Page 19 of An Arranged Marriage with a Mad Marquess
“You’ll look after my little girl, won’t you, Lord Morendale?” he said, voice raspy.
Neil cleared his throat. “Of course, Lord Marshville. Of course. And… and you must come and visit us very soon, all of you. You can stay for as long as you like, as we have plenty of chambers.”
Lord Marshville gave a slow, tired nod. “I’ll hold you to that, my boy.”
Then he stepped back, closing the door after him. With a lurch, the carriage hurtled forward, taking them all into a new chapter of their lives.
Nobody spoke for a while.
***
Lucy settled herself in the corner of the carriage, stretching out with a sigh of satisfaction. She was quite happy to ride by herself for the rest of the journey, with only Miss Patrina’s bags and boxes to keep her company. She had much rather ride by herself than squeeze into the finer carriage, the one with the severe-looking Dowager and her haughty daughter. She thought that Patrina would do well enough –shewas clever enough to stand up for herself.
The day had not been a long one – it was scarcely past luncheon, and already Miss Patrina was married and off to her new home – but it had been draining. Lucy wondered briefly whether she would spend the journey reading her book or taking a nap. She supposed she could do both. She had just watched Miss Patrina climb into the carriage with the rest of them, so she imagined that they would be leaving soon.
And the opposite carriage door opened, and a red-headed man climbed in. A familiar red-head man.
“Mr. Westbrook,” she managed, hiding her surprise. “What are you… why are you here?”
“Well, there wasn’t really room for me in the main carriage,” Harry said, grinning at her and settling in the opposite seat, “soNeil suggested that I should ride along behind. I hope you don’t mind. I shan’t bother you, I promise. I did tell him that you and I had already met, which I suppose was a bit of a liberty.”
“No, no, it’s quite all right,” Lucy said, recovering. The truth was that her heart was hammering at the sight of him again. She had thought of Harry Westbrook a great deal since their last meeting. She had found herself looking at him during the wedding ceremony, and once or twice even caught him staringherway, if that meant anything at all.
She cleared her throat, shifting her position and trying to think of something clever to say. Lucy did not consider herself particularly clever. Oh, she was good at some things – she could manage linen, get any stain out of any material, manage a budget and a house and cook a complex meal, and manage half a dozen tasks at once, but what did that really matter, when you got down to it? She shot a glance up at Harry through her eyelashes.
I bet he’s clever as anything. I bet he knows Latin and can do the sort of arithmetic which requires letters and shapes.
She was saved from having to come up with a clever comment by the carriage lurching forward, nearly tipping her out of her seat. She steadied herself, and Harry rapped on the roof of the carriage.
“Have a care, man!” he shouted. “There is a lady present who would prefer not to be rendered into a state of disarray by the time we reach our destination.”
He shot her an apologetic look, and Lucy bit back on a thrilled smile.
A lady in here. He thinks I’m a lady.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” he said suddenly, nodding at the bag beside her, “but what are you reading?”
She hesitated, then pulled out the slim, battered old tome.
“It’s poetry,” she confessed, handing over the book. “I don’t have much time to read, but Miss Patrina highly recommendsreading as much as I can. Although, I suppose she isn’tMiss Patrinaanymore,” she added, as an afterthought.
“No, she’s the Marchioness of Morendale,” Harry chuckled, flicking through the pages. “Oh, it’s Shakespeare. You’re fond of his sonnets, then?”
“I am, I confess. Poetry… it just makessense, you know. I like some of Lord Byron’s works, even though it is very shocking. Miss P… that is, Lady Morendale prefers novels.Shelikes Mrs. Radcliff.”
“Oh, the infamous Ann Radcliff! Indeed, a fine choice. We have some of Mrs. Radcliff’s works in our library. I must mention them to Lady Morendale.”
He flicked through the rest of the pages, and Lucy saw how he paused on the sonnets which she had marked with a pencilledXat the upper corner. Some passages were underlined, others had comments written in the margins, and so on. She had read the book of sonnets before, and it was one of her favourite possessions. At last, Harry handed the book back, with a sort of reverence.
“It was the first book I ever bought for myself,” Lucy admitted, lovingly smoothing out the well-worn old cover. “I saved up my wages until I had enough, then bought this copy from a bookseller’s. He had several copies of Shakespeare’s sonnets, some more expensive, some wrapped in leather, and that sort of thing, butthiswas the one I wanted. Even if it hadn’t been cheaper, I think I still would have wanted it.”
She glanced up, wondering if she had said too much, and found Harry smiling faintly at her, his expression distant. When their eyes met, he blushed and glanced away.
“I like Shakespeare myself,” he said at last, “but I prefer his plays.”
“Oh? I’ve only read a few of those. Which is your favourite?”
“I have to say thatMuch Ado About Nothingis my favourite, although I have not read themall. In fact, let me show you,” he paused, diving into his pockets, and came up with a thin volume, just as battered as Lucy’s book of sonnets. “Here, this is what I am reading at the moment.”
“Coriolanus,” she read, and broke into a smile. “Ah, now, that one Ihaveread. I confess that I have not readMuch Ado About Nothing.”
“Oh! Well, I must tell you all about it. First, though, I should like to hear the significance of those pencilled passages in your book of sonnets, if you’d care to tell me?”
She smiled. “I should love to.”
Perhaps the journey would be just as relaxing with Harry as it would be by herself. And once they got to Morendale Manor… well, perhaps living there might not be so bad, after all.
