Page 79 of An Arranged Marriage with a Mad Marquess
“Indeed, whereisthe inestimable Lord Morendale?” Lord Marshville rumbled. “We haven’t seen him much.”
“Oh, settle down, dear,” Lady Marshville tutted, tapping him on the shoulder. “We only arrived yesterday. The Marquess of Morendale has a great deal of work to do.”
Patrina smiled. “He likes to go for walks a great deal. He… he wasn’t able to walk very far before, and constantly worriedabout collapsing and hurting himself, or else lying out on the cold ground for hours. Now, he can walk as freely as he likes. The novelty has not worn off, and I don’t think it will for a long time.”
There was a murmur of agreement at that. Pressing a kiss to her mother’s cheek and then her father’s, Patrina excused herself, stepping off the patio.
Shehadintended to take Baby Arthur to see his Papa, but Gillian and Agnes waylaid her on the way.
“May I hold him, Patrina,please?” Gillian pleaded. “I like babies very much.”
“I like babies a little less,” Agnes scoffed, “But Idolike my nephew a great deal.”
Patrina chuckled and handed Arthur off to two of his aunts. She had not had much time to spend with her sisters – they had all arrived only the previous evening – but that could wait. After all, her family was staying for at least two weeks, if not more. She would have as much time as she needed to recuperate and spend time with her beloved family.
They’ve changed a great deal. Gillian, especially. How odd that one single year can change one’s life beyond belief.
Kissing the top of Arthur’s soft little head, she moved on, taking a path which led through the little woodland surrounding the lawn. She passed by Cynthia and Mr. Stilton’s picnic blanket – neither of them seemed to notice her – and she plunged into the woods.
Almost immediately, she came across a neat little stone bench, set before an old water fountain, made in a Grecian style, still determinedly spurting water after countless decades.
A couple sat on the bench, arm in arm. The woman rested her head on the man’s shoulder, and he had his arm around her shoulders.
Patrina bit back a smile, and pointedly cleared her throat.
They both sprang apart – old habits tended to last, after all – and spun around, flushing red.
“Oh, it’s you,” Lucy gasped. “You gave me quite a start, your ladyship… that is, I mean,Patrina. It still feels so strange to call you by your name.”
“Well, you can’t be calling meyour ladyshipnow that you’re married to my husband’s cousin,” Patrina laughed, shooting a wry smile at Harry. “I haven’t even had time to ask about the honeymoon.”
The couple smiled bashfully, still holding hands. The wedding had taken place only two weeks ago, after several months of courtship and a lengthy engagement. From what Patrina could understand, Society disapproved highly. Harry Westbrook might not exactly be aTidemore, and he was a steward, but apparently, he ought to have married higher than a lady’s maid.
Patrina disagreed. She knew her old friend and knew her worth. Both Harry and Lucy deserved each other, and she was sure they would be happy.
“I hope you don’t mind us sneaking off,” Lucy said, “but it’s so strange, moving around your family and friends after I’ve always been a maid.”
“That shall pass, I’m sure of it,” Patrina promised. “But of course, take as much time as you need, just the two of you. I couldn’t be more happy for you both.”
They shot doting smiles at each other, and Patrina felt warmth spread through her chest.
“Although, I did mean to ask,” she added hurriedly, before they could drift off into each other’s eyes again, “have you seen Neil?”
“Oh, yes,” Harry said, tearing his gaze away from his new wife. “Just down the way, there. If you hurry, you’ll catch up to him.”
Patrina hid a smile. “Thank you. Now, I’ll leave you alone.”
She wasn’t entirely sure they even noticed when she walked away. When she glanced over her shoulder, Harry and Lucy were sitting down on the stone bench again, curled up like before, watching the fountain.
The path wound through the trees, and ducked down into a little dip, where there was a clearing. The clearing was thickly carpeted with fresh green grass, and wildflowers were poking their colourful heads experimentally out of the greenery.
In the centre of it all, Neil Tidemore, Marquess of Morendale, lay on his back, hands folded across his stomach, and stared up at the blue sky.
He lifted his head at the sound of her footsteps and broke into a smile.
“Hello, Pat. Come join me, won’t you?”
“I will, but just for a moment. My parents are asking where you are.”
