A Chance Gone By (Brides By Chance Regency Adventures Book 2) Read online

  “It ought to have done,” said Lady Luthrie, thrusting her intimidating beak towards Justin. “Everyone has been preoccupied with securing your engagement — the dearest wish of your father’s heart, I may add —”

  “Yes, I am aware.”

  “Not to mention Jocasta’s come-out,” continued her ladyship, ignoring the snapped interjection, “but this should have been thought of. It’s not your business, dear boy, to be finding a husband for Marianne, but I am minded to tell Grace just what I think of her.”

  Justin’s smile of practised charm appeared, the one he used to smooth his way out of any potential argument. “I must beg you will hold off, Aunt Pippa. Grace is so much agitated with what she conceives to be the difficulties in getting Jocasta off, it would be unkind to burden her with another worry.”

  “That, ma’am, is all too true,” Marianne cut in. She had no desire to enter into a series of fruitless discussions on a subject that must prick her with too many pins to be bearable. “And to tell you the truth, I have far too much on my hands at this moment to be able to pursue the matter myself.”

  Lady Luthrie’s lips pursed but she evidently saw the force of these arguments, for she gave a decisive nod, and the feathers fluttered. “Let it be so for the moment. But it will not do to be forgetting it altogether, Justin. Once you bring your bride home, Marianne’s position will be invidious, to say the least.”

  With these measured words, she moved on, leaving Marianne confronting Justin, who was regarding her with a good deal of concern.

  “I had not considered it, but she’s right, Marianne. Selina will expect to take over the household. Not immediately, but in due course.”

  “Naturally.” She hoped her smile concealed how ill-at-ease she felt, though her pulse had steadied a little. “I will accompany Grace to the Dower House, although I suspect she will not wish to make the move until Jocasta is married.”

  “Nor would I expect it of her. Or you, Marianne. Hang it, Aunt Pippa is in the right of it! You should have been provided for. I ought to have —”

  “Pray don’t get into one of your fusses, Justin,” she interrupted, a streak of irritation rising. “I am — I have been — perfectly content. I never expected to marry and I don’t intend to start repining now.”

  “I know that, but it does not excuse us. I see now that we have taken unfair advantage of you, and…”

  “Justin, if you must harp on about this, pray don’t do so in the middle of Jocasta’s ball. You should rather be attending to your betrothed.”

  “She is dancing with someone else at this moment. And for the Lord’s sake don’t say I should be hovering about Jocasta, driving the poor girl mad.”

  “Your guests, then. You are the host, little though anyone might think it, considering your late arrival.”

  His face changed. “That was not my fault.”

  She raised her brows. “Indeed? Are you being towed around by the nose now?”

  The flash in his eyes warned her, but Marianne paid no heed. It was easier to be angry with him than to endure the agony of knowing he was lost to her.

  “That was uncalled for.”

  “Was it? Well, it seems to me that someone needs to remind you of your duty.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I’m well aware of my duty, I thank you.”

  “Then go to it!”

  His lips tightened, those lips she had so often dreamed of feeling against her own. They parted, and his voice came out clipped. “We’ll finish this at a more appropriate time.”

  Chapter Four

  Lying wakeful in the darkness of her curtained bed, Marianne tried in vain to halt her tumbling thoughts. Uppermost was remorse for wasting her brief moments in Justin’s company. Their last exchange was typical of the others they’d had this last year. Why could they not meet without snapping at one another? What had happened to the ease of friendship?

  Well, on her side there was no difficulty in finding the cause. Ensconced at Purford Park with no means of observing for herself, she’d been on tenterhooks for the imminent news of his betrothal. During his few visits home, she had lost all the natural ease they’d previously enjoyed. Justin must have felt it and been puzzled. Hurt perhaps?

  No, for he’d been too preoccupied to be thinking of the disintegration of their friendship. Which was inevitable, now she came to look at it. How could he maintain a close — not to say intimate, though there had been nothing for either to be ashamed of — relationship once he was married to someone else?

