Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Five Years Later

T here were five people at the funeral of Lady Claudia. Five. Marianne knew the exact number because as she stood on the edge of the grave, umbrella dripping fat, cold raindrops onto the shoulder of her stiff, itchy mourning gown, she continually counted them. As if somehow more people would materialize. As if somehow someone would show up late and rush to reveal that they had cared for Marianne's best friend as much as she had.

But the number remained constant. Five.

Six if one were to count Marianne's great-aunt Beulah. Which she did not since her aunt had only come to chaperone Marianne and had gone back to wait in the carriage the moment the skies had opened up with their own version of mourning for Claudia.

So five the funeral party remained.

Marianne blinked back tears. It was all so unfair. Claudia had taken ill just a few scant weeks ago. And now she was gone and of the five people in attendance at her final farewell, Marianne was the only one who did not look distracted, bored or anxious to depart. Even Claudia's elder brother, the Marquess of Broadsmoore, seemed preoccupied. The moment the preacher ceased his droning words about ashes to ashes and the Lord's will, the marquess turned away and began to thank the few people who had bothered to show up to the service.

Marianne stayed just where she was, staring down into the cold, dark hole where her friend's coffin had been lowered. Soon it would be covered in dirt and then…well, then there would be no pretending that Claudia was not dead. That somehow this was a terrible dream.

"Lady Marianne?"

Marianne blinked, startled by the sound of the marquess's voice and the gentle touch of his gloved hand on her elbow. She turned toward him with the faintest hint of a smile. It was all she could manage at present.

"I'm so—I'm so sorry for your loss," she managed to choke out.

Claudia's brother was an older man and as he nodded the lines on his face deepened with emotion. At least he offered his sister that. "Thank you, Lady Marianne. And I am sorry for yours. I know you and my sister were as close as two people could be without sharing blood."

Marianne sucked in a breath in order to keep her tears inside. She wasn't about to shed them here in front of people who could clearly not care less about the loss of her best friend. Well, some didn't care. All but the marquess had already begun to roam back to their carriages to escape the rain. They couldn't even grant Claudia the respect of getting wet.

"She was my dearest friend," Marianne managed to respond with great difficulty.

The marquess nodded slowly. "I know she would have said the same of you. Don't think I don't appreciate how wonderful and true a friend you were in these last years of her far-too-short life. Claudia obviously felt the same, for she has left you a small token of her affection."

Marianne blinked up at the older man. This was utterly unexpected. "A token?"

"Yes." The marquess smiled softly. "It is a jewelry box she kept on her dressing table. I believe our late aunt gave it to her upon her sixteenth birthday. Claudia left special instructions that it was to be bequeathed to you."

Marianne lifted her hand to cover her lips as her thoughts turned to Claudia's room. How often she had admired that exact box as they readied themselves for parties or giggled together like the silly girls they certainly no longer were. All those memories were so dear to her now.

"I know the piece you are referring to. It was a favorite of mine," she whispered.

"Then it is good it will go to you. I shall have it sent over to your home this very afternoon. Will that be agreeable to you?"

Marianne nodded. "Of course, thank you."

"Well, thank you again for being a true friend to my sister." The other man glanced up at the departing mourners, none of whom could seem to get to their carriages fast enough. "She had few close companions. May I escort you back to your vehicle?"

Marianne glanced back. Her aunt had probably fallen asleep by now, slumped over against the door as she was wont to do whenever she got into a carriage for more than five minutes. "No, thank you, my lord. I believe I shall stay here a few moments longer and say a last private goodbye."

The marquess looked at her for a long moment and in his eyes Marianne thought she saw a flash of guilt. And why not? She knew Claudia had never been any closer to him than to anyone else in her life. Let him feel the twinge of regret that he had not treated her with more kindness or love. "Very well. Goodbye, Lady Marianne."

"Goodbye, my lord," she said to his retreating back, and then turned back toward the open grave to whisper a few last words to her fallen friend.

S ebastian, Earl of Ramsbury, took a long swig of whisky from the glass his best friend had provided and grinned. "Excellent."

The Earl of Delacourt turned toward him with a half-smile. "Yes, it's a fine bottle, that is for certain. Worth every pound."

"A good thing, too, since I'm sure it set you back more than a few." Sebastian set the glass aside. "After supper, what do you say we go find a few more drinks and perhaps some feminine company? We could go to the Donville Masquerade or another hell."

Delacourt sighed. "I would dearly love to do so, but I don't think that will be possible tonight. It's Thursday—my sister will be joining us for supper."

"Ah, yes, one of my favorite people," Sebastian said with a careless shrug. It wasn't as if he was hurting for women. One tonight, one tomorrow, it was all the same to him. "Why does she always join you on Thursdays again?"

"Our great-aunt hosts a weekly gathering with her sewing group at Marianne's home." His friend grimaced. "And my sister may be a spinster herself, but not so far into her old maidenhood that she enjoys four hours of listening to those women cackle endlessly about how we should all still be wearing powdered wigs."

"No, I cannot imagine your sister finding much entertainment in such a thing. Her wit would be wasted on such mundane topics."

Sebastian couldn't help but smile. He had known Marianne for almost twenty years, since he and Delacourt had become friends at school. She had been just a girl then, but a bright and funny one. As all three of them grew older, Sebastian had come to appreciate her sharp observations and quick mind. She was the only woman he had ever met who he considered a friend and she truly was one of his favorite people.

Delacourt's butler stepped into the room. "Lady Marianne, my lord."

With that, he stepped aside and allowed Marianne to come into the room. Sebastian set his drink down as he stared at her. Although he couldn't say that his friend had ever been at the height of fashion, tonight her plain black bombazine gown was drab and lifeless in the lamplight. It made her pale face look positively ghostly, as did the flat way she had fashioned her brown hair, pressed tightly to her scalp in a bun at the nape of her neck.

"Great God, woman." Sebastian laughed. "What in the world are you wearing?

Marianne lifted her gaze to him and Sebastian was shocked to see tears clouding her dark eyes. He had never seen her so emotional.

"My dear friend Claudia was buried today," she said softly.

Sebastian dipped his chin in shame. Damn, he had heard that news a few days before and wondered vaguely why the passing of such a mouse of a wallflower should resonate with him. But of course, it was because of Marianne's close relationship to the woman.

Delacourt stepped forward and placed a hand on his sister's shoulder gently. "I'm so sorry, Mari. And even more sorry that my business today kept me from acting as your escort to the funeral, myself. How was the service?"

Marianne shook her head and removed the glass from her brother's hands. Sebastian watched in surprise as she took the last sip of his whiskey. She made a brief face that said liquor hardly ever touched her pale lips and then shrugged.

"Short, impersonal and poorly attended," she answered with a frown that made her brown eyes even more forlorn and empty. "Claudia deserved better."

Delacourt opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, the butler returned to the room.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, my lord, but the message you have been waiting for has arrived."

Delacourt sent a brief glance to his sister and then bowed slightly. "I hope you two will forgive me. This message is related to some business and it is important."

"Of course," Sebastian said as he waved his friend away. "Your sister and I are quite capable of entertaining each other."

He sent her a playful look that normally Marianne would return with a laugh, but today she did not glance up from her focused stare at Delacourt's empty glass. As her brother left the room, she didn't even acknowledge his exit.

Sebastian sighed. There were many things he was quite talented at when it came to women. Seduction came to mind. