Anything but Love (The Putney Brothers Book 1) Page 16

  There was a moment of awkward silence, during which the mantle clock ticked and tocked loudly.

  Lady Putney delicately cleared her throat, making Patience jump.

  “Oh, I almost forgot to say! I thought you might like to walk about the estates with me, for it’s such a lovely day out there.”

  Marianne glanced at the window, which showed clearly that it was nothing more than a mild, somewhat overcast morning. She suspected that John had asked Patience to visit, and appreciated the sentiment.

  “It does look lovely,” she agreed. “I would very much enjoy a stroll about the grounds with you.”

  "The gardens," said Mrs Melthwaite firmly. "I know the pair of you think you are perfectly up to the snuff, but you're both so waifish a slight breeze might blow you over, and would be no match for a ruffian hell-bent on kidnapping you!"

  "I don't think I've ever been described as waifish before," said Patience with a good deal of amusement.

  Mrs Melthwaite huffed at her in response, making the large gold pendant fixed to her turban quiver from side to side. "You are when compared to a woman of my build, girl!"

  "The gardens will be lovely, Miss Swancoat," said Marianne. They had not had much opportunity to get to know each other, and even if their stroll was to be confined to the gardens, it would still be a pleasant afternoon getting to know a new friend of her own age.

  "That's not the only suggestion Patience has made," added Lady Putney. "I know how disappointed you were that we have cancelled our trip to the Assembly Rooms this week, but perhaps if we held a small dance party here, you would not feel so lonely? Our gallery can comfortably fit fifteen couples and still have chairs for people who just want to watch the gaiety."

  Marianne blinked. "Fifteen couples? On such short notice?"

  Miss Swancoat smiled. "Trust me when I say that Lady Putney's entertainments are legendary in these parts. If she says there is to be a ball this very evening, I can guarantee that every family in the neighbourhood would cancel their existing plans and be here a full minute before expected."

  "It is much the same in London," replied Marianne

  Lady Putney shook her head. "Not as much as you think, my dear. In London, the Ton deem to patronize my parties because I am a generous hostess, but they tolerate Sir Joseph and I due to our wealth, not out of acceptance. In Montgomeryshire, people come because they are our friends."

  Marianne heard the tinge of bitterness to the words, and crossed the room before she knew what she was doing. She dropped to her knees before Lady Putney, and took the woman's hands into her own.

  "Then I thank you for encouraging your friends to accept me into your circle, Lady Putney, and I promise you from the bottom of my heart that although I am not descended from any nobles or peers, I have always accepted any and all invitations from this family because you are the kindest, most generous people that I know, and it's an honour to be noticed by you."

  Lady Putney's expression softened. She reached out to put a hand on Marianne's cheek. "Dear, dear child! Oh, what I would give to have you as my daughter!"

  The words surprised them both, and Marianne got to her feet as quickly as was reasonably possible without causing offence.

  "It just occurred to me that Sir Joseph set off to London not an hour ago; and said he would be gone for two nights at least," she said.

  "My husband will likely return home hours before you are expecting him, for he does not like to be parted from his family for long," Lady Putney replied.

  "I hope you're not implying that Hester would require Joseph's permission to host a small ball," said Mrs Melthwaite sharply.

  Marianne looked over at her Godmama, schooling her expression into one of polite outrage. "I believe she would rather stab him with a pin than ask permission to do any such thing. I merely thought he would require notice to ensure he was suitably attired for the occasion."

  Both her Godmama and Lady Putney let out a peal of laughter, and even Miss Swancoat had a small chuckle.

  "You've taught her well, Eustacia," said her hostess. "It is agreed, then! Now, we two old women shall set about planning the small gathering for the end of the week, while the two of you go for a turn about the garden. Marianne, remember to put on a bonnet and at least a shawl across your shoulders, for I cannot have you catching a cold just before a party."

  "Don't you need our help to write the invitations and sort out seating plans?" she asked, feeling guilty at the idea of people once again putting themselves out on her behalf.

