‘No, you don’t understand, Lucian. I thought it was someone I knew, I thought it was Francis.’
‘Francis?’
‘Francis Walton, Michael’s friend. The man who killed him in the duel.’
*
‘Hell.’ Lucian was halfway to his feet, a soup spoon went clattering to the floor and every head in the dining room turned. Lucian made a half-bow to the other diners and sat down. ‘My apologies,’ he said, raising his voice to carry. ‘Hot soup.’
‘He will be long gone.’ Sara held up her hand to stop the waiter who had started towards them, napkin at the ready. ‘Whoever it was. It is only my imagination. It must be,’ she added with what sounded like desperation to her own ears. ‘Francis fled abroad immediately afterwards. The coroner’s court gave a verdict of unlawful killing, so he cannot come back to England without risking trial.’
‘So how has he been supporting himself?’ Lucian paused while the waiter cleared the plates and brought a lobster in aspic. ‘Is he a wealthy man?’
‘No, he is the son of a prosperous squire. I think his family send money abroad to him.’ She shivered. ‘I have no idea why I should suddenly start imagining that I see him now.’
‘Has it ever happened before?’ Lucian seemed to realise that people were still staring so he began to serve the lobster. ‘Laugh, pretend nothing untoward is being discussed.’
Obediently Sara gave a trill of laughter and pointed to something outside on the promenade and heads turned back again. ‘No, never,’ she said, the artificial smile feeling as though it had been glued on to her lips. ‘Lucian—’ How to say this? ‘I do not think that becoming betrothed to you is the reason I am imagining this.’ If I am imagining it… ‘But I have thought more deeply about my first marriage, I must confess.’ She wondered if that offended him, but she was determined to be truthful.
‘It would be remarkable if becoming betrothed again did not prompt those kinds of thoughts.’ They ate their lobster in silence for a while, then Lucian said, ‘I have no intention of trying to replace Michael, Sara. I am a very different man, I think.’
‘Yes. You most definitely are.’ Sara pushed a tiny shrimp, trapped in a pearl of aspic, around her plate. ‘I was not ready for you before, when I was younger. I could not have coped with you, I think.’
‘Coped?’ His eyebrows lifted.
‘You are… You have responsibilities that Michael did not have and that gives you a maturity, an assurance. He was like a student in many ways and I suspect always would have been.’ And perhaps they would have grown apart as he became more immersed in his work, in the academic world. Looking back now, she could see it had already begun to happen. ‘He let me into his world, but he could not truly share it. Now, I think, I can move in yours fully.’
‘I am certain that you can.’ His smile was sudden, as warm as a hug. ‘But why not before?’
‘I was running away. This was a strange country, one where I was different. Ashe and my mother adapted to it, my father made himself into an English marquess by sheer force of will, but I saw only so many rules, so many traps and snares, so many disdainful smiles because I was not quite one of you.’
‘And now you are?’ The smile became teasing.
‘No, and I never will be. But now, you see, I do not care because I know who I am. I will be different and you do not mind, and I do not mind, and that is all that matters.’
‘I will drink to that.’ Lucian raised his glass as the waiters came to reset the table. ‘I thought we would not want a heavy meat course and so I ordered fruit and ices next. But say if you would like something else, won’t you?’
A month ago, Sara thought, she would have felt belittled by not having her opinion asked first. But now she realised that she did not have to be defensive. If she did not like his choice she would simply say so and Lucian would not be offended, would simply call the waiter over for her to order.
And if he was offended, why, then I would tease him for it, she thought, and he would smile that slow, lazy smile and I would fall even deeper in love with the man.
‘Fruit and ices would be delightful,’ she said and meant it.
‘To the Marchioness of Cannock,’ Lucian said, lifting his glass. ‘My perfect Marchioness.’
‘My perfect Marquess.’ She toasted him back and felt the familiar cold finger of apprehension trail down her spine. She was not perfect, she knew that only too well, was coming to realise just how flawed she was. She had done nothing to displease Lucian yet, she realised. Right from the beginning of their relationship she had done the things that he wanted—helped Marguerite, become his lover, agreed to marry him. What would happen when, inevitably, she did not please him over something? He wanted a perfect wife, a perfect marchioness, it seemed, but she did not want to pretend to be perfect, or expect him to be.
I love you just as you are, she thought, watching him peel a pear for her. If only you could come to love me the same way.
*
‘Chin up, shoulders back, smile in place,’ Lucian whispered as they stepped into the ballroom of the Assembly Rooms. The level of noise rose immediately, then dropped as people stopped their own conversations and watched the latest sensation, the greatest Sandbay had ever had—their Lady Sara and the Mystery Marquess. As Sara had visited the cloakroom to leave her cloak some of the more romantic young ladies had come up, flushed with excitement, and congratulated her on catching this elusive creature and she had been hard put not to box their ears, the silly chits.
She glanced up at Lucian, who was perfectly composed and dealing with all the attention as to the manner born and had the wicked desire to disrupt that calm. It se
emed her earlier qualms about being an imperfect marchioness had subsided a little. ‘The young ladies call you the Mystery Marquess, you know,’ she whispered. ‘That was how I first thought of you once I discovered your secret. I think that is so romantic.’
‘Codswallop,’ Lucian retorted inelegantly, making the Master of Ceremonies shy like a startled horse. ‘They have air between their ears, the lot of them.’