The Madcap Page 7

Alasdair stopped laughing. “Why is that, Marianne? I thought we were becoming good friends-more than friends, I hoped”

  It was Marianne’s turn to sober. No would-be suitor had ever been so frank with her. Alasdair deserved complete honesty in return. She met his gaze with a businesslike look. “I’ve been told that you’re promised to another.” She held her breath. Would he deny it? She stripped off her glove and trailed her hand in the water, trying to pretend his answer didn’t matter when in reality it seemed everything hinged on it. Perhaps everything did. His reply would answer much about his character and his intentions. No man of honor, from the basest San Francisco wharf worker to a highborn aristocrat, would court one woman while committed to another.

  Alasdair nodded slowly. “So you’ve heard the rumors. They’re true as far as rumors go” They’d drifted toward the park side of the stream. He set himself to the oars again, steering them back to the middle of the stream.

  Marianne’s world slowed. She was overconscious of the play of his muscles beneath his shirt while he rowed, all too aware of his dark eyes watching her, gauging her reaction. She would have to let him go. There was no choice. Perhaps she’d been wrong all along. Men and women could not be friends. She saw in startling clarity how she could not tolerate merely being Alasdair’s friend, standing aside while he paid romantic homage to another. Alasdair was speaking again, his voice forcing its way into her bleak thoughts.

  “My mother has hopes that I’ll offer for a neighbor’s daughter. She’s made those hopes fairly public, but those hopes have no claim on me. There is nothing more that binds me to Miss Stewart-no legal contract, no betrothal ceremony. I have informed my mother that I have no intentions of marrying Miss Stewart”

  “And your intentions toward me?” Marianne pressed warily.

  “I like you, Marianne, a great deal,” Alasdair said solemnly. “I think you like me too. It makes sense that we should follow that premise to its logical conclusion and discover if we suit one another.”

  All the objections Marianne had sorted through in the garden that morning came roaring back. “What would that logical conclusion be? You can’t really believe I’d be an adequate countess”

  The boat rounded a quiet bend in the stream out of view of the shoreline. Alasdair leaned on the oars, putting himself just inches from her. “Don’t you think we deserve a chance to find out? I’m a man who believes the future takes care of itself as long as we get our jobs done in the present. Right now, I just want to kiss you,” he whispered, and he closed the small gap between them and did precisely that.

  The kiss was chaste as kisses went, the pressure of his lips lasting no more than fleeting seconds. Nonetheless, the kiss spoke of promises implied, and Marianne knew that she would savor this kiss always, regardless of the outcome. She’d been kissed a few times beforemistletoe games at Christmas parties and once in an encounter with the son from a rich San Francisco family who desired an alliance with the Addison baking industry. None of those kisses equaled Alasdair’s in intent or intensity. This was her first real kiss, a kiss that meant something.

  Alasdair leaned back, putting distance between them. The boat had sailed into view of the shoreline. Soon, they’d be caught up with the others.

  “You still haven’t answered my question, Marianne.”

  She smiled impishly, more certain of her response now that certain issues that been settled between them. “I don’t recall that it was precisely a question,” she bantered. “I believe you stated unequivocally that you were courting me.”

  “Does that meet with your approval?” Alasdair rejoined.

  “I think we should carry things to their logical conclusion and find out.”

  Alasdair laughed. “How very scientific of you, my dear”

  The remainder of the afternoon was devoted to Camberly and Lionel’s good-natured archery contest. Alasdair stood with the two men, offering bits of advice and ribbing. From the comfort of the chaise longues, where she sat with the other two women, Marianne studied Alasdair with covert glances, marveling at his composure. Her insides were topsy-turvy, her mind replaying each sentence and word of their conversation, pausing at the kiss. She was realizing the problem with kisses: one was hardly enough. She wanted another. Would the next kiss be as wondrous as the first or was that kiss the rarest of things, singular in its existence?

  “Marianne, did you hear me?” Audrey asked politely, a knowing smile softly lighting her features. “Stella, I think she’s quite infatuated with our Alasdair.”

