London, May 1816
It was only a small thing, or so it seemed at the time, but in later years, Brand would laugh and say that from that moment on, his life changed irreversibly. That was the night Lady Marion Dane stubbed her toes.
She and her sister were his guests, making up a party in his box at the theater. They hadn't known each other long, only a month, but he knew far more about her than she realized. He and her late aunt, Edwina Gunn, had been friends, and from time to time Edwina had mentioned her sister's family who lived near Keswick in the Lake District. In the last few weeks, he'd made it his business to find out as much as he could about Lady Marion Dane.
She was the daughter of an earl, but she had never had a Season in London, had never been presented at Court or enjoyed the round of parties and outings that were taken for granted by other young women of her class. If her father had not died, she would still be in the Lake District, out of harm's way, and there would be no need for him to keep a watchful eye on her.
Though he'd taken a sketch of her background, he could not get her measure. She was an intensely private person and rarely showed emotion. But in the theater, when the lamps were dimmed and she thought herself safe from prying eyes, she gave herself up to every emotion that was portrayed on stage.
The play was Much Ado About Nothing
, and he could tell from her face which characters appealed to her and which did not. She didn't waste much sympathy on Claudio, or his betrothed's father, and they were, one supposed, cast in the heroic mold. Benedick she tolerated, but the shrew, Beatrice, made her beam with admiration.
It was more entertaining to watch Marion's face than to watch the performance on stage.
The final curtain came down, the applause died away, and chairs were scraped back as people got up. Lady Marion was still sitting in her chair as though loath to leave. Her sister, Lady Emily--an indiscriminate flirt at eighteen--was making eyes at young Henry Cavendish; Brand's own good friend, Ash Denison, was stifling a yawn behind his hand. No affair such as this would be complete, for propriety's sake, without a chaperon or two, and doing the honors tonight were Ash's grandmother, the dowager countess, and her friend, Lady Bethune. The evening wasn't over yet. He had arranged for a late supper at the Clarendon Hotel where Marion's cousin, Fanny, and her husband, Reggie Wright, were due to join them.
Everyone was effusive in their praise of the performance, but it was Marion's words he wanted to hear. She looked up at him with unguarded eyes when he held her chair, her expression still alight with traces of amusement. Then she sighed and said, "Thank you for inviting us, Mr. Hamilton." She was using her formal voice and he found it mildly irritating. She went on, "In future, when I think of this performance, I shall remember the actress who played Beatrice. She was truly memorable."
She got up, a graceful woman in lavender silk with a cool smile that matched her cool stare, and fairish blond hair softly swept back from her face.
Some demon goaded him to say, "In future, when you think of this performance, I hope you will remember me."
The flash of unease in her gray eyes pleased him enormously. Since they'd met, she'd treated him with all the respect she would show an octogenarian. He wasn't a vain man, but he was a man. The temptation to make her acknowledge it was becoming harder and harder to resist.
Recovered now, she smiled vaguely and went to join her sister. He had to admire Marion's tactics: She diverted young Cavendish's interest to someone in another box, linked her arm through Emily's, and purposely steered the girl through the door. It was seamlessly done, but very effective.
Emily was an attractive little thing with huge, dark eyes, a cap of silky curls, and a smile that was, in his opinion, too
alluring for her tender years. There was always a stream of young bucks vying for her attention. And vice versa. Marion had checked her sister tonight, but that didn't happen very often.
There was another sister, Phoebe, a child of ten whom he liked immensely. Though she was lame, she was up for anything. She was also a fount of knowledge on Marion's comings and goings.
He was calling her Marion in the privacy of his own thoughts. If he wasn't careful, he'd be doing it in public, then what would Lady Marion Dane, cool and collected earl's daughter, make of that?
"She makes an excellent chaperon, doesn't she?" Ash Denison, Brand's friend since their school days at Eton, spoke in an undertone. "All she needs is one of those lace caps to complete the picture. Then every man will know that she's a confirmed spinster and he had better keep his distance."