  Godmama made a rude noise. "We're perfectly capable of putting together such a tiny event on short notice, my dear. Now shoo, the both of you! Miss Swancoat has walked all the way here just to spend some time with you, and you should be grateful for the opportunity to speak with someone sensible, instead of being lumbered with Harry!"

  "Of course," she replied, half of her wanting to laugh, the other half feeling yet more guilt pile upon her heart.

  It took only a moment to swap into her jean boots, throw on a simple straw capote trimmed with cream ribbon, and a plain cream shawl to wrap about her shoulders. With Miss Swancoat at her side, they made their way from the house and out towards the rose gardens, where the wide paths and beautifully maintained flower beds provided the perfect spot of a slow amble.

  "Am I right to assume that not all of these men are gardeners?" said Miss Swancoat in a conspiratorial whisper.

  Marianne grimaced. "No, but I believe many are local men who could be spared from the fields and foundries for the sole purpose of ensuring I am not abducted,"

  "That must feel awfully restrictive for you, after everything that's happened," said her companion with real sympathy.

  For some reason, it only made Marianne feel worse about her bad temper.

  "I am upset that the Putneys are once again putting themselves out on my behalf," she sighed. "They are such good people that I cannot help but feel as though I am taking advantage of them. Sometimes I wish I had never written to Charles for help."

  "I thought you wrote to your Godmama," said Miss Swancoat, her head cocked to one side.

  Marianne silently cursed her tongue for the slip-up. She turned to face her companion, grabbing the girl’s hands in her own and fixing a beseeching stare upon her.

  "You must promise me faithfully that you will tell no one the truth," she said, "and in return I will tell you what happened, and how I came to be in Montgomeryshire."

  Miss Swancoat returned the intense gaze. "This is to do with the kidnapping attempt, isn't it? It wasn't just because you are a great heiress; it's to do with that cousin of yours."

  "Promise me," repeated Marianne. "My reputation would likely be ruined if the truth were known."

  "I promise, and you can ask John to vouch for me if you wish," said Miss Swancoat. "And please, call me Patience. If we are to share secrets, then we should be on first name terms, don't you think?"

  "Only if you call me Marianne," she responded as she threaded her arm through that of her new friend, and began to talk.

  It took longer than she expected, and she revealed far more than she had intended to do. Patience, it turned out, was an exceptionally good listener, knew just what to say to make one feel better, or how to tease out more information without causing discomfort. It actually felt good to unburden herself - so much so that without realising it, she strayed onto the topic of Charlie, and how her heart was being unreasonable.

  "It's not that I don't think he's a wonderful man - quite the opposite," she said in a desperate attempt to reassure Patience that she was aware of what she owed the Putney family. "He is everything a woman could wish for in a husband, and then both handsome and wealthy, too, which cannot be discounted even though it's awful to say so out loud."

  "I don't think it’s awful," said Patience with a thoughtful tone. "I know better than most how hard it is to struggle with money, and my failure to find a way to get Ursula a governess, or at least a place at a school, is all down to a lack of wea
lth. Money is the difference between hardship and comfort, but as we ladies have so few ways of securing an income of our own, it has to be considered when choosing a husband."

  "I suppose I'm lucky that I could afford to marry a worthy man, even if he were poor," said Marianne, "but the problem is that none of them measure up to Charlie. I find them all wanting when I compare them to him."

  "Then why not just pick Charles?" said Patience with a quizzical look. "If he embodies your ideal in a husband, I see no reason why you should not marry him."

  "Because he thinks of me as a sister, and he only suggested courtship because of this ridiculous situation with my cousin,” she replied, but her friend obviously disagreed.

  “There’s no need at all to marry you now it’s been established that Mrs Melthwaite is your Godmama, and as for worrying a lack of marriage would reflect badly on Charles, well most the unmarried girls in the county and their mothers would heave a sigh of relief that you were gone! If he’s suggesting marriage I think you should take him at his word.”

