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WILL CHANGED COURSE to intercept Marisa and her groom as soon as they crested the hill near the road to the village. He barely recognized the lovely girl who now graced the spirited mare. Indeed, she’d become a young lady, and one with an arresting presence that his sister, Lyvia, though not even a year less in age, did not yet possess.
A vigorous life, much of which had been led out-of-doors, had made Marisa’s skin clear and smooth with an attractive glow to cheekbones that were just high enough to give her face distinction. Fairly blessed with delicate features and green eyes fringed with dark lashes, she radiated a vitality he found both pleasant and stimulating.
Why have I never noticed that her lips are such a tempting shade of rose red?
“Good morning, Will!” She tugged on Venilia’s reins, restraining the skittish horse that danced sideways as Neptune thundered near. “I see you couldn’t resist riding out on such a fine day, either.”
“I go to Dorchester on business. I hope your reasons for venturing from home are not as dull as mine.”
Marisa laughed, and Will experienced a sudden vision of her in town, being courted by a long line of eligible suitors, each one in search of a well-to-do and willing young wife.
A wife who will reserve her laughter just for him.
“I ride to escape my mother and the confines of the manor. I could not endure one more dress fitting if the very existence of England depended upon it.”
He forced the unexpected and disturbing image of her enjoying the company of other gentlemen from his mind. “Oh, but it does, my dear. For the men who serve England never forget that our young ladies with all their finery await to give them a proper reward upon their return from battle.”
To her credit, she blushed not at all at his frank words. “What reward besides our heartfelt gratitude would that be, pray tell?”
“Ah, Marisa, you’re a young lady now. Surely your mama has explained such things to you?”
Her eyes widened then, no doubt at his impudence. Her cheeks pinkened a bit, but she pressed on as if reluctant to forfeit the game. “My mother has schooled me in a great many subjects, Will. I shall have to wait until the Season begins, though, to see if I am up to the challenge of treating a gentleman as he wishes to be treated.”
He drew in a sharp breath. When and how had the girl he’d always regarded as another little sister become such an outrageous flirt? He leaned forward a bit in the saddle, so that her groom would not hear his next words.
“Please be careful when you undertake that test, my dear. Suffice it to say, that some of the gentlemen you shall meet in London have no interest in being ‘gentlemen’ at all.”
* * * *
WILL TIPPED HIS HAT and rode off toward town a few moments later, leaving Marisa to puzzle about his odd behaviour as she made her way back to the Manor. He’d often teased her and Lyvia both when they were children, but today his words took a much different tone.
Did he mean to flirt with me?
She saw Veni safely back to the stables and fed her a carrot as a special treat, then reminded Davy to brush her down thoroughly. She often did so herself, but today she didn’t have the time.
Craethorne’s butler, Dudley, waited as she came into the front hall. He moved forward and executed a slight bow. “If convenient, Miss Marisa, Sir Gerald requests your company in the front drawing room.”
“Right now?” Marisa frowned. She’d meant to go straight to her room and think over her encounter with Will while she changed from her riding habit to a day dress for lunch.
“Yes, miss. ‘The moment she returns’ were Sir Gerald’s exact words.”
“Very well.”
Stepping into the large parlour across the hall from the library, she found her stepfather seated in the immense wing chair by the fireplace, lighting his pipe. His clothes were simple yet elegant. Streaks of silver shot through his dark hair, but his broad shoulders and tanned face belied his age of two-and-forty.
He came to his feet and motioned her to the chair opposite his. As she sat, she wondered, not for the first time, how her mother had managed to marry him.
Lady Craethorne was conscious of fashion and enjoyed nothing better than an entertaining house party or reigning at a county dance. Sir Gerald, on the other hand, was a country gentleman in the fullest sense of that distinction, rising and retiring early, always busy at the management of his lands.
How had they fared fifteen years as husband and wife? They rarely spoke to each other on anything except manor affairs. There had to be more to marriage than the business-like facade that her mother and her husband presented to the world.
Sir Gerald spoke quietly, with his usual tone of self-assurance. “Well, my dear, I gather that preparations for your Season are going well.”
“Oh, yes, wonderfully indeed. I am to have so many new clothes, and I am quite unsure how to thank you for your immense generosity with regard to my dowry.”
“Quite unnecessary. I was happy to make the investment.”
“Investment?” Marisa frowned, puzzled. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“No, of course not. How could you? That’s why I wanted to speak with you today. You, most of all, should know of my plans.”
A nagging fear began to grow inside her. Why would Sir Gerald, who’d never bothered himself with more than a polite interest in her personal affairs, have taken the time and effort to make any sort of plans for her debut?
“I’ve secured a townhouse in Berkeley Square for the Season,” he continued. “It’s not large, but there is a ballroom, and you and your mother can plan whatever entertainments you might find suitable. And you will be presented at Court, of course.”
“At Court? But I am not your blood, sir, and never thought I would have to...that is to say, I never thought I would enjoy that privilege.”
“You come to it in your own right, due to your father’s service as a naval officer. Your mother has already sent a letter of request to the Lord Chamberlain.”
“I see.” Marisa pictured the hooped skirt and train she’d be required to wear. A ripple of dread went through her at the possibility of tipping over at the moment of her introduction and falling headfirst at the Queen’s feet.
“In addition,” Sir Gerald went on, as if that were not already quite enough, “I have just today accepted invitations to dinner parties to be given by the Marquess of Dulverton and the Earl of Billinghurst. Both are old friends of mine from army days. I am given to understand that Lady Dulverton is now quite a leader of society, and although I met her only once some ten years ago, she has agreed to secure something called a ‘voucher’ so that you may attend the dances at Almack’s Assembly Rooms.”
Marisa sat stunned. The Marquess of This and the Earl of That. Presentation at Court. A Berkeley Square town house and entry to Almack’s. The idea that her stepfather moved in such circles had never occurred to her, despite the baronetcy that he’d inherited from his father. What other surprises were in store for her?
“You’ve gone a bit pale, my dear. Is there something amiss?” Sir Gerald asked.
“No, not at all,” she somehow managed to say. “I was only contemplating whether I shall have the proper...manners...for such illustrious company.”
“I have no doubt you will deal well, for you’ve always been a most sensible type of girl.” Sir Gerald drew deeply on his pipe and exhaled. “Oh, and there is one other matter, the most important, really, that I wish to mention. Dulverton’s heir to the title and the family estates, is his eldest son, Viscount Allersdale. His Christian name is Jonathan, I believe. I haven’t seen the young gentleman in almost a decade, but even then, he was an admirable young man, studying at university. He would be twenty-eight years old now, quite the proper age, I believe, for him to wed and produce a son to secure the title.”
Marisa, somewhat over her initial shock, yet fearing the worse might still be to come, measured her response. “Indeed, sir, twenty-eight is a fine time to marry. I suppose he has any number of suitable young ladies to whom he might pay his attentions.”
“Oh, I’m sure that is true—any number. But he doesn’t seem to get on with them, or so his father says to me in his letters. Young Allersdale claims that he doesn’t understand so many of the young women and they are all ‘on the catch,’ whatever that might mean. Just from my brief description of you, though, Lord and Lady Dulverton have expressed a strong desire to acquaint you with their son during our stay in London. They wish to discuss the possibility of arranging a match and uniting our two families.”