3. A Young Lady Meets Her Man

For a moment, Miss Marian Copper wondered how she could have been so bold. So forward. So fast. So outlandish.

Nervousness, of course. That could be the only explanation for why she would blurt out such a query to a man she had never seen before, let alone met.

Perhaps there was hope in her anxiousness, though, too. The gentleman who stared at her in surprise was rather handsome and not nearly as old as she’d been led to believe. His dark hair wasn’t cut into the latest style, but a Titus would not have suited him nor the dark eyebrows and shorter sideburns framing a kind face. While his navy topcoat and Nankeen breeches were typical for a man of his age, his rust colored silk waistcoat featured embroidered flowers.

From his hesitant but pleased expression—Marian realized she had surprised him with her sudden appearance—she knew he hadn’t paid witness to her watching him when he entered the club and made his way up the main stairs to Mrs. Skarsgard’s office.

She could have simply waited to be introduced to the gentleman when he came downstairs to join the card game already in progress. Curiosity had her excusing herself from her uncle’s table, though, and making her way back to her room whilst the newcomer acquired the key to his.

She rather hoped his room was better suited to him than hers was to her. When she had opened the door to it for the first time the day before, she wasn’t prepared for the overwhelming first impression that she had either entered a very young girl’s bedchamber or a brothel.

Not that she knew what a brothel looked like. Obviously she had never stepped foot into such a scandalous establishment. But the thought had been there nonetheless.

What else could explain the soft pink silk on the walls? The deep pink velvet counterpane and drapes? The deeper pink curtains around the bed? The gold gilt dressing table and three-paneled japanned screen in the corner? The only redeeming feature of so much pink was that when she regarded her reflection in the cheval mirror set into one corner of the room, her complexion appeared far more “peaches and cream” than usual.

Perhaps her yellow gown was helping in that regard, too.

Uncle had told her to pack her very brightest and colorful gowns. To wear something cheerful on this day. Something to counter the gloomy weather beyond the glass windows.

She had been about to remind him young ladies weren’t really allowed to wear bright colors when he surprised her with a pasteboard box from Madame Suzanne’s in Oxford Street. Inside, wrapped in white tissue paper, was the very gown she was now wearing, a jonquil muslin confection adorned with embroidered flowers.

Flowers that looked as if they could have been created by the very same seamstress that had made Lord Engleston’s waistcoat.

“Although...”

The word brought Marian out of her reverie. The gentleman was still regarding her with an expression of surprise, and the hesitant word had Marian’s eyes rounding slightly. “Apologies, sir?—”

“Please, do not,” he interrupted before he winced. “Your words were entirely unexpected but rather welcome just then.”

Marian swallowed. “They were?” She watched as the baron’s face visibly reddened.

“As were you... a... a ray of sunshine on a rather gray day,” he stammered. “Oh, dear. I am making a cake of this, aren’t I?”

Blinking, Marian shook her head. “Oh, not at all, sir. My uncle will be pleased to learn his gift—this gown—is accomplishing its intention.”

“Gown?” the baron repeated. His gaze traveled down and then back up before his face once again brightened. “Oh, indeed,” he said, nodding. “Yellow is a good choice on such a rainy day.” He once again winced, as if he regretted his attempt at conversation.

Marian beamed in delight, heartened to realize that she had been the ray of sunshine and not her gown. “My uncle will be pleased to hear it,” she said. “He had it made for me. For this occasion.”

The baron blinked. “Oh? The occasion of meeting me?” he asked, obviously confused. His eyes darted sideways, as if he was attempting to sort who her uncle might be. “Or... are we already acquainted?” he added before his face once again reddened. “Oh, I suppose if we’re betrothed, we must be,” he reasoned. “I apologize if we’ve been introduced?—”

“We have not been, my lord,” Marian quickly said, her own face heating at hearing the reminder of her earlier words. She was beginning to understand that the gentleman’s nervousness was most probably due to shyness. Her uncle had warned her the baron did not easily converse with those he didn’t know.