  “Then why did he never ask me before, or speak to Gordon during my first Season?” Marianne demanded. “He’s fond of me, I know that, but the last thing I want is to marry out of duty, or circumstance, and Patience, I would rather die than marry a man who did not wish me to be his wife! I thought... before that horrid man tried to kidnap me, I thought that perhaps he had some feelings toward me that went beyond duty to my brother, but now he's become draconian in his bids to keep me safe, thinking of nothing but when Gordon returns. I have no doubt that he'll ask me to marry him on my birthday if Amherst's expedition has not returned, and how do I say no after all he’s done for me?"

  "But you do want to marry him, correct?" said Patience. "You love him?"

  The question, delivered in such a gentle, pragmatic tone, threw her completely. She walked several steps in complete silence, her jaw hanging open as she struggled to find a way to respond.

  Patience, however, just chuckled, and gave Marianne's arm a comforting squeeze.

  "Don't worry, I won't make you say it out loud! Your hesitation is answer enough."

  "Not out of duty," she said, angry at the tears that started to well in the corners of her eyes. "I could not stand the knowledge that he was marrying me out of some kind of obligation!"

  The amusement vanished from Patience's face, replaced with a forlorn look that made her look both tired and vulnerable. "I understand that completely, Marianne, and I do not blame you for it in the least."

  "John?" she asked softly.

  Patience gave Marianne's arm a light squeeze.

  "An obligation and a promise to my dead brother," she replied quietly.

  "Men can be very stupid," sighed Marianne.

  "Extremely,” agreed Patience, before giving her head a little shake. "Come, we have talked enough of them to last me a week, and I suspect you are more than done with thinking about your ordeal. We should tell each other the more interesting things about ourselves, don't you think?"

  "I would like that very much," replied Marianne with perfect sincerity.

  "I can go first, if you like," said Patience, pausing only until Marianne nodded in agreement. "I don't get much time to indulge any more, but I dearly love to paint. Not just watercolours, either, but with oils. I used to dream about being able to display my work at the National Exhibition, but I need to dedicate a few years to mastering my techniques."

  "I would love to see some of your works," said Marianne. "Do you prefer portraits, or landscapes?"

  "Animals!" laughed Patience. "And I do still draw as much as I can manage. Paper is so expensive that I try not to waste any, but Sir Joseph and Lady Putney gave me an entire ream of sketching paper last Christmas, claiming it was the wrong shade of cream for their correspondence."

  "That sounds like the type of excuse they would make just so they could do something generous," replied Marianne.

  "I drew a series of portraits of their horses as a thank you, including Gwynhyfer."

  Marianne raise her eyebrows as she remembered the framed drawings proudly displayed in the front parlour of Putney Manor.

  "You don't mean the sketches in the silver frames, do you? Patience, they are such beautiful things - you are far more talented than you let yourself believe! I was only telling Godmama the other day that they were excellently done."

  Her new friend went a pretty shade of pink at the compliment. "Thank you! Do you draw?"

  “I enjoy sketching and painting, of course, and I'm a tolerable but uninspired hand with watercolour," she replied cheerfully, “but it was only in the last year that I discovered my real love: embroidery."

  "Really?"

  "Yes, and what's more is that I'm good at it, too! I find it so much easier to recreate the pictures I see with my mind if I am working with thread than I ever did with charcoal or paint. Perhaps it's because the colours stay where I put them."

  "I'd love to see some of your work," said Patience.

  "Cuthbert took or destroyed most of it," she said with a careless shrug, "But I am working on a handkerchief that I can show you when it's completed."

  "A monogram? Flowers?" asked Patience.

  "A snake with large fangs," replied Marianne, grinning at the surprise in her friend's face. "I know, I know - I sew very odd things indeed, but it was a small way for me to rebel at first, and now I quite enjoy my eccentricity. Besides, I do my best embroidery when I am very angry, so I am never in the mood to create pretty flowers and fruit."

