Page 18 of The Marchioness of his Desire
“Then what does that tell ye, my Lady?” she asked, and Rebecca looked up at her in the mirror, standing behind her.
“That … that I do not love him. I knew that, but I was willing to go along with it, for Laura’s sake,” she replied.
“And that is a noble thing indeed, my Lady. But tis’ nay good for yer happiness. Why should ye suffer to help Laura and I to escape from yer uncle?” Lyddie asked, removing the last of the hair clips so that Rebecca’s hair fell around her shoulders, and the maid picked up a brush to comb it.
“But I hardly know Nicholas anymore. Surely, he has changed since those days past, and surely, now any hope of friendship is damaged beyond repair. No, Lyddie, I am alone now,” she said, a tear running down her cheek.
“Ye are never alone, so long as ye have yer sister and me, my Lady,” Lyddie replied.
“And how happy I am that I do,” Rebecca said, reaching back to take hold of the maid’s hand, which she squeezed, comforted by the reassurance of her presence.
As she lay down to sleep that night, Rebecca’s mind was filled with thoughts of all that had happened that evening. They say that life can change in an instant, and certainly hers had done so that night. She had agreed to a marriage, which had surely become the shortest betrothal in history, ruined by her own foolishness.
And yet, she could not help but think that it was no foolishness at all to love and to give in to the feelings which that love aroused. Despite all that had passed, she was still in love with Nicholas. She desired him, she longed for him, and the memory of the kiss they had shared, despite its scandal, would remain with her forever.
Chapter Six
“You fool, rakish fool, what were you thinking?” Ian said as he and Nicholas sat in the carriage returning them to Somerset House.
“I was not thinking, I was acting, acting as you would have done too if a girl like Becks was before you,” Nicholas said.
His head was aching from the brandy, and his words were slurred. His mother had refused to travel home with him, instead taking her own carriage and suggesting that Nicholas and his friend find their own way home. Fortunately, a carriage had been available, for it had soon become clear that Lord and Lady Sefton wished for their troublesome guests to depart as soon as possible.
“You are lucky that Edward Johnson did not challenge you to a duel. He was in his rights to do so. I should have done if it were my betrothed. The announcement had only just been made, and you step forward to take the first kiss. Are you just jealous of him?” Ian asked, and Nicholas shook his head.
“I gave her my pledge, I loved her …” Nicholas began, but Ian only shook his head in disgust.
“Your mother will be certain to see you married off now! You are drunk and have caused a terrible scandal by your behavior,” he said as they drew up outside Somerset House.
“Oh, come down off your sanctimonious horse, man. Come inside; we shall have a brandy. I shall see to it that Rebecca’s reputation is saved,” he said, clambering unsteadily down from the carriage.
“And how do you propose to do that?” Ian asked as he followed Nicholas up the steps, where the door was opened by Harrington.
“Her Grace wishes to see you immediately, Lord Somerset,” the butler said.
“And what does the old dragon want now?” Nicholas growled, and the butler stuttered.
“Her Grace is in the drawing room, sir. Can you find your own way?” he asked, and Nicholas laughed.
“I know where the den is, Harrington. Bring me a brandy, quickly man,” he barked and stumbled through the hallway, up the stairs and along the landing to his mother’s drawing room.
The clock in the hallway had just struck midnight, but the late hour would be of no concern to his mother, and Nicholas knew that she would be spoiling for a fight. They were each as stubborn as the other, but the brandy he consumed that night had dulled his senses, readying him for the onslaught, which he was determined to respond to with his own robust reply.
She was sitting in a high back armchair close to the window, a pot of coffee at her side, and a look of complete and utter anger upon her face. She was still dressed in her evening finery, pearls draped down her bodice, and her bouffant hair and bandeau adding height to her already formidable frame. She scowled at him, pointing to a chair opposite.
“And you can leave,” she said, pointing at Ian, who made a hasty retreat from the room.
“Mother,” Nicholas began, but she had already raised her hand for silence.
“Speak when you are spoken to, Nicholas. I have never been so embarrassed in all my life. To hear my own son spoken of in such scandalous terms. Well, it is not the first time, and I have no doubt that it will not be the last. How could you, Nicholas? To take another man’s betrothed in such a manner, and on the very night and in the very place that the betrothal is announced,” she said, almost spitting the final words.
“It was not like that, please, mother, you must understand. Rebecca is not like that. I take full responsibility, and I shall see her reputation restored,” Nicholas said, but his mother only shook her head in disbelief.
“Her reputation? That is of no concern to us. We care not one bit about her reputation. She is disgraced in the eyes of society, and we shall not be dragged down into the dirt alongside her,” she said.
“But Rebecca and I are friends, and we have always been friends. I have loved her in the past, and if I marry her …” Nicholas began, angry that as ever he was so easily disarmed by his mother’s fork tongue and vicious words.
“And more so the pity. Why do you think I sent you away to Eton? To get you away from her. She has been nothing but a bad influence upon you for all these years and has proved that again, tonight. Do you have no self-control? No discernment whatsoever?” she asked, shaking her head and tutting.
