spoken.’
‘You have?’ he asked.
‘After I was out of mourning for my husband, she approached me and told me that I had been indeed fortunate to have had the love of two husbands, one mine and one hers. She asked how I did it.’
Marcus didn’t speak. He couldn’t.
‘I told her. The truth.’
‘What?’
‘It is the enigma many women have and they don’t know it. They believe it is brains. Or beauty. But really it is joie de vivre.’ She held her hand close to her throat, as if pulling her spirit from her body. ‘A sense of fun.’
Marcus watched her.
‘Yes.’ Suddenly her age fell away and she cavorted as if on gilded slippers. ‘When I am about in London, have you ever seen me act any way but as if I am at a soirée? A soirée of grand proportions. That the world is a game and I have the winning hand.’
‘It’s true.’ He recalled the first day he had seen Emilie and the way that she—even though they were both young and he was twice her size—had called herself a highwayman.
Then, today, Nathaniel had found time for a private conversation with her. But he was certain Nathaniel saw her as a conquest, nothing more.
‘I hope you would like to see me close to a spirited woman like Miss Catesby, not Nathaniel. I admit I have not always done as I should, but he often gives