  "I am so very glad you came to stay in Montgomeryshire, and hope we are to be on the best of terms," declared Patience. "I have not met anyone quite like you, Marianne, and if Charles cannot see it, then he's a fool. Oh, did I ever mention that I like working in the still room? I have the most wonderful recipe for a soothing tea that everyone in the district swears by if they have a putrid cough or sore throat."

  They continued in this way for the next half hour, sharing interests and giggling like schoolgirls for most of their walk. Even if Marianne was not quite able to forget the presence of the men stationed about the garden for her protection, for the first time since Gordon left for China she truly felt like she had a friend.

  Chapter NINE

  Lady Putney held true to her word, and somehow managed to gather three families for a small card party the evening after Sir Joseph left, made up mainly of young people and their parents. Whether it was out of concern for her sons or for Marianne, Aldburn and Theodosia did not make the list.

  "It's a pity when you think about it, for I'd suggested to Mr Aldburn that he share his dislike of the abolitionists with Godmama," Marianne had confided in Charles.

  "My dear girl, were you trying to reduce him to a quivering wreck?" he'd replied, completely enchanted by the mischievous grin she'd shot at him.

  "Perhaps I did want to see her explain why he's so wrong about everything," she said, "but only because he deserves it."

  Charles had been surprised by the uncommonly good mood she'd been in that evening, which was so against what he'd expected that at first he'd been relieved. As the evening had worn on, however, he noticed her eyes were too bright, her smile too static, and her laughter just a touch too high pitched to be natural.

  "Is she pretending, Aunt Eustacia?" he'd whispered to the older woman at his first opportunity. She was partway through a game of Silver Loo, and her hand was far from the best that he'd seen.

  "Don't be such a dolt, Charles. Of course she's forcing it. The girl is determined not to be a burden on us."

  "She's not a burden," he said, glancing over to the table where she was playing piquet with Mr Trow. "It's us who are making life hard for her, not the other way around."

  "I didn't say she was happy about being cooped up at the Manor," said Aunt Eustacia before playing her card, "but she knows we are doing it to help rather than hurt her."

  "I wish I knew what to do to make this easier," sighed Charles, then yelped as Eustacia reached over to slap him on the
fingers.

  "You could make my life infinitely easier by going away and letting me concentrate. Young John here has already taken half my tokens, and I am determined to win them back."

  His brother grinned at him from the other side of the table, but Charles took the hint and left them to their game. Like the others who had opted against playing, he wandered from group to group, giving advice when called upon, and laughing jovially at every unexpected outcome.

  His mind, and his eyes, however, kept wandering over to Marianne.

  She'd been in the gardens with Patience when he'd arrived back at the Manor that day, and it felt as though she'd gone out of her way to avoid him ever since. Her anger was understandable, even expected, but he had not been prepared for his own reaction. He could not stand the thought of her thinking ill of him, and desperately wanted to beg for her forgiveness.

  It was not a sensation he had ever experienced before, and he was finding it disconcerting to say the least.

  It was not until the platters of refreshments were brought through by the servants that he had a chance to speak with her.

  She looked ethereal in the candlelight, the spangled overdress glittering as she moved. Her short hair was styled with a kind in unkempt elegance that the ladies of the Ton would give all their wealth to achieve, while the coral bead necklace, most likely lent to her by his mother, added just the right amount of colour to stop her appearing insipid. She looked up as he approached her, seeming almost nervous about taking with him.

  Which was better than angry, he supposed.

  "Hello Charlie," she said quietly. She'd been speaking with his brother, who didn't even excuse himself before wandering away to leave them alone together. Or at least, as alone as it was possible to be in a room full of people.

  "Hello, Marianne," he said in response. They both stared at the floor as they struggled to think to say.

  "I'm sorry that I haven't given you the freedom I promised," he said.

  "I'm sorry that I've been ungrateful when you are only protecting me," she said at exactly the same moment.