Page 13 of Marquess of Mistletoe
“He apparently wasn’t interested in anything permanent, Petunia. The colonel was clear on that point.” Somewhat clear. Marielle had been too intent on sharing Christmas night with Leo to grasp any subtleties he’d been trying to convey. He’d mentioned attending to business, but his business might have been in the Hebrides for all the details he’d given her.
Petunia took the opposite chair and poured herself another cup of tea. “I gather the colonel was an old acquaintance?”
He’d been Marielle’s best friend in childhood, her first and only romantic passion, her greatest loss, and her fondest memories.
“We were infatuated, before my come out. We’d grown up together, spent all our holidays and summers racketing about, and then friendship turned to foolishness. I fancied myself in love with him.”
“Have some tea,” Petunia said. “It’s not cold yet.”
But it would be tepid. Marielle was done with tepid comforts. “No, thank you, but I’ll have that shortbread, please.”
Petunia passed the plate. “Was your head turned by all the wonders of Town, milady? Was that why you and his lordship parted ways all those years ago?”
Marielle and Leo had pieced together the details of their separation over supper. “My father intercepted a note from me wherein I’d agreed to elope with Leo, and to meet him here at the Ox and Ass at a specified time and date. Papa copied the note, but moved the time up by several hours, and met Leo here in my stead.”
“Papas can be vexatiously interfering.” Petunia rapped her spoon against her tea cup with particular vigor.
For a moment, Marielle’s woes subsided beneath surprise. “Petunia Semple, you have a past.”
“I had a beau,” she said, glowering at her tea. “A lovely lad by the name Charlie Dale, though Papa didn’t care for him. Charlie would have waited for me forever, then one of his cousins was caught misbehaving with some earl’s son, and Charlie was told to offer for her. Kept the money in the family, my mother said, but mostly, it kept my Charlie and me apart. Mr. Jones put me in mind of Charlie.”
Were all papas so bent on ruining their daughters’ happiness? “Petunia, I had no idea. I’m sorry.” Though who on earth was Mr. Jones?
“I made up my mind, if I couldn’t have my Charlie, then nobody would have me. Papa ought not to have meddled.”
“Meddling is too kind a word for it. My father told Leo I’d had a change of heart, that I wanted my London Season and a chance to marry a man of suitable rank. He convinced Leo that the better part of gentlemanly honor was to accept a commission and leave me to the future I’d chosen.”
“So you ended up with Lord Drew. His cousins called him Dreary Drew, growing up, because he was such a bookish little fellow.”
“He was a good man.” But dreary wasn’t much of a stretch, God rest him.
“Mr. Jones says his lordship is a wonderful man,” Petunia said, swirling her tea. “They’ve been together for years and years.”
Ah, Mr. Jones was the loyal Raphael. “When did you talk to Mr. Jones?”
“We shared a toddy or two while you and his lordship were getting re-acquainted. One shouldn’t celebrate the holidays alone, I always say. Mr. Jones sang his lordship’s praises, said he’d never met a better man.”
Marielle dabbed butter and jam on her shortbread. “Why do you refer to the colonel as his lordship?”
“I thought you and he were old friends.”
“We are.” And more than that, Marielle had hoped. “But I know only that he rose to the rank of colonel. His father was Whitbyshire gentry, and comfortable, but certainly not titled.”
“My lady, your fellow is a blooming marquess now, the Marquess of Cadeau. He inherited from some distant cousin and has come back from the Continent to find himself a proper English wife. Mr. Jones said his lordship was on his way to finalize the settlements.” Petunia glanced around, as if she feared the parlor’s plain furnishings might carry tales. “I’m sorry, milady. I’m so very sorry. Mr. Jones vowed his lordship was the most honorable of gentlemen.”
Leo was honorable, so honorable he’d even told Marielle about being on the hunt for a wife, but this revelation turned everything on its head.
Leo was theMarquess of Cadeau, the wealthy nobleman who’d been “traveling on the Continent” for years and was ready to settle down.
Merciful Cupid.What an absolute muddle.
Was Leo so honorable, he’d terminate marriage discussions with the lady in person before embarking on a courtship with Marielle? Didn’t he know to whom she’d been married? Or had he known exactly with whom he disported, and decamped at first light rather than keep his appointment in Chelsea?
“We’ll depart for London,” Marielle said, rising. “If his lordship is interested in pursuing his acquaintance with me, he can find me through my solicitors.”
Except… solicitors were always going on about privacy and discretion. Even Leo might not be given specifics, and Marielle lived quietly rather than as a society widow.
“He seemed like such a nice man,” Petunia said, draining the last of her tea.
