Scarlet to her ear-tips, Marissa swept out of the room towards her bedchamber, followed by Aunt Augusta and the doctor. Her head high, she dared not look at anyone else, but she was acutely aware of Marcus Southwood as he rose when she passed him.
Then all thoughts of anyone else left her as she sat in her room, whispering answers to Dr Robertson’s tactful questions. But her mind was only partly with him. It was in this very chamber only a week ago she had had to tell her lord that once again she had failed in her duty and that she was not carrying his heir.
He had never used words to reproach her, but his disappointment had sent him out to ride furiously across the frozen parkland where small drifts of snow still lingered. It was one of those which had concealed the rabbit hole that had tripped his horse, pitching the Earl head-first onto the iron-hard ground to break his neck in an instant.
Marissa knew it was her failure as a wife, her lack of duty to her lord, that had killed him. Her eyes filled with tears at the thought and Aunt Augusta held up her hand to stop the flow of questions from the doctor. ‘Enough. Surely you are satisfied with what the Countess has told you?’
‘Indeed, I am.’ The doctor leaned across and patted her clasped hands in an avuncular fashion. ‘You have been very brave and very frank, my dear lady, and in doing so have been a great help to those administering the late Earl’s estate. But it is a melancholy thought that the direct line must cease.’ He broke off abruptly and Marissa thought she saw Aunt Augusta gave him a sharp kick on the ankle.
Dry-eyed, with her head held high, Marissa resumed her seat in the library and the gentlemen went back to their positions. The doctor had a rapid, whispered conversation with the lawyer who nodded and took up his papers once more.
‘I am in a position to tell you, ladies and gentlemen, that the title, honours and estates of the third Earl of Longminster pass immediately to his heir, the fourth Earl, Marcus St Laurence Southwood of Jamaica, who by great good fortune is with us today. My lord.’ He stood up and bowed to the blond stranger, who acknowledged the salute with equal gravity.
She had failed in her duty and the title and all that went with it was passing to the son of a man estranged from the family. She should be mortified. But Marissa was conscious of nothing more than a vast sense of relief. Now she could relinquish this great house, this mausoleum which so chilled her soul and deadened her spirits, and move to the Dower House. It would be someone else’s responsibility to manage the impeccable running of the Palladian splendour which her husband had created. She wondered how swiftly such a move could be effected. Soon, please, make it soon.
Marcus watched the brief play of emotions over the pale face, unable to interpret the Countess’s expression. Surely it had not been relief? No. it must have simply been thankfulness that this ordeal of the will-reading was finally at an end. He was acutely aware that his own presence, his very appearance, must be a painful reminder to her of her loss. But he was trapped here now. He could not leave, return to the West Indies, not yet. Now he was responsible for this huge estate and all its people, including her.
It hit him then, what this meant. An hour ago he had been plain Mr Southwood, master of his own business, in control of a life he had created and loved. He had come here out of a sense of duty, an awareness that it was wrong to allow old disputes to poison family relationships from one generation to another. And now his life would be utterly changed.
Whiting announced luncheon. Marcus held back to allow the Countess and her supporters to precede him to the dining room where the great table was laid out with the funeral meats, but she turned and waited for him.
‘Mr... My lord...’
He realised she was expecting him to take her arm and lead her in. Once again he marvelled at the strength of will and composure in one so young. Her hand, resting on his sleeve, was taut with tension; he felt she was like a violin string, stretched almost to the point of breaking.
The place at the head of the table was laid, but the chair was draped in black and Marcus led Marissa to the foot of the long board, taking the seat to her right.
The chaplain said grace and the party settled with a collective sigh. Gradually the volume of conversation rose as everyone relaxed and tongues were loosed by fine wine.
What the devil does one talk about under these circumstances? Marcus helped the widow to roast beef. Back home in Jamaica even a funeral meal was more relaxed, more informal and emotional. There was something about the heat and the sunshine, the vibrancy of colour, the closeness of nature – a dangerous nature – that would make this sort of rigid formality impossible.
And what a brutal way to treat a grieving young woman, to expect her to maintain a rigid composure surrounded by this sombre flock of dark-coated old men. He shivered slightly and instantly she was all attention, the perfect hostess.
‘My lord, you are cold. Whiting, more logs on the fire. This country must seem very chill after th
e heat of the West Indies.’
‘Indeed, yes, ma’am. My sister declares she will never feel warm again, but now I have been back in England for almost a week I find I am becoming accustomed.’
She cut a minuscule portion of beef and raised it to her lips. Was she actually eating at all? After a moment she said, ‘You have a sister, my lord? I am afraid I know nothing of your family. Are there others still in Jamaica?’
‘No, ma’am, only Nicole and myself. I intended bringing her to London next year to do the Season, when she is seventeen, but she plagued me to bring her on this trip so she could see the sights and buy some London fashions. I could not resist her, I’m afraid.’
He knew he was smiling indulgently and saw her own lips curve slightly in response. ‘How wonderful to have a loving brother like that,’ she said. ‘You are very fond of your sister, my lord, I can tell.’
Marcus, surprised by the longing in her tone, glanced at her quickly, but the smile, if he had not imagined it, had gone. ‘She is the bane of my existence,’ he said lightly. ‘I have spoilt her to death and now I must pay the price. When you meet my sister you will be in no doubt that we had a French mother.’
‘I hope to meet her very soon. You will be sending to London for her?’
‘I must think what to do. All this has come as a great shock to me and I am entirely unprepared. I visit London every few years on business, and that was my purpose on this occasion.
‘Now I will have to return to Jamaica to place my affairs there fully in the hands of my agent. I will have to meet with your – ’ he caught himself, ‘ – the estate manager here, and with Mr Hope, so that I can be confident that all will be well in my absence.’
There was a long pause. The new Earl twisted the wine glass between long brown fingers. Marissa found she could not take her eyes off his hand, nor forget the warmth of his touch through the silk of her gown. What would it be like to be held in his arms again? She caught her errant thoughts with an inward gasp of shame. How could she entertain such longings? It was wrong. And in any case it was a delusion that comfort lay in the arms of a man.
‘Lady Longminster, when you feel able, I must speak with you about your wishes. Needless to say I would not want you to feel you must make any change in your arrangements. This is your home and you must stay in it as long as you desire.’
Marissa looked him straight in the eye and said with utter conviction, ‘My lord, I have lived here for only two years. It is the Southwood family seat but it has never been my home. My cousin Miss Venables will be joining me soon from Cumbria. When she arrives I will move to the Dower House.’