  Marianne blushed and stammered an incoherent apology that Audrey waved away with an elegant gesture. “There’s no need to apologize, my dear. We’ve both felt that way before. Not with Alasdair, of course,” she added hastily.

  Stella shaded her eyes against the sun and gave Alasdair a considering look. “He’s handsome enough for a dark-haired man. I prefer the blond ones myself” She and Audrey laughed together over her joke. At the archery butts, Lionel’s pale blond hair was a marked contrast to the two dark-haired men with whom he stood.

  A thousand questions competed for attention in Marianne’s head. These two women were among Alasdair’s acquaintances. Was it wrong to make inquiries about a suitor among his friends? She had to admit that part of her found something secretive and dishonest about seeking information that way. Curiosity won out. Surely if she limited her questions to the basics, there would be no harm. “Have you known Alasdair long?” That would definitely be a safe question.

  Audrey took pity on her. The countess leaned forward and placed a hand on her arm. “I’ve only known Alasdair since my marriage, but my husband swears he’s the best of friends. Alasdair may be impulsive but he’s not dishonorable.” “

  Stella broke in. “If you’re wondering if he’s a proper suitor, you can lay your worries to rest”

  11t’s just that it has all happened so quickly,” Marianne replied, leaning back on the cushions of her chaise longue. For all the questions she was tempted to ask, she found herself quite loath to ask them aloud. The ones that mattered most were the ones that politeness required they remain unasked. She could not ask his friends if the size of her fortune hastened his intentions.

  It hardly mattered. From what she’d observed about the unfailing politeness of the English, no one would honestly answer that question. She could not bear the idea that Alasdair’s affections could be bought or that the kiss they’d shared on the boat had been an indicator of his appreciation for her money instead of his appreciation for her. Marianne also realized that she might not have been so acutely aware of the issue if the social columns had not singled out the topic as their justification for Alasdair’s attentions.

  She needed to concentrate on keeping it all in perspective. But doubt was a hard enemy to fight, and wasn’t she better off knowing about his needs for funds from the first? She tried to convince herself that it would be far worse to discover his financial situation later, perhaps even at a point where there was no turning back, no choices. It would be beyond humiliating to lose one’s heart to a man who loved nothing about you but your dollars even though you’d fallen madly in love with him.

  She wasn’t madly in love with Alasdair yet, she promised herself. But she could be all too easily. A handsome man bound with muscles and manners was not easy to resist. If the feelings were mutual, why resist at all? If the feelings were one-sided and motivated by greed on the other, it would be best to get out before one was further engaged. In that scenario, there would be no happily-ever-after, only misery for the one who’d loved foolishly.

  Marianne knew herself well enough to know that she couldn’t tolerate an arrangement of such half-truths and pretenses of affection. She lived out loud and she highly suspected she would love that way, too, when the time came.

  The afternoon shadows lengthened and the archery competition came to an end, bringing the men back into the open pavilion, laughing. It was time to head home. Around her, Marianne noticed servants discreetly packing the wago
n with items no longer in use.

  “We stayed longer than I thought,” Audrey said, rising from her chaise with a yawn. “Forgive us, Marianne. I hope you aren’t rushed with your evening preparations. We still have the carriage trip home and the streets will be crowded at this hour.”

  “There’s no rush. We are dining at home tonight before attending the theater,” Marianne said.

  “We’ll be there too,” Camberly put in, rolling down his sleeves and shrugging into his jacket with Audrey’s help. “Perhaps you’ll consider joining us in our box? It will just be the five of us. There’s plenty of room for you and your parents.”

  Last night it had been front row seats at the musicale, today a private picnic in the park and box seats at the opera. The thought fleetingly crossed Marianne’s mind that all the benefits of what a life with Alasdair could bring were on not-so-subtle display. Even a viscount with financial concerns led an elite life. Then again, the offer might be nothing more than Camberly’s kindness. She preferred to think the latter was true.

