audacity to be beautiful could not escape notice or censure. She was a creature who defied the natural laws of society.
He’d been out in society long enough to know he shouldn’t be surprised by the stir she caused. La Marchesa had an incomparable elegance and maintained a freshness about her that made a man want to stare, want to imagine tracing his finger along the delicate line of her jaw, across the pink of those lips, down the slim column of her neck to the discreet décolletage of her lavender gown. She certainly didn’t dress like the demi-monde. Her gown today was all that was proper, as was everything about her: her posture, her tasteful, quiet jewellery. Without the whispers, she might have been any gentleman’s wife.
How many other gentlemen were sitting here nursing the same idea? Could she be theirs? Conall’s own speculations stirred to life. He gave a deprecating chuckle at the direction of his thoughts. He was lowering himself to society’s level with such base thoughts. Why did the presence or absence of a man at a woman’s side define her? It was a thought worthy of his sister, Cecilia, who believed herself to be a grand proponent of liberated womanhood.
La Marchesa lifted a hand to play with the pearl necklace that lay at the base of her throat, the only sign that she was uncomfortable in her surroundings, or that she might possibly be privy to the things whispered about her.
Hargreaves tilted his head in frank appraisal. ‘She’s a beauty and now, with her European seasoning, she’ll bring a delicious je ne sais quoi to a sophisticated man’s bed.’ The last did it. Conall rose. He would not sit there and be party to sordid gossip about a woman who had no opportunity to defend herself against rumours, deserved or not. A woman, without a man to defend her, had no recourse and this was the result. She made herself an easy target for society’s sharp arrows.
‘Where are you going, Taunton?’ Hargreaves looked aggrieved at his departure, then caught the trajectory of his gaze. ‘Oh, you think to try your luck?’ He chuckled knowingly. ‘Be careful. Wenderly isn’t the first to fail. I hear she’s a man-eater, like one of those flowers that lure insects and then shuts its petals around its victim. Not that I’d mind having those petals wrapped around me and squeezing hard, if you know what I mean.’
Conall swallowed, his words terse. ‘I do know exactly what you mean. If you’ll excuse me?’ He made his way back up the aisle and slid into the empty space beside her, just as the doors of St George’s opened and the bride sailed forth on her father’s arm, white, pure and unsullied, drawing attention away from the Marchesa.
‘What are you doing?’ La Marchesa whispered as the crowd surged to their feet in a loud rustle of clothing.
Conall smiled. ‘Weddings are best enjoyed with a friend and you seemed in need of one.’
‘Thank you, but for the record, I was perfectly fine on my own.’ She smiled back, the briefest of expressions. ‘I hope you don’t regret it. Rumour has it I’m a dangerous woman to know.’ Then in quiet undertones, she added, ‘Don’t think for a moment this will help you get your money. You can’t flatter or flirt your way into my finances.’
Conall kept his gaze straight ahead, politely fixed on the bride’s progression. ‘It never crossed my mind.’ It truly hadn’t. He’d looked to the back and seen the determined expression in her eyes. That had been enough. She was a warrior among foes here. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, and didn’t want to fathom, he hadn’t wanted her to be alone. For all the strength and sharpness she’d exhibited, there was vulnerability in her, too.
Perhaps it was his fascination with that vulnerability, with her mystery, that had prodded him to the back. Perhaps it was sheer chivalry that demanded he stand up for the Treshams, who’d taken her in, or maybe it was simply because he knew what it was like to be alone in a room full of people. There’d been numerous occasions after his father had died when people hadn’t known what to say, or how to say it, so they’d said nothing, but gone about their conversations with others, talking about him, not to him, just as they were doing to her today. No one acknowledged the Marchesa directly. Even in the crowded church, the spot beside her had remained pointedly empty. But everyone knew she was here and everyone had decided it was best to treat her as if she were invisible or inanimate, a thing that couldn’t be hurt by their darts. All except for him.
Sofia worried the hem of her handkerchief with fingers hidden in the folds of her skirts. She’d be damned if she’d let anyone see how the wedding discomfited her. She’d provided them enough sport for the day simply by being there—something she was regretting in hindsight. It was true: weddings always made you remember your own. Her own was something Sofia would rather forget. As a result, she did not enjoy the marital celebration. Specifically, she did not enjoy the way it made her feel.
The bride passed, radiant and innocent in white, and Sofia’s stomach clenched. She’d been radiant and innocent once. Her own wedding had been much like this: pews filled with people, flowers and ribbon festooning the aisles and the candelabra, a dress with yards of satin and lace, and a blushing bride beneath the sheer tulle of her veil. She’d been as eager as this girl for the adventure of marriage.
The adventure had not gone well. It should have, and that it hadn’t had been a surprise. Her husband was handsome, wealthy, well-travelled and titled. He lived in a grand villa in Piedmont, had expansive apartments in Turin, the capital of the Piedmont kingdom, a lodge in the Dolomites, a summer palace, and had showered his bride with enough jewels to turn a young girl’s head. He spent his summers at the villa on Sardinia, his winters gambling in Nice or in Venice amid the festival of Carnevale. For a girl fresh out of finishing school, it had been a fairy-tale come to life. She should have looked closer. She should have refused. Her parents should have refused. They should have known better when she did not. They had of course known, that was the rub. They simply hadn’t cared. They’d needed the money badly enough to forgo looking beneath the Marchese’s glamour.
She was wiser now. When something looked too good to be true, it probably was. Even this attractive man, who stood next to her thinking his station beside her would put a stop to wagging tongues, was likely riddled with secrets. How like a man to believe his presence was all that was required to make a woman decent. Did he ever stop to think his presence might have made things worse?
She’d hoped to be inconspicuous today with a veil of her own lending anonymity, but it had done just the opposite. Neither had her bid for discretion been helped along by the man beside her. It was hard to hide when one was seated by the handsomest man in the room. Every woman’s eyes in the church had followed his progress back up the aisle to the empty seat beside her and the whispers had started again.
Sofia slid Taunton a covert look. Did he realise his efforts had only made her more obvious? Had only intensified the talk about her? His gesture had likely only served to link him to the chain of sordid speculations made about her. She’d bet the contents of her reticule the guests behind them were thinking he’d come to try his luck in winning her intimate attentions much as Wenderly had. Maybe he had. Perhaps he thought his looks would stand him in better stead than Wenderly. Perhaps he even thought to woo the money out of her.
His efforts might have worked on another woman. As for her, she had no intentions of making the same mistake twice. A man needed more to recommend himself than his good looks. If that was behind his reasoning in coming to her side, he would be disappointed in the results. She wouldn’t thank Cowden for it, if he turned out to be the same as other men. She employed the guise of Barnham for precisely that sort of protection when it came to business dealings and she’d trusted Cowden to vet this family friend of his before revealing her situation.
The bride reached the front of the church and everyone took their seats. The service began and Sofia pushed away the rituals
