Regency Romances Page 52

  There was a soft knock at the door and at Marianne’s gentle affirmation, Helena pulled it open.

  “The duke came into the ballroom,” Helena said breathlessly as if she had run all the way to the room. “When I could not find you, I hoped you would be here. Have you seen?–”

  “His face?” Marianne swallowed, running a hand over her eyes. “I have. I reacted terribly, Helena, but I could not stay.”

  Helena seemed sympathetic as she sat on the edge of the bed. “It was a shock, to be sure. It is no wonder he hides within his room if that is how he looks.”

  Hearing her own thoughts coming out of someone else’s mouth made Marianne’s shame intensify, and she pulled herself together, standing slowly and checking herself in the mirror.

  “Come on,” she said. “We should return.”

  “You want to?” Though shocked, Helena stood quickly to join her.

  “Of course,” Marianne said, with bravery she did not feel. It was taking every lesson her mother had taught her about society and how to be what they expect of you. Her smile was perhaps not as genuine as it might otherwise have been, but if Marianne did not do this now, she would flee Hertford and never return.

  The ball was still in full swing as they returned, a ripple seemingly passing through the guests now that the duke had decided to come out from hiding. He braved the hall with his face on display, and though Marianne herself had felt—and still felt if she was being truly honest—afraid of how to take his injury, nobody else seemed concerned with it.

  Lady Christina approached slowly. “Miss Drake! Your friend said you had a headache.”

  “I hoped a lie down would cure it,” Marianne assured her, her a smile a little more genuine. “I have recovered enough to return.”

  “I am glad,” Lady Christina said, genuinely. There was a weight to her eyes that Marianne could understand; though she had feelings for the duke that she did not want to analyze too heavily at the moment, she would not let that bleed into her interactions with Lord and Lady Fife. “Have you met the duke?”

  Marianne nodded quickly, eyes scanning the crowd. She could see him, over by the grand piano, and as soon as he lifted his eyes to meet hers, she looked back to Lady Christina. “I am sure he has no need to speak to me.”

  Lady Christina laughed gently. “I am sure that is not the case. Either way, I hope you will permit him a dance. He is too shy to ask you himself.”

  From her demeanor, Marianne could tell this was not exactly the case, but she could understand. It was not unkind to think that perhaps Fife had gone to his brother and Lady Christina to tell them about her. Marianne did not think so—for Lady Christina would not be so kind if he had—but she appreciated the gesture.

  “I will have time,” Marianne said, letting Lady Christina disappear back into the crowd. Taking a deep breath, trying to steel herself for what was to come, Marianne stuck close to Helena. “We should find dance partners.”

  “Away from the duke?” Helena enquired needlessly.

  Marianne said nothing, just slipped into the crowd, hoping that the duke would not approach her.

  Chapter 6

  The Piano

  Fife was devastated.

  When he had seen Miss Drake in the doorway, he had been momentarily stunned by her beauty. The realization that she was seeing him—and his face—had settled a moment later and he couldn't deny that he was ashamed and afraid in equal measure. The first time someone saw his face would be the decision maker for whatever kind of relationship he wished to strike up. When her face had settled in the all too familiar revulsion, his heart had sunk.

  He hoped that she would be able to see past his scars and to what lay beneath. It was a testament to someone, he supposed, and their character about whether they would accept a disability at value.

  Stepping out into the ball for the first time, and though there was the familiar tenseness to his shoulders, the guests seemed pleased to see him. Though Jacob and Christina both tried to assure him that the guests they had invited would be respectful, it still took a while for him to be able to step out into the public without feeling as if everyone’s eyes were on him.

  To be fair to his guests, he had seen most of them plenty of times, enough that his appearance was no longer startling to them, which made moving amongst them easier.

  Christina had told him of Marianne’s request—that he be thanked for inviting her—and though he had done so on a whim, he was still glad that he had. Though their continued interactions were up to her from this point on, he would not have changed his decision. He would have had to reveal himself to her before too long. He just had to hope that she could overcome whatever revulsion she held for his scarring.

  Talking to two of Jacob’s former colleagues, Fife’s eyes were drawn to the doorway. As he met Marianne’s eyes, hers dropped to the floor. And though startled by her return, he tried not to let it show in his conversation. As soon as was polite to do so, he left the conversation and slipped into the crowd. He was stopped occasionally to exchange pleasantries, but he managed to get away fairly quickly until he could approach Marianne. She had just finished a dance, flushed and smiling, but it quickly fell from her face as he approached.

  He could not help but be disappointed; he had hoped that given time to acclimatize to the revelation of his injury that she would be able to look him in the eye; it was apparent that was not the case.

  “I wish to apologize,” he said, catching her before she could disappear back into the crowd. “I fear that I startled you.”

  Marianne’s smile was small but genuine. She had her head up, but it was as if her gaze was somewhere over his right shoulder instead of settling on his face. It was disconcerting but not unusual. “It is alright.”

  “I apologize that you had to see me like that.”

  Marianne’s eyes widened, though they still did not move to meet his. “Please don’t apologize. You have done nothing wrong.”