  Everyone piled into the carriages and they began the slow drive back to Mayfair. Alasdair jumped down and escorted her to the door, his hand resting lightly at the small of her back, a wondrously intimate touch yet publicly acceptable.

  “Until tonight, Marianne.” Alasdair bowed over her hand, brushing her gloved knuckles with his lips.

  “I will look forward to it. You must thank Camberly again for his invitation.” Marianne smiled, doing her best to mask her thoughts. But as she slipped inside the house, she couldn’t help contemplating the old adage: “When it sounds too good to be true, then it probably is.”

  The theater was filled to capacity and noise reached the level of a thundering roar, but movement in the Earl of Camberly’s box drew Brantley’s attention from his seat in the stalls. He scanned the box with his opera glasses. The usual suspects were there, including that dratted Pennington and the American chit. It appeared she’d even brought her parents along, a sure sign that things were progressing in a serious direction.

  Pennington seated the girl and her parents in the front row of the box and took a chair next to her. The act was gallantly polite on Pennington’s part but it also unintentionally offered Brantley a full look at the heiress. By God, the girl was lovely, all of that beautiful soft gold hair intricately piled on top of her head. She turned to speak with the man behind her, revealing the exquisite curve of her jaw. Brantley thought it would be no hardship wedding her and her fortune even if she wasn’t English. He could do far worse and he was in no position to be picky. Beside her, Pennington laughed at something she said. Brantley frowned. The handsome viscount was welcome to charm her all he liked, because in the end, it wouldn’t matter.

  The lights went down. Alasdair reached for Marianne’s hand where it lay in her lap. He didn’t care what was happening on stage. He only cared that the dim lights allowed him the ability to touch Marianne, to make a physical connection with her. After the picnic today, he’d known without doubt that he’d never been drawn to another the way he was drawn to her. She was all laughter and light, and yet shrewd, always assessing a situation. He had no doubts about her virtue, yet she was refreshingly blunt.

  It was the American gift, he supposed. Englishwomen who possessed such forthrightness were usually not also in possession of a virtuous lifestyle. But American girls avoided that trap. Audrey had explained to him that American girls didn’t waste away in schoolrooms until their debuts. They sat at dinner tables with their parents and conversed with adults as if they were adults themselves, voicing their opinions to an eager audience that encouraged free speaking at an early age.

  Marianne had certainly benefited from such an education. Perhaps it was that very same education which created her vivacity and lent her the air of confidence that perpetually surrounded her. Even today, when she’d been unsure of her course in the boat, she’d kept her wits and questioned him. Alasdair could not have admired her more than he had at that moment in the boat when she’d looked him in the eye and asked him his intentions. More girls might benefit from such behavior. Too bad there wasn’t a guidebook for debutantes that suggested such a thing.

  Marianne squeezed his hand and shot him an impish look he could barely make out in the dimness of the box, but it was acknowledgment enough of their secret-hands trysting in the dark. He’d prefer kissing her again but he could hardly step out into the corridor with her and engage in such flagrant behavior.

  Besides, purloined kisses weren’t what he wanted from her. The kiss that afternoon had been brief by necessity. He wanted more than that. He wanted kisses that lingered, that explored, that weren’t rushed be cause social convention demanded that they not occur at all. It was ridiculous that even the quick peck he’d stolen was considered out-of-bounds. No wonder a plethora of married couples ended up unhappy. They hardly knew each other in the ways that mattered.

  Property lines and finances were not enough on which to build a marriage, at least not the type of marriage to which he aspired. He wished he could make his mother understand that. Alasdair understood that his dilemma was not a new one. The aristocracy had long been plagued with the dichotomy of marrying for love or for money. He rather hoped that in Marianne he’d found the perfect solution to combine both.

  The curtains went down and the lights went up, signaling the intermission. Alasdair quickly disengaged his hand from Marianne’s and rose. As always, the Camberly box was immediately swarmed by acquaintances and friends. Tonight, many of them were eager to meet Marianne. Alasdair was happy to give her over to Audrey and watch her at a distance until Brantley’s perpetually bored, nasal tones demanded his attention.