  Not that Marianne had ever truly believed she had a chance, despite the dreams. Deep down she’d known, even as she approached marriageable age, her case was hopeless. Knowing it had not prevented her from wishing, even from scheming. She remembered how naively she had planned how Justin would crown her day on her eighteenth birthday with the longed-for offer. She remembered too, with a downward sweep at her stomach, how she had toyed with the notion of proposing herself when he did not.

  She had actually opened her mouth to say the words, but her courage had failed her. Not so much because it was not done for females to make the approach. More because she could not persuade herself that Justin loved her. He was as fond of her as he could be, that much she knew. But was his affection of the kind that led to marriage?

  She had not known and fatally, had hesitated. Naturally she had saved herself a world of embarrassment when she learned soon after that Justin was virtually promised to Lady Selina Wilkhaven, who was not yet old enough to wed him.

  Months passed before she recovered from the severity of disappointment and despair. If she had not found occupation in making herself useful, Marianne knew she’d been in danger of turning into one of these die-away melancholy heroines in the novels devoured by Grace. When her cousin’s eyesight began to deteriorate, Marianne had taken to reading to her and was, in consequence, all too well acquainted with the sort of green melancholy that afflicted these fictitious creatures. A salutary lesson. She had determined never to wear her heart on her sleeve.

  She had succeeded so well that not even Jocasta knew the secrets of her bosom, though she had once or twice remarked upon her brother and Marianne’s obvious liking for one another, which was genuine. Just when her fondness for him had deepened into love, she was unable to say. She could not remember a time when her affections had not been engaged. She had adored Justin from the day his innate kindness had made him befriend the gawky twelve-year-old he’d found huddled on the bench of the old oak tree, weeping out her loneliness.

  What would you? When a tall, blond and handsome prince leapt off his horse to the rescue, was any youthful maiden to be blamed for feeling as if she had stepped into a fairy tale?

  He was seventeen or eighteen then, not much more than a callow youth, but to Marianne’s eyes he was all a hero should be and more. He had comforted her tears, made her laugh, and on discovering her identity, hailed her for his cousin. Not that they were in truth in any way related.

  Which was why he’d understood. Marianne remembered, with a surge of feeling, how he had been the first person to refrain from telling her she must be strong.

  “It’s hell to lose your mother. And you’ve lost your father, too,” he’d said bluntly. “You’re entitled to cry as much as you need.”

  The permission immediately made it possible for her to bear her double loss with fortitude. One of the things she loved in Justin was that he never tried to varnish the truth. He was always forthright. Just as he had last evening taken up the matter of her future the instant it was pointed out to him.

  Marianne sighed, realising her thoughts had come full circle and she was nowhere nearer sleep.

  She must have dropped off at last, for she woke heavy-eyed when Nancy drew back her curtains and presented her with her morning cup of chocolate, the one luxury she allowed herself to indulge. Despite being treated kindly, she never forgot her dependent state and could not bear to take advantage of Justin’s generosity, for it was, after all, he who footed th
e bills.

  She found it easy enough to reject all but the most necessary accoutrements suitable to her situation, though it had taken ingenuity to persuade Grace away from providing her with a wardrobe almost as extensive as Jocasta’s.

  “I am not a girl in the first blush of youth, ma’am,” Marianne had told her. “And I’m definitely not on the catch for a husband. I don’t need to deck myself out like a debutante.”

  “I won’t have you dressing like a governess, Marianne,” had protested her benefactor. “If I am not up to it, you’ll have to chaperon Jocasta, don’t forget. You can’t go about looking like a dowd.”

  Marianne had perforce accepted this dictum, but managed to curtail expenditure on herself by dint of dwelling on Jocasta’s needs. Marianne’s more modest acquisitions escaped Grace’s notice. At least she was able to present an acceptable appearance upon those evenings when she had to roam in public. Unlike the unfortunate Dragon, who was not included in Grace’s benevolence and had to be content to make a figure of herself in an old-fashioned gown of embroidered white taffeta too young for her years, or else choose a purple-coloured figured muslin that had seen better days.

