knew that, mentally bracing himself for finding the immaculate, warm home of his memory dusty and unloved. Winslow had said something about continuing his father’s arrangements for its upkeep, but that was not the same as it being lived in by a family. What would his mother have felt if she knew she would be succeeded by the daughter of the very man who had ruined their lives and left her a widow?
He hoped that he would have had her blessing in recovering Knightshaye, even in such a manner, but he had to force a lightness into his voice as he replied to a question from that man’s wife. And yet, although he doubted she knew it, Lady Winslow was another victim of her husband’s arrogance and cold-blooded selfishness.
She was certainly in her son’s confidence over his scheme for Marina. Her expression as it rested on Justin was benevolent and satisfied. As well it might be, he thought with a flash of resentment. Without arrogance he knew quite well he was a considerable matrimonial prize for the daughter of a baron; there had been enough encounters with matchmaking mamas to convince him of his worth.
But not such a big a prize as all that, he reminded himself grimly as he passed a dish of minted peas to his hostess. Not such a prize as would hold a woman once she had seen she could land an even more prestigious catch. It was as well for his pride that no engagement had been announced, although, from what Winslow had said, it seemed rumours had got around about his relationship with Serena Henslow, now the Marchioness of Andover.
‘And have you any family in town?’ Lady Winslow was asking, making a good show of not knowing his family history inside out.
‘No, ma’am, none in town and few at all except for some distant cousins in Scotland and a great-uncle in Cornwall.’
‘How sad,’ she said sympathetically. ‘All the more reason for settling down soon and starting your nursery.’ Her vague smile settled on her daughter and lingered just as Marina turned her head to look at them.
What are they staring at me for? Marina glanced down, convinced that her bodice must be gaping or that she had spilled butter sauce on the silk. A rapid glance assured her that everything was as it should be. But now Mama was regarding her with a fond smile and Lord Mortenhoe was positively...no, not blushing, he was far too assured for that. But his colour was certainly up and that spark of controlled anger was back in his eyes.
There was a stir as the footmen brought in the next course and Marina turned her attention to what they were doing. By the time she had nodded approval to Bunting and turned back again, her mother was conversing with Mr Philpott, and Lord Mortenhoe was patiently waiting to offer her a dish of asparagus.
‘Thank you.’ She took some spears, then, without allowing herself to consider too carefully what she was saying, asked, ‘Did something in the conversation just now anger you, my lord?’
‘Did I appear angry? I beg your pardon, Miss Winslow.’ His eyes were a calm hazel now and the flash of green was gone.
‘No, not angry,’ she corrected herself, struggling to find the right words. ‘You had your...dangerous look. Your eyes turn green then—did you know?’
One dark brow rose slowly and Marina felt colour staining her cheeks. ‘Forgive me, my lord, that was an impertinent observation.’
‘Not at all, merely perceptive. I apologise if I appeared dangerous. Lady Winslow had made a perfectly innocent remark that happened to touch a nerve, that was all. My momentary irritation was with myself for my own weakness.’
‘What...?’ Marina shut her mouth with a snap. She had been within a whisker of asking what the sensitive subject was. Whatever has come over me? she thought frantically. It was this man, that was the trouble. She looked at him and felt an immediate affiliation, a sense that she could tell him anything, ask anything, rely on him.
‘What did she say? That was what you were about to ask me, was it not?’ He ignored Marina’s flustered murmur of denial. ‘Lady Winslow referred to the fact that I am unmarried and implied that perhaps I should be seeking to remedy that.’
‘Ah.’ He did not seem annoyed now, but she could quite understand that he might well be. How on earth to turn the subject?
‘She is quite right, of course,’ he said calmly, slicing through an asparagus spear.
‘Oh.’ Marina gave herself a little shake; she really could not sit here uttering monosyllables like a dummy. If his lordship wished to confide in her, then so be it. ‘Perhaps there is a lady with whom you have an understanding?’
She watched his profile and saw the black lashes sweep down, momentarily hiding the betraying eyes. When he looked at her, the hazel gaze was clear and friendly. ‘I believe I am far from understanding women, let alone reaching an understanding with one.’
He had turned her question very neatly and she experienced a sense of relief that she could step on to safer ground. ‘We are not so difficult to fathom, my lord.’
‘You smile, Miss Winslow, you are obviously mocking me.’
It was he who was mocking her, she was certain. ‘No, I would not dream of it. Everyone is different, of course, but I think that all women would want to feel wanted, needed, to have a loving family and to know that they are useful in whatever way they can be.’
‘That is very laudable, ma’am, but I cannot help but feel we are back to ladies not admitting to enthusiasms! What about rank and status, riches and luxury? Do ladies not covet those?’
Marina felt that she should piously point out that covetousness was a sin, but the crinkle of humour at the corner of his eyes made the unspoken thought seem prissy. ‘To have enough money to indulge in little luxuries is very pleasant, of course.’
‘And rank and status?’
‘Those would bring great responsibility,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘but I can see that they might have a certain allure.’ He smiled and she laughed back at him. ‘But you are teasing me again, my lord; I can tell.’
‘Why should I do that?’ Justin’s voice dropped, became warmer. ‘You speak as though you are immune to such temptations and I see no reason why you should be.’ She opened her mouth to protest, but he carried on remorselessly. ‘You are about to remind me of your advanced age and that is, if you will forgive me saying so, a nonsense. Now, Miss Winslow, may I tempt you?’
‘T...tempt me?’ What with, for goodness’ sake?
‘These almond fritters look almost irresistible to me.’
‘They are,’ Marina agreed, seizing the opening with gratitude. ‘They are quite the best of Cook’s specialities and I defy anyone to refuse another once they have sampled one.’
The meal proceeded harmlessly, much to Marina’s relief, with conversation about the difficulty of finding a really reliable cook, the latest balloon ascension and if the weather could be expected to continue so fine.
Eventually Lady Winslow rose, gathered the attention of the other ladies with a glance and made her way out of the dining room. Marina followed meekly at the back, unsure whether she was glad or sorry the meal was over.
Conversation