  It did not feel like that to Fife. He sighed, fearing that he should give up and let her go on her way. Perhaps time would change her feelings, but Fife did not hold much hope. “I will let you continue your dancing,” he said tightly, wishing that it was he twirling her on the dance floor. Their connection was dependent upon a mask, then, so a mask Fife would wear. “Lady Christina is quite enamored with you. I hope this does not drive you to leave.”

  “No,” Marianne said quickly, with an honesty that put those fears to rest. “I will remain.”

  Without a parting goodbye, Fife left her to enjoy herself. There would come a time when someone would look at him and love him despite his injuries. It was something he had to be sure of, otherwise, his self-hatred would cripple him. He returned to the grand piano, tilting the lid and running his hands lovingly over the keys. It helped to control the storm of emotions within him and he would play a tune of his own making. It was not often soothing for the listener, but he had been told his tunes were haunting and emotional, which suited the mood he was usually in to play.

  Heedless of those around the ball, he waited for the latest to dance to finish, and ran his hands over the keys, interrupting the music already drifting through the room. The band cut off, and though the attention turned to him was overwhelming, Fife let it wash over him as he played, emotions tumbling out through the music and he closed his eyes, sinking into the pain and humiliation that seemed to follow him wherever he trod.

  As his fingers came to rest against the piano lid, Fife opened his eyes and the sound of applause filtered into his consciousness. He bowed his head gently, grateful but embarrassed, and let the music from the band started back up.

  “Was there a reason for that rush of creativity?” Fife looked up as Jacob patted the lid of the piano gently. “You don’t usually play when we have company.”

  “No reason,” Fife said, though he was not being entirely truthful. He did not wish to mar whatever relationship Marianne seemed to be cultivating with Christina. “I felt the urge to play an
d hoped our guests would appreciate it.”

  Ever perceptive, Jacob thankfully did not call him on the lie. He squeezed Fife’s shoulder and gestured to the party. “I am sure that were you to ask, you would find a willing dance partner.”

  “Perhaps tomorrow,” Fife said, avoiding his brother’s eyes. “I am tired.”

  Though he retired in the hope that he could escape without any further interaction with Marianne, he was stopped at the door by her friend.

  “I apologize for the interruption, Your Grace, I just wished to tell you how beautiful your music is.”

  The woman met his gaze unflinchingly though he could read the apprehension in her eyes. It was startling, and Fife could not deny that it gave him a little glimmer of hope that Marianne could come around if her friend was not so repulsed by him.

  “Miss Drake thinks so too,” Marianne’s friend continued.

  “I apologize, Miss–”

  “Helena Rawlings,” Helena said, flushing a little in the cheeks as Fife took her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “The pleasure is mine.”

  “Please tell Miss Drake that I appreciate her kind words and hope she would do me the pleasure of a dance on Friday.”

  Nodding, Helena gave him a tight smile and took her leave. Fife did not watch her go; he could have hope without testing the waters. If Marianne wanted to come to him, she would. Otherwise, he would retire and wait to see what the outcome would be.

  Chapter 7

  The Urge to Leave

  Marianne could not bring herself to approach the duke.

  Helena had told her about talking to the duke and how much easier it was to talk once she had overcome the initial shock. That didn’t make Marianne feel any better about herself.

  It was as if, once the initial meeting had occurred, the duke was everywhere she went. He turned up for dinners, taking a seat near his cousin, and exchanging pleasantries and making jokes. Though she did not understand a lot of his jokes, he had a wonderful sense of humor, and Marianne couldn’t help but watch him. Charming and approachable, the duke would spend time in the evenings amongst his guests, whether they were inside or out, and would take the time to approach them all.

  Marianne wondered what it was about her that couldn’t reconcile the man she was starting to fall for with the man who had such an obvious disfigurement. She was as vapid and shallow as some girls used to whisper at her when they were children. She spent as much time as possible in the library, aware that was one of the few places that Fife did not go. Though, to her dismay, as she was halfway through a story about her first time in the countryside, she saw him enter with his brother. Lady Christina was already with her, rapt attention focused on Marianne, and a couple of other women that Marianne didn’t recognize, but she stalled a little upon seeing the duke. Flushing, she managed to continue, keeping her eyes on Lady Christina, who had a knowing smile on her face.

  “–and the sight of the cows was enough to have me out of the carriage and over to the fence,” Marianne said, flushing. She did not want the duke to hear her ridiculous flights of fancy, but when she risked a glance through her eyelashes, he was staring at her in abject fascination. “I have been enamored with the countryside ever since.”

  “Sometimes it is difficult to remember that people in London do not often get to visit the country.” It was the Duchess who spoke, startling Marianne. She had not realized that she was in the room. “If you love the countryside that much,” she continued, “perhaps you would love to return.”

  Marianne did not know what to say. She hardly dared breathe. “I would like that, Your Grace.”

  The Duchess smiled, giving a curt not, and touching the duke’s arm as she passed by. “Good. I shall leave you to your talk.”