“Oh,” he replied. He glanced around. “There doesn’t appear to be anyone to do the honors of a proper introduction.”

“Oh, my uncle will see to it. When we’re downstairs,” she said. “Although...”

“Mrs. Skarsgard said we weren’t to use names,” he remembered.

“Exactly,” she said with a good deal of disappointment.

His brows furrowed. “But... say we were betrothed?—”

“Aren’t we?”

He blinked. “Yes. Yes, we are,” he agreed, apparently deciding to play along. “I have heard some men refer to their... to their wives as ‘sweetings’,” he murmured.

“My sweet,” she stated. When she saw his look of bewilderment, she added, “I would prefer ‘my sweet’ over ‘sweeting’ as I think ‘sweeting’ makes it sound as if I’m some sort of bird. Or a cat.”

His mouth rounded before he nodded. “You have a very good point. And I do think ‘my sweet’ makes it sound as if you’re a special treat. Like a candy at Christmas,” he reasoned.

Marian displayed a brilliant grin. “Exactly,” she replied. “Now... what shall I call you?”

She watched as the baron seemed to struggle. “I could call you ‘dear’,” she offered when he didn’t offer an endearment.

“You could,” he agreed, but he showed not the least bit of enthusiasm for the term. “My first thought when I hear it is the animal, though,” he added. “The doe. Not the buck.” He once again winced, but Marian understood his reasoning perfectly.

“What about ‘my dearest’?” she asked.

“Oh, I like that,” he said. “Especially if it’s true.”

“Well, of course it is,” she replied. “You’re my betrothed,” she added, rather enjoying their secret conversation.

It was the baron’s turn to display a brilliant grin. “I shall answer to that then,” he stated. He reached for her hand and lifted it to his lips. “It’s very good to meet you, my sweet,” he said before he bent and brushed his lips over the back of her knuckles.

A pleasant tremor shot up Marian’s arm as she watched the baron bow over her hand. “And you, my dearest,” she said as she dipped a curtsy. She didn’t care that he continued to hold onto her hand even after he straightened. That his gaze had gone to her lips, which had parted slightly. Without her realizing it, the tip of her tongue touched her top lip. She didn’t mean it as an invitation for him to kiss her, but she was heartened when it seemed to do the trick.

The baron hesitated, as if he was having an internal war with himself. Determined they kiss, Marian reached up with her free hand to place it against the side of his face while she stood on tiptoes. “Kiss me,” she whispered, not making it a question.

“If you’re sure,” he murmured.

The pressure on her lips was so tentative, so light, Marian wondered at first if they were even touching. And then she knew they were, for she felt the firm pads of his against the soft pillows of hers, and all at once they seemed to gently lock into place.

She instinctively knew what to do, and apparently the baron knew as well, for she felt the slight suckling and a pleasant sensation that had her insides fizzing with excitement. There was a moment when time seemed to stop, and all that existed were only the two of them.

One of his hands had moved to cup her jaw, and she was glad of the support. In need of more, she leaned forward and gripped one of the lapels of the shawl collar of his topcoat. When their bodies met—her chest into his middle—a warmth permeated her entire being.

She mewled her disappointment when he pulled his lips from hers, but even if he hadn’t, she would have had to, for she needed to take a deep breath.

The two stared at one another for several seconds before she said, “Thank you.”

His eyes rounded. “It is I who should thank you,” he whispered. “I’ve never...” He clamped his mouth shut. “That is to say, I am terribly out of practice.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed it, but then, I’ve never been kissed before,” she replied with a shrug.

Blinking, he said, “You haven’t?”

Shaking her head, she gave him a prim grin. “Do you suppose we might do it again... sometime... soon?”

Although his hand had moved from her jaw to her shoulder, the two hadn’t stepped apart from one another. They would have continued to stand impossibly close for who knows how long except that the voices of two gentlemen carrying on a conversation were growing closer. At any moment, the men would be at the top of the stairs, able to pay witness to Marian and the baron in the state of a near embrace.

