Harriet looked thoughtful for a moment, then added, “But he certainly was pleasing to look at, was he not?”
Marjorie laughed openly this time and gave her sister’s arm a squeeze. She still marveled at how her sister was faring with her introduction to society, and only hoped she would ever be close enough to guide her.
“Lady Harriet? Would you be a dear and play something for us?” the countess called, still oblivious to Marjorie’s feeling of shame. Harriet clung to her sister’s hand, but Marjorie nodded with encouragement.
“Go on. You are quite talented and have been practicing much. Remember, it is often the youngest lady present who is asked to do so, therefore you’ll be asked to play or sing often. Don’t fret, you will do wonderfully.”
Harriet stood up and crossed the small room to the gold filigreed harpsichord. She sat down, taking care not to wrinkle her gown, and took a deep breath. Soon, her fingers paused over the keys without touching them for only a moment before she began to play.
Around her, the room was respectfully silent, awed by her ability. After the first piece, gentle applause broke out and she was urged to continue. She played on, blissfully occupied with music instead of struggling to make polite chatter amid all of the social graces she’d yet to fully learn.
“But Lady Marjorie, we had no idea your sister could play so beautifully!” Lady Dalton said, leaning closer so she could whisper. “This is but a rare talent!”
“Thank you, that is most kind,” Marjorie answered, beaming for Harriet’s sake.
“Yes, in all seriousness, has she considered pursuing her music? Perhaps studying on the continent?” the woman pressed, and Marjorie looked over at Harriet, somewhat taken aback. Her sister? Study professionally? It had never crossed her mind as young ladies rarely took advantage of such opportunities. But then again, she was accustomed to Harriet’s playing and therefore never thought to presume she was a rare breed of performer. After all, the girl sat at the keys nearly night and day, any moment she could spare.
When it was time to depart at last, Marjorie and Harriet waited for their father near the foyer. They were dismayed to find the condition he was in when he finally emerged from the far room. His speech was vaguely slurred from brandy and his steps were none too sure, but worse was the sour look on his face.
“Whatever is the matter, Father?” Harriet tried to ask, but he waved her off angrily. Marjorie linked the girl’s arm through her elbow and pulled her closer, shaking her head to warn her off any further questions.
Behind her, she heard the worst, the laughter of another rowdy guest who proceeded to call out, “Oh, chin up, Mortham! You’ll win it all back next time, to be sure!” The other man laughed boisterously, leaving Marjorie’s blood running cold. Her father had lost at cardsagain? And apparently it had been a large enough sum that he was angered while others ridiculed him for it.
“Come along,” he growled quietly to Marjorie, leaving her to follow him out the door as some of the other men’s laughter still rang in her ears and caused her cheeks to burn.
The ride home was even colder and more silent than on the way there. She’d wanted to praise Harriet for her playing and tell her how well she’d fared in polite company but dared not give her father cause to speak to them. After all, he hadn’t said a word to her about insulting the earl. Surely, he’d seen and heard it? Perhaps he had just enough drink in him to give him cause to forget about the earlier event.
“I bid you goodnight, sister,” Harriet said wearily when they reached the staircase at home. “I’m more tired than I can ever remember being.”
“Are you sure that’s all?” Marjorie asked with a worried tone, pressing her hand to Harriet’s forehead. “You’re not feeling ill, are you?”
“Oh no, quite the contrary. This evening was most enjoyable. But I think I’ve overdone it. I fretted so much throughout the week, fearful that I might make a fool of myself, so that now that it’s over, I can’t quite describe how I feel!”
Marjorie smiled and put her arm around her sister’s shoulder. “I assure you, there will come a day when all of these ‘rules’ for noble society come as naturally as… well, as playing your music! Like all things, it only takes practice and then it becomes a part of your normal composure. But do go to bed, get some rest. By tomorrow, you won’t even be thinking on this anymore.”
They bade each other goodnight, and briefly Marjorie wondered if she should check on her father. He hadn’t come inside when the driver had stopped at the front of the house. She decided to leave him to the privacy of his latest misery, as there would be no sense in talking to him now.
Upstairs in her room, Marjorie closed the door behind her and crossed the spacious room to her dressing table. There in the corner, she spied the pile of man’s clothing she’d worn earlier.My word, had that only been yesterday?she thought with some unsettled feeling. Marjorie gave herself the tiniest moment of reprieve to reminisce about the horse race. The fear of it, the thrill of a strange new experience had almost been enough to satisfy her sense of adventure.
But no, the victory… that had been the best moment of her life so far. She could scarcely think of any other experience in her twenty years that came close to comparing.
What I wouldn’t give to be able to do that again, for real this time and as myself, she mused. But there was no way. She remembered how there hadn’t even been any ladies present to watch the races, let alone ride in them.
But what had the Earl said tonight? He was terribly understaffed in his stables? Perhaps there was a way for Marjorie to earn her own living while using her vast experience and knowledge of horses. She’d never get away with racing, but what if she could find suitable employment as stable hand?
“No, that will never do,” she muttered aloud as she undressed. “I could never work for such an insufferable man as the Earl. Anyone with such coarse manners—when he, in fact, was the one late for dinner!—is perhaps quite the brute when it comes to his horses. And I could never work for such a man as that.”
Just as Marjorie had all but put the idea out of her head, a new thought came to her: why did it have to be the Earl? Surely there were many other fine stables in the area, ones who could benefit from a young “lad” with proper knowledge and surety around horses. She might not have any references, though—
“Oh, but I do!” Marjorie said to her reflection in the glass, grinning broadly while grabbing her long black hair and piling it up as though to put it under a cap. “I come with a letter of reference from none other than Miss Marjorie Acton, daughter of the Marquess of Mortham and betrothed to the Duke of Fenworth! It shall be written in her hand and signed with her seal, even!”
Marjorie jumped up and reached for the pile of clothes, giving each piece a good shake and hanging it where it would lose any wrinkle. Then she sat at her desk and wrote out a letter of reference for a young man named—what was that name she’d given rashly at the race?—Jonathan, a letter that praised not only his knowledge and ability, but his courtesy and punctuality as well. She signed it and put her seal at the bottom, then folded up the letter, held it tightly to her chest for a moment, and tucked it in the pocket of the vest she’d worn.
“Tomorrow is the day that my fate changes,” she whispered in the darkness once she’d climbed into bed. “I know not that I can avoid an unfortunate, ill-wished marriage, but I can certainly try!”
Chapter 9
Charles Acton, the Marquess of Mortham, rose early the next morning. He washed and dressed as quietly as he could, stole down to the kitchens to help himself to a bite to eat, then hurried out the door before anyone was the wiser. His efforts to sneak off before any of the household was awake were successful, but as he rode his horse away from the front gate, he was also pestered by a disturbing thought.