  Marianne had nothing to say after that and waited for the conversation to pick up before she turned to the duke. He was talking in low tones with Lord Fife and though he did not look at her, when she turned to speak to Lady Christina, she could feel the heat of his gaze on her face. Wondering what he was thinking was tormenting her, so she excused herself to her room.

  Helena was often out with other guests, riding or walking the grounds, and Marianne did not begrudge her the time. It was just difficult to be alone when there was so much going on inside of her head. The house was mostly quiet, though with the window open, there was the occasional laughter and chatter drifting into the room. For the most part, Marianne was left alone. She took to the bed, flicking lazily through the pages of Helena’s book, though she hardly read a word. Her gown for the evening was hanging up in eyesight, and the more she stared at the intricate sewing work, the more she thought of the dancing that would inevitably occur.

  Torn between wanting the duke to ask her, and avoiding him throughout the night, Marianne was in turmoil by the time Helena breathlessly tumbled through the door, a riding outfit on, smiling wide and hair in disarray.

  “Marianne!” Heedless of Marianne’s mood, Helena threw herself on the bed, bringing Marianne into a hug. “The ride was wonderful! It’s very windy, but it was wild. You should come with me tomorrow.”

  Marianne tried to hide her inner turmoil and affected a smile for her friend. “I would like that.”

  Helena seemed to be too happy to pick up on Marianne’s dismay, and she pushed herself back to her feet, clapping her hands together. “We must get ready for dinner. Are you excited to dance with the duke?”

  Laughing, Marianne hid her face as she joined Helena at the dresser. “I would hope to be given the choice, but I doubt I would be able to say no.”

  It was the truth, she realized, and as Helena let out a soft noise and hugged her again, Marianne blew out a slow breath, convincing herself that it was the truth.

  Later, standing in front of Fife, Marianne’s determination was tested. She curtsied as he took her hand.

  “Would you dance with me?”

  Though Marianne found it difficult to look at his face, she nodded, slipping easily into his arms. The music itself was soft and calming, bringing the two of them close together. Fife’s arms were just as strong as the first time, and Marianne relaxed, feet moving as if she had danced to this song a hundred times. She looked up, catching sight of the duke’s face in full light again. Her heart skipped and though it was telling her that yes, she was in love with this man, she couldn’t fight the revulsion. His face distressed her, and she could not work out why.

  “Miss Drake,” Fife said slowly, and as Marianne tried to answer him, she was seized with panic.

  “I am sorry,” Marianne said, pulling away from him. “I want to dance with you, I really do, but I have to go.”

  Without waiting for a reply, Marianne ran from the room for the second time, Helena following her with a shouted, “Marianne!”

  Up the stairs and into her bedroom, Marianne started grabbing her things from her room, panicked and overwhelmed.

  “Marianne,” Helena said, closing the door behind her. “Calm down.”

  “I have to leave,” Marianne said, clutching her hairbrush, and looking at Helena. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

  “Alright,” Helena said, squeezing her arm and drawing her into a hug. “We cannot leave until the morning, so let’s sleep, okay?”

  Marianne did not want to sleep. She wanted to leave the estate as soon as possible. She buried her face in Helena’s shoulder, still holding onto her hairbrush, and cried out all the emotions she had been trying to bottle up for days. “I’m sorry.”

  “Ssh,” Helena said gently, brushing a hand through her hair, kissing her temple. “What made you run?”

  “I love him,” Marianne whispered, clutching tightly to Helena. “I love him, but I cannot look at him. What man wants a wife who cannot even look him in the eye?”

  There was a long silence. Helena kept a hold of her, letting her cry, and eventually, she sighed, drawing Marianne toward the bed. “If you want to return to London, we shall. If you are sure.”

  Marianne wasn’t
sure about anything but if she didn’t leave, she was afraid she would break the duke’s heart for the third time and she couldn’t bear the thought. Exhausted, eyes dry and painful, she settled into bed, fully clothed, heedless of anything except the urge to leave.

  Chapter 8

  Surprising the Duke

  “Why won’t you tell me what happened?”

  Jacob was standing in the doorway to Fife’s room, arms folded, brow furrowed in concern. Though he had tried to corner Fife the night before, Fife had left the ballroom almost as soon as Marianne had left his arms. His heart had broken at that moment, certain that Marianne could never love him as much as he did her. Leaving had been the best thing to do for his own peace of mind.

  “There is no need for you to worry about me,” Fife told him sternly, readying himself for breakfast. He did not know what awaited downstairs, but he hoped that Marianne would be there.

  “I always worry about you.” Jacob sighed, though he did not move from the doorway. “Will you at least assure me that you’re not going to get hurt?”

  It was a little too late for that though Fife knew better than to say so aloud. He met his brother’s gaze evenly and nodded. “I will.”

  Jacob watched him for a long time and then nodded, seemingly satisfied with Fife’s response. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

  As soon as the door closed behind Jacob, Fife leaned against his dresser, eyes turned to the window. There was a low mist on the grounds, someone already out on the horses, which wasn’t unusual. At home or here with Abigail, the estate was always busy; they had to be maintained, after all, and usually, the bustle of the morning would be soothing to Fife. Instead, it was grating on his already fragile nerves.