Marianne knew from experience how abrasive and pernickety and downright rude the great man could be, even if he was also steadfast and subtle and brave and almost a genius when it came to the delicate balancing of troops and terrain in battle. She admired the Duke deeply and even the sight of him steady and unquestionably in charge would put heart into his army. His men had trusted him not to waste their lives on vainglory, but they did not adore him as so many Frenchmen almost seemed to worship Napoleon Bonaparte.
The carriage rounded a long bend and now she could see Lord Stratford riding in front of them again. Would this journey be less tedious if he chose to join them in the carriage rather than ride ahead in solitary state? He seemed so at home in the saddle she supposed he enjoyed the exercise and it was a little stuffy in here so who could blame him for avoiding it? However well-sprung and well-cushioned a carriage was, the novelty of travelling in such style soon wore off as mile after mile sped past and heat began to build as the sun came out. She tried not to let her gaze linger on Lord Stratford’s lithe form to distract her from this jolting box on wheels. They could not even open the windows more than a crack for the pall of dust the horses were kicking up.
Alaric sat his powerful grey as if he had been born in the saddle and what was he going to do with himself now he had laid aside his self-imposed duties? The man she had begun to know under the haughty aristocrat was too restless and clever to be content with the life of a country squire for very long. She frowned at his strong back, powerfully muscled shoulders and narrow flanks and wished he was less compellingly masculine. The idea of him as an idle viscount bent on pleasure seemed laughable right now, but would he be restless and bored after a few weeks of country life and be tempted away to London for the Little Season?
She felt the hum of excitement under this odd new life she was going to be living stumble and halt at the thought of him not being with them and caught herself out in a lie. It was not entirely for Juno’s sake she had agreed to this wandering journey. Of course she had nowhere she wanted to go after Darius and Fliss married and the alternative was finding work with strangers, if they would employ her, or going back to live with her parents in Bath. But there was a thread of fantasy and need under all the good reasons she had given herself to be here. She wanted him to look at her with sharp interest and seductive intent again just as he did in Great-Uncle Hubert’s study that memorable day. And she did not want her own stupid insecurities to spoil it this time. Yet why would he risk such a stinging rebuke for things he had never said again? He would not, of course he would not, and he must be uncomfortable at the very thought of that frustrating encounter. So every day she told herself there would be something so fascinating and breathtaking to see out of the carriage window she would forget to watch for him like a fool and wish those hasty, bad-tempered words unsaid. And every day she was disappointed.
‘We will soon be in Buxton, Mrs Turner,’ Juno said as if she thought Marianne was flagging and needed encouragement.
‘When will you remember to call me Marianne, Juno?’ Marianne said and tore her gaze from Lord Stratford’s lithe but powerful form to meet Juno’s eyes.
‘What if I forget and do so in public?’
‘It does not matter since I hope we are friends and we can be those in public as well as in private and you really need to stop worrying about what other people will think of you all the time.’
‘That is what Uncle Alaric says, but I cannot bring myself to be bold and brave and I fear I shall never be a credit to him.’
‘You already are and he loves you as you are, Juno. Do you think that will change if you say a wrong word or speak out of turn by accident? If you do, then I do not think you understand him at all.’
‘Perhaps not, but you obviously do,’ Juno said and there was the intelligence and underlying strength of character Alaric was intent on bringing to the surface more of the time, although Marianne preferred it when Juno was not using them on her.
And this silly preoccupation with Lord Stratford had to stop. She would remember to call him that even in her head from now on; Alaric would not do for a lord and his niece’s paid companion. Marianne shifted and shot a wary glance at the maid, but the girl had succumbed to the warmth of the day, the rocking of the coach and the sheer boredom of trailing around the country on the whims of the aristocracy and was fast asleep again. The girl must have slept her way through half of her native land by now.
‘It does not take a great deal of insight to see love behind His Lordship’s iron determination to find you when he got to Broadley so travel stained and exhausted you would barely have recognised him. A shame, perhaps, that he was shaven and tidied up by