The thought of Marion in a lace cap such as dowagers wore soured Brand's mood. All the same, he could see that day coming. Though she was only seven and twenty, she seemed resigned to her single state. No. It was truer to say that she embraced it. All she wanted from a man, all she would allow, was a platonic friendship.
Did she know that she was setting herself up for a challenge? He let the thought turn in his mind.
"Careful, Brand," said Ash. "You're smiling again. If you're not careful, you'll be making a habit of it."
Brand turned to stare at his friend and made a face when he came under the scrutiny of Ash's quizzing glass. No one looking at Ash would have believed that he had spent the better part of his adult life fighting for king and country in the Spanish Campaign. Brand knew that those were brutal years, though Ash always made light of them. Now that the war was over, he seemed hell-bent on enjoying himself. He was a dandy and the darling of society.
Brand had neither the patience nor the inclination to make himself the darling of society. He knew how fickle society was. As the baseborn son of a duke, he'd met with prejudice in his time, but that was before he'd acquired a fleet of newspapers stretching from London to every major city in the south of England. Now he was respected and his friendship sought after--now that he could break the high and mighty with the stroke of his pen.
He knew what people said, that he was driven to prove himself. It was true. But he never forgot a friend or anyone who had been kind to him when he'd had nothing to offer in return. Edwina Gunn was one of those people. It was to repay his debt to her that he had taken Marion and her sisters under his wing.
Ash was waiting for him to say something. "The sight of a beautiful woman always makes me smile."
"I presume we are talking about Lady Marion? You haven't taken your eyes from her all evening."
This friendly taunt was met with silence.
"Is she beautiful?" Ash prodded.
"Not in the common way, but she has style."
"Mmm," Ash mused. "If she allowed me to have the dressing of her, I could make her the toast of the ton. I'd begin by cutting her hair to form a soft cap. We'd have to lower the bodices on her gowns, of course, and raise the hems. I think she would look her best in transparent gauzes. What do you think?"
Ash was known to have an eye for fashion, and many high-ranking ladies sought his advice. In Brand's view, their newfound glamour wasn't always an improvement.
"You know what they say." Brand moved to catch up with the rest of his party, and Ash quickened his step to keep up with him.
"What do they say?"
There was a crush of people at the top of the stairs and Brand felt a moment's anxiety. He relaxed when he saw Marion's fair hair glistening with gold under the lights of the chandeliers. Emily's dark cap of curls shimmered like silk. Then he lost sight of them in the crush.
"What do they say?" repeated Ash.
"One man's meat--"
The sentence was left hanging. A woman screamed. Some patrons cried out. In the next instant, Brand was sprinting for the stairs.
He shoved people out of his way as he thundered down those marble steps. He found her at the bottom, sitting on the floor, her head resting on her knees. Emily was with her.
"Stand back!" he flung at the group of people who had crowded round her. They gave way without a protest.
He knelt down and touched her shoulder with a shaking hand. "Marion?" he said urgently. "What happened? Say something!"
She looked up at him with tears of pain in her eyes. "I stubbed my toes," she said crossly. "There's no need to fuss."
Then she fainted.
Marion swam out of the haze that enveloped her. "Someone elbowed me in the back," she said plaintively.
A masculine voice asked, "Who would want to harm you, Marion?"
Just saying the word cleared her head. She lifted her lashes and blinked to clear the mist in front of her eyes. Emily's anxious face looked down at her. Then she registered Hamilton's presence and, finally, the painful throb in her toes.
She struggled to a sitting position. They were in Hamilton's carriage turning into the street that gave onto Hanover Square, where Cousin Fanny's house was located.
"You're taking me home?"
Hamilton nodded. "Apart from anything else, you gave yourself a nasty knock on the head. When we get to the house, I'll send for the doctor. I've already sent word to your cousins at the Clarendon."
"That isn't necessary! It will only worry Fanny and Regg...