  It was odd how Grace could be amazingly generous and yet given to bouts of thoughtlessness, even to occasional spite. She had not the true spirit of aristocratic charity, finding the necessary role of lady bountiful towards the poorer tenants a penance to be endured rather than the compassionate duty of her state. She’d been visibly relieved when Marianne offered to be her deputy in such matters, which had undoubtedly contributed to Lady Luthrie’s displeasure with her sister-in-law.

  Contrary to that lady’s belief, failing the dearest wish of her heart, Marianne was content to remain a spinster, and to continue to occupy the unofficial post of Grace’s companion, which enabled her in some sort to repay her cousin for taking her in and giving her a home, one act of charity for which she’d earned Marianne’s undying gratitude.

  At least she would remain in Justin’s vicinity. She would see him from time to time if she lived at the Dower House.

  For the first time, she wondered if this was wise. Would a complete break not be better than seeing him in the clutches of his rightful wife? Should she perhaps consider his aunt’s words with more care?

  She finished her chocolate on the thought. It festered as she began to prepare herself to face the day.

  Chapter Five

  The relief of being back in the family home affected Justin not a little. There was no need to be on his guard, to endure the platitudes of Selina’s mother, the hearty encouragement of her father. Until he sat at breakfast in his own dining parlour in Hanover Square, with the day free before him, he had not realised how tense he had become.

  He had been home yesterday, of course, but then the ordeal of public acknowledgement and congratulation was still before him and both Grace and Jocasta had been in the natural state of nerves to be expected before the ball. Marianne had not appeared at breakfast, and he had been out until it was time to change his dress ready to dine with the Sessays before escorting Selina to Jocasta’s come-out. And a sorry farce that had turned out to be.

  Recalling Marianne’s sarcastic taunt, a resurgence of irritation cast a cloud over his better mood. Why did she cut at him like that? She must know his loyalties had shifted perforce. What choice had he when his betrothed must take precedence over his sister? And he had tried to come away.

  Doubt seized him. Should he have forced the issue? Was he allowing the oppression of guilt to dictate his actions?

  Before he could formulate a response to his own question, Marianne entered the dining room. Justin’s breath tightened.

  She checked on the threshold and her glance met his. “Oh, you’re here before me.”

  “Yes, I didn’t ride this morning.”

  She turned her gaze away and crossed to the sideboard, where Simon moved to assist her with the covered dishes there.

  Justin’s appetite deserted him and he laid down his knife and fork, abandoning the remaining slices of beef and ham. He took up his tankard, but one mouthful of ale was enough. “Coffee, Rowsham, if you please.”

  The butler picked up the silver pot and poured from it into his cup. Justin signed to him to remove the offending plate and sipped at the liquid. It was hot and appropriately bitter.

  He watched Marianne pull back the skirts of her sprigged muslin gown in the way she always did to make herself comfortable, and take her seat in her usual place at the side of the table, a little removed from Justin at the head. He regarded her over the rim of the cup as she thanked Simon when he placed her plate with her chosen breakfast before her. She was eating lightly as usual. Justin doubted whether a baked egg and a couple of buns could sustain her through the day.

  “You look a bit drawn, Marianne. Didn’t you sleep well?”

  She threw him a look, her brows knitting briefly. “Not wonderfully, no.”

  “In other words, you tossed half the night. Or what was left of it.”

  A faint echo of her warm smile flitted across her face and Justin’s chest caved in. He spoke without thinking. “Marianne, don’t be at outs with me.”

  At that, her eyes came up and that clear gaze flashed him a warning as she indicated the servants. Hell’s teeth! He’d forgotten they were not alone. Urgency gripped him. He must speak to her in private. “I take it Grace and Jocasta are still abed?”

