Page 46 of All you need is an Earl (Lords of Pleasure 2)

“Of course,” she pushed a curl behind her ear and pulled away. “I shall see you later.”

Simon let her go, watching her climb the chair with a mounting sensation of disquiet. He knew, in the way that new lovers do, that she was keeping something from him. It could be as simple as a secret thought, or it could be much deeper, a secret that would shake the foundations of them.

Simon found himself wondering how it would ever be possible for him to open himself up to loving her if they could not be truthful with one another. He watched her ascending the stairs slowly, and realised that he did not know.

* * *

Marion hurried up the steps to her bedchamber, aware of Simon’s eyes on her the whole time as she walked. Part of her wanted to rush back downstairs and throw herself into Simon’s arms, weeping in distress at the letter she had received, but she could not do it.

Instead, she walked steadily to her bedchamber, determined not to quicken her footsteps or to seem distressed to watching maids who might report back to him. Once inside, she leaned against the closed door so no one could enter, and carefully unfolded the letter once again to read its contents, her hand trembling:

For the attention of Marion Burfield, Countess of Reading

My dear daughter, how I have longed for you and missed you. What a surprise it was for me to learn that my little girl moves in such high circles! I hear you have lately married the Earl of Reading. I find myself in less fortunate circumstances. Life has not been as kind to me as I wish it, and I am in great debt at the horse-track. However, how blessed I am to have a daughter who is a countess! I am sure you would be quite embarrassed to introduce me to your friends in my current state. They would be disappointed to hear of my debts. And what would your husband say? Perhaps you can help me become more respectable. I am in great need of someone to settle my debts.

I send this message via the hands of your great friend, the Countess of Brixton. I thought you should know that I know who all your friends are, and where they live. I know where you live, too. Please correspond to me at the below address so I’m not forced to take further action.

With the tenderest wishes,

Your Father,

Mr Ted Laurie.

Marion crumpled the letter into her hand, waves of frustration and distress flooding through her as she looked around the beautiful room she now called her own as the Countess of Reading.

“Lord, help me,” she murmured, pressing her head back against the wooden panels. How naive she had been to imagine a world in which she might want to find out about the providence of her father! Where she had actually suggested that it might be good to hear of him, to have answers from the horse’s mouth. How laughable those silly fancies seemed now.

Ted Laurie.

Just seeing his name written down brought back floods of memories that she thought were lost forever. As she ran her thumb over the paper she recalled a looming presence of a man in her early childhood years, a particular smell, sharp and unpleasant, which she now knew could only be brandy. How had she submerged these memories of him? They flashed across her subconscious, like summer lightening carving the sky. She only supposed she had never had any context for that looming figure, his alcoholic breath. Now she did. Mr Ted Laurie, her father, and the man who was threatening to ruin her.

“OhMaman,why did you not tell me?”She sighed, flopping onto the bed and burying her face in the pillows. She let the soft smell of the pillows, the lingering scent of Simon on the fabric, calm her anxiety briefly.

She supposed her mother had good reason not to elucidate on the unsavoury parts of her father’s character. Why would she want to shame a daughter without need, especially when the father in question was absent, presumed dead? Marion had always sensed a reluctance on her mother’s part to share any memories of her father. Whenever Marion had pressed her, particularly as a small child, all she would say was, “Your Papa adored the races, my darling. He loved animals, the horses, the dogs…how much fun he had there!”

It only occurred to Marion now that these gentle words, designed to placate the imagination of a little girl longing for a father figure, were actually sugar-coated facts of a life with a man who was a chronic gambler, and must have, Marion realised, caused her mother great pain before he left.

For the first time, Marion wondered if her father’s disappearance had actually been a relief to her mother, and that Marion had built up the idea of a father who was no more than a fable. What had Eleanor said, that if he had been imprisoned for a felony, would Marion still want to know her father? The true reality was so much worse. He was clearly not only a bounder and a gambler, but was willing to extort his own daughter for money. How much better it would have been to have learned he had died face down in a tavern, or as the result of some drunken brawl at the dog track! How much easier it would be to escape a dead man, than it would be for her escape this living, breathing, charlatan of a man.

“My Lady?” Loretta’s soft voice accompanied a gentle knocking on the bedchamber door.

“What is it, Loretta?” Marion sat up, her heart lurching and looked for somewhere to hide the letter, somewhere neither Loretta nor Simon would ever think to look. She quickly stuffed it into the top drawer of her nightstand, a private little drawer intended for prayer beads, and then went to answer the door.

“My Lord sent me to check on you. He says you are tired from your journey,” Loretta was holding some tea on a small tray. “Are you alright, My Lady? Should you like me to come and set your hair for supper?”

Marion smiled at both the kindness of her maid, and the consideration of her new husband. It made the twinge of lying to him and keeping something from him more painful in her chest.

She nodded and opened the door further for Loretta to come in, and then crossed to sit in front of her vanity. Loretta set down the tea so Marion could take a little sip, savouring the way that Loretta had carefully prepared it for her, just the way she liked it, and then undid Marion’s hair. With Loretta’s careful fingers softly combing out her long hair, Marion was once again struck by the good fortune of her life, that she now had a husband she enjoyed and respected, and household staff who were loyal and generous.

It was far too much to risk or lose, especially over someone as worthless as this man who claimed to have sired her and then abandoned her. She would never share it with Simon. How could she possibly reveal to a man who had already had to endure gossip and incredulity from his peers on her behalf, that not only was she of unflatteringly low birth, but that her scoundrel of a father was blackmailing her like a common blaggard? It was more than Marion could bear to think about.

I shall not lose him!she vowed to herself as Loretta brushed her hair with slow, even motions.I shall not lose Simon, not for anything or anyone!

Chapter Sixteen

Simon watched his wife carefully as they read together that evening. She sat across from him in the chair next to their parlour fire, her small glass of brandy nearly empty by her elbow. It vexed him, this nearly empty wine glass, drove him nearly to distraction in a culmination of worry that had been bubbling up for the last twenty-four hours.

Whilst Hughes often brought up a pair of brandy glasses after supper for the newly married couple to enjoy with their evening of reading together, Marion rarely ever drank more than half a glass. Yet this evening, she had finished her brandy even more quickly than Simon. He couldn’t be sure, but he also thought that she was not really concentrating on her book. He thought perhaps her eyes were not really following the words on the page.

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