  “She’s a lovely girl, Pennington. Quite striking, if you ask me. Introduce me, Pennington. A belated introduction is better than none at all. You owe me that, at least”

  Alasdair had no choice. It would be the height of rudeness not to make the introduction, and to refuse might heighten Brantley’s determination. Alasdair knew that if he protested too much Brantley would guess aright that more than money was engaged. Such knowledge would be a powerful weapon in Brantley’s hands.

  “Miss Addison.” Alasdair broke into the small group of people with whom Marianne stood. “This is Lord Brantley. I believe you’ve only met briefly before”

  In her characteristic fashion, Marianne extended her gloved hand to shake his. “I am charmed, my lord. I’ve heard your name before, haven’t I?” she mused aloud. “Oh yes, now I remember. Pennington spilled your champagne. We were supposed to dance”

  “Yes, he got the jump on me, I daresay. If I’d known what a delightful partner I was missing out on, I would have danced in a wet shirt. Perhaps I might be fortunate enough to claim another dance in place of the one we missed” Brantley was all smooth manners. Alasdair’s eyes narrowed. In evening clothes with his blond hair combed neatly, the man might easily be mistaken for the gentleman he claimed he was.

  “The second act is about to begin,” Alasdair quickly interceded. The last thing he wanted was for Marianne to dance with this scoundrel. Brantley would not play fairly when it came to winning his bet. All it would take would be one short walk on a verandah after a dance and Brantley would not hesitate to compromise Marianne. The damage would be done.

  As the overture started and people took their seats, Camberly leaned close to speak in low, private tones. “I think you should tell Marianne about the bet. Brantley has thrown down the gauntlet tonight. He approached her directly. She needs to know his intentions.”

  Alasdair nodded and sighed. He accepted the wisdom of Camberly’s advice but that didn’t mean he liked it. Courting Marianne was becoming a difficult ambition and she hadn’t even met his mother yet.

  Dressed in a smart walking ensemble of pale blue gabardine, Marianne strolled beside Alasdair the next morning, trying to look at everything around her without appearing to be overeager. Alasdair was showing them the sights of London, starting with the Tower. On his other side
, her mother made polite comments while Alasdair pointed out various points of interest.

  Marianne was enjoying herself immensely. She’d been surprised to learn that the Tower of London wasn’t a tower in the strictest sense at all, but a large fortress sitting on the banks of the Thames in view of the Tower Bridge. It was early in the day yet for the bulk of sightseers, and the three of them virtually had the place to themselves. Marianne appreciated the peace and quiet. The Season was proving to be as exciting as she’d thought it would be, with all its parties and entertainments, but she was discovering just how wearing it could be to be surrounded by crowds of people and the din of their conversation on a constant basis.

  Today at the Tower, there was plenty of space around them as they moved from sight to sight and there was plenty of quiet. The morning was comfortably cool, the sky blue overhead. Best of all, she had Alasdair to herself, or at least as much to herself as she could expect. While they were sightseeing, there were no limits to their time together, unlike when they were both in attendance at the balls and routs, where she could not dance more than twice with Alasdair the entire evening, or at the theater where they’d been among a large group.

  Alasdair was an adept tour guide. “Sir Walter Raleigh’s chambers are up those stairs. He spent a significant portion of his life there. Would you like to see them?”

  “The same Walter Raleigh who is credited with discovering North Carolina?” Marianne’s mother asked with interest.

  “The very same” Alasdair motioned them on ahead of him through the narrow doorway. The chambers were not impossible living quarters, Marianne noted. They were certainly not anything akin to her dark imaginings of a prison cell. There was a wide fireplace, a sitting room big enough to receive guests, a place to work, and a bedchamber.

  Marianne ran her fingers over the dark wood of a long table made smooth over time. “He had a window. He could see the river.”

  “You sound surprised.” Alasdair came up behind her, leaving her mother to explore the bedchamber.