  She had taken up a fork and was toying with the egg. She nodded without looking at him. “I don’t imagine either will rise before noon.”

  Then this was his opportunity. “We’ll serve ourselves, Rowsham. I’ll ring if I need you.”

  He noted Marianne’s frown as she watched the butler and footman leave. As the door closed, she turned a wary countenance towards him.

  He did not hesitate. “I wanted to talk to you alone.”

  She grimaced, setting down her fork and reaching instead for her cup. “Yes, you said last night you were not finished. Are you going to try and persuade me into setting my cap at some unsuspecting victim?”

  He winced inwardly. “No, I’m not.” Involuntarily, he reached his hand towards her. “Marianne!”

  She looked at it, but she did not respond as she used to do. Justin waited a moment, his spirits sinking, and then withdrew it. The hand felt awkward, like a spare limb he did not know what to do with. He curled it around his cup with the other and took refuge in his coffee.

  Her rejection hurt him. He could see by the tightness in Marianne’s face that she knew it. Didn’t she care? He could not keep silent. “Is this how it is going to be?”

  He heard her sigh.

  “It has to be, Justin.”

  “But why? I’ve no better friend than you, Marianne. Or so I supposed.”

  She looked up and the ghost of a smile tore at him.

  “You’re going to be married. Don’t you think your wife will look askance at any such intima— friendship, with another woman?”

  He did not miss the slip. “Intimacy? It was never that. Selina can accuse me of nothing untoward.”

  She flushed. “I didn’t mean — it was the wrong word. I know your fondness is of the brotherly kind.”

  Was it indeed? He could not express how his feeling for Marianne was very different from his affection for Jocasta. For one thing, he never had the impulse to confide his deepest secrets to his half-sister. Of course she was a good many years younger than Marianne. Too young to be able to enter into those matters that nearly concerned him.

  “I’ve missed our ramblings, Marianne.”

  “I too.”

  Her voice was low and she did not look at him. He’d hurt her somehow, he was sure of it.

  He tried again. “We talked together of everything under the sun. You used to confide in me.”

  She looked up and reached for her coffee. She was perfectly composed, or she seemed to be. “So too did you confide in me.”

  Justin was conscious of confusion. It was true he had not ta
ken her into his confidence throughout the miserable months of hoping Selina would settle on another man, leaving him free to choose. How could he do so? He could not discuss it, even with so close a friend as Marianne. Especially with her. Did she resent his having held off?

  “Marianne, this last year —”

  “Don’t, Justin.” Her clear gaze caught and held his. He read a world of regret there, but determination too. “Nothing stays the same. Circumstances change things. We have been close, and you will always have a special place in my heart. But —”

  He could not bear it. “Marianne, don’t talk as if you meant to say goodbye. I know it can’t be the same, or quite the same. But I can’t lose you altogether. It’s bad enough without —”

  He clipped the words off short, horrified by what he had been about to say. Shock hit him as he realised Marianne had gauged the situation more nearly than he. Not even to Marianne could he declare the dread and dismay with which he regarded his coming nuptials. How could he speak of Selina at all without at once giving away his distaste and betraying the woman who must from now on command his trust?

  Already he had said too much. Marianne was eyeing him with concern in the grey gaze. He tried to retrieve his error, improvising as best he could.

  “I’m finding it difficult to … to cope with the necessary changes. I’m so used to Jocasta’s liveliness and your common sense, and Grace’s…” He hesitated and was grateful when Marianne laughed and helped him out.

  “Grace’s megrims and woes?”

  He grinned, relaxing a little. “Just so.”

  “She doesn’t mean to be selfish, you know.”

  “Yes, I know. She was always kind to me.”

  He had not meant to emphasise the last word. Grace was not precisely unkind to her cousin, merely inconsiderate. Marianne did not take it up.

  “I’m sure it will be strange at first.” She sounded encouraging, if careful. “For Lady Selina, too.”

  “Yes.”