Marian didn’t wish to give up her hold on the man. His door was shut, but hers was still open. Tugging on his shawl collar, she stepped back and into her room, which forced the baron to swing around. Just before the intruders arrived at the top of the stairs, Marian kicked her door shut with a slippered foot. Before the baron could put voice to a protest or question what was happening, she had a hand behind his neck and was pulling his head down for another kiss.

The baron obliged, his lips obviously hungry for hers. They stood kissing for nearly an entire minute before they broke the kiss at the same time.

Staring at her for a moment, he seemed at a loss for words. He lifted his head and allowed his gaze to sweep the bedchamber. “Wh… where are we?”

“My room,” Marian replied. “It’s terribly pink, I know,” she added, managing to make it sound as if pink was her least favorite color.

“I’ve never been in a woman’s bedchamber before,” he whispered, an expression of worry settling on his features.

A knock at the door had them both giving a start. “Who is it?” she called out, managing to sound far calmer than she felt.

“Marian, your presence is needed for this next game of cards,” came a male voice.

From the baron’s expression—his brows had shot up and the look of worry turned to alarm—Marian realized their tryst had to end. “I’ll be right down, Uncle,” she replied, although she visibly winced.

“Is everything all right?” From the concern in the older male’s voice, it was apparent he suspected something was amiss.

The baron quickly changed places with Marian and gave her a nod as he tucked himself into the corner behind the door. He reached over, turned the handle, and opened the door as Marian positioned herself at the opening. “Everything is fine, Uncle. I had a tear in my stocking and wished to change it is all,” she added as she pushed the door open even more and stepped out. She glanced down the corridor, and not seeing another gentleman—she was sure her uncle had been speaking with someone as he climbed the stairs—she asked, “Did the viscount come up with you?”

Richard, Earl of Penhurst, motioned to one of the doors down the corridor. “Huntley had to return to his room. We had a bit of excitement, and he spilled some brandy. Wanted to change his breeches.”

Marian turned and closed the door before placing her hand on the older gentleman’s arm. “I didn’t realize a game of whist could cause such a sensation,” she teased.

“It wasn’t the cards, darling,” her uncle said with a chuckle. “It was my declaration that I intend to see Lord Engleston betrothed before he returns to Kent. Huntley laughed so hard I think he hurt himself.”

Furrowing her brows, Marian glanced up at him. “Ah. He is the baron you spoke of a few days ago, is he not?”

“Indeed,” Richard replied. “I look forward to introducing you two.”

As they took the turn to go down the stairs, Marian dared a glance toward the end of the corridor and discovered her door was slightly open. Obviously the baron was still in her room, attempting to eavesdrop on her conversation with her uncle. In a slightly louder than usual voice, she said, “I don’t know why Lord Huntley should find it funny. I expect Lord Engleston is an excellent catch.”

Richard gave her a curious glance before he said, “I am glad we are in agreement.” After a pause, he added, “If you recall, he’s one of the gentlemen I thought might suit you.”

“Oh, I do recall,” Marian replied, her chin lifted high. “Not too old. Not too young.” My dearest. “What else did you say about him?”

Chuckling, her uncle said, “He suffers from shyness. My fear is that if you so much as look at him, he’ll disappear into the carpet,” he warned. “I rather doubt he’ll say much, but please don’t take it personally.”

Marian couldn’t help but give her uncle a disbelieving glance. Although the man she had left in her room had been a bit shy with her, he had said far more than three words. And he’d kissed her. Twice.

“What card game are we playing now?” she asked as they made their way toward the card parlor.

“Vingt-et-un,” the earl replied. “We require a dealer, and you’re rather good at it. This way, we’ll be able to include Lord Engleston when he finally makes an appearance.”

Marian gave her uncle a grin. “It shouldn’t be long. He has already checked into his room.” When the earl gave her a questioning glance, she added, “I might have paid witness to his arrival whilst I was upstairs.”

“Oh, did you now?” Richard asked, a smirk appearing. “Well then, the rest of this afternoon will be very interesting.”

About to agree, Marian decided it best she keep her secret to herself.