Marianne whitened and lifted her hand from his arm. “His Grace and I would never have suited. And Penelope is one of my dearest friends. You do nobody a service by clinging to this dream.”
“My dream would have come true if that hussy hadn’t stuck her oar in.”
“Whatever you think of me, my sister deserves your respect, sir,” Elias said coldly as shocked dismay seized him. He should have guessed long ago that more than mere aversion for a fortune hunter lay behind Baildon’s hostility. Clearly the marquess would never forgive any member of the Thorne family for the fact that Cam and Pen had fallen in love and as a result deprived his daughter of a duchess’s coronet.
Baildon must have realized that he’d gone too far. He made a conciliatory gesture with one hand. “Your pardon, Wilmott. I had no right to talk down your sister in your presence.”
Which, Elias noted, didn’t withdraw the insolent remarks. About Pen or about him.
“Look, lad,” Baildon said with the closest thing to affability he’d managed. “I know you’ve got your eye on my girl. No sin in that. But she’s not for you.”
“Papa, I do have a mind of my own.” The softness of Marianne’s tone in no way lessened its determination.
“Aye, you do. You’re no silly chit, ready to tumble into the clutches of the first pretty fool who winks in your direction.” Baildon turned to Elias and spoke in a clipped tone. “I’d thank you to take yourself off, Wilmott.”
What a bloody disaster. Today Elias had hoped to claim Marianne as his. Instead, all he’d done was drive her further away. Suffocating frustration lodged in his chest. If she accepted Desborough while she was in Wiltshire, Elias wouldn’t know until the official announcements. That prospect struck him as unendurable.
“Lady Marianne—” he started, knowing it was too late to save his cause.
She sent him a blank look and stepped away so he couldn’t even kiss her hand in farewell. “Good morning, Lord Wilmott.”
Hurt and anger flooded him. She dismissed him, and he had the galling suspicion that if he didn’t go, Baildon would tell the footmen to throw him out, scandal be damned. With the bitter knowledge that today’s debacle threatened to place the one woman he’d ever loved permanently out of reach, he bowed shortly to the marquess and marched out.
Chapter Three
* * *
Marianne usually enjoyed the company of Jonas and Sidonie Merrick, Lord and Lady Hillbrook, her hosts for the fortnight in the country. But Elias’s self-serving proposal left her heart shredded. How dare he try to manipulate her by saying he loved her? She’d never have credited him with such duplicity. Or such cruelty. For surely he must know that it was cruel to pretend to care for her when he didn’t.
Elias had sounded so sincere when he’d claimed to want her as his wife. He’d stared at her with such longing. What an actor he was. But in weaker moments, she almost wished she was silly enough to believe him. At least she could bask in the fantasy that he loved her, if onl
y until he showed his true colors after the wedding.
Good sense might save her from excruciating disillusionment. It couldn’t keep her warm at night or assuage endless yearning.
If she could, she’d go to ground somewhere she didn’t need to show a calm face to the world. She’d much rather return to her busy life as chatelaine of her father’s estates. There she felt competent and in charge of her own decisions in a way she never did in London.
Unfortunately when she’d suggested that her father travel without her, he’d reacted so angrily that she’d worried about his health. Any urge to rebellion had wilted under concern for a parent who loved her, however little he understood her.
Sometimes she had the vile suspicion that the one person on God’s green earth who understood her was Elias Thorne.
The first days at Ferney passed without incident, unless she counted how her avoidance of Desborough aroused her father’s disapproval. Luckily the party was large enough for her to disappear into the crowd. The Hillbrooks had included Richard and Genevieve Harmsworth, as well as a handful of Jonas Merrick’s business associates, hard-faced, narrow-eyed men who lingered over their port after dinner.
Nobody linked with last spring’s dramatic events was present. The events that had deprived Marianne of her ducal suitor and left Desborough humiliated after his chosen bride eloped with Harry Thorne. Hillbrook clearly worked to ensure that no uncongenial company spoiled his plans to purchase those fields in Hampstead.
Even before Elias’s visit to the London house had left her a shaking mess, Marianne had dreaded this house party. But so far the men spent the days on horseback taking advantage of the last of the hunting season. She passed the hours with Genevieve and her hostess. To Marianne’s relief, neither badgered her about marital plans. Gradually her wretchedness and confusion dulled and she almost started to enjoy herself.
Until on the fourth day, her ease abruptly ended. The morning dawned chilly and wet enough to deter the keenest huntsman. When her father requested her presence in the music room after breakfast, she should have guessed what was in store.
“You wished to speak to me, Papa?” She stepped into the lovely room with its view of Ferney’s extensive gardens, today gray under sheeting rain. Even for someone used to fine houses, the Hillbrooks’ home took her breath away. She was grateful she’d had a chance to see it.
Or she had been grateful until she glanced past her father’s sturdy form to where Desborough stood near the window.
Oh, dear God, no.
She tensed like a deer scenting the hunter’s approach. No, worse than that. A deer caught in a trap.
“Lord Desborough requested a private word, Marianne.” First thing, her father had been glum because of the weather. Now he sounded as if his horse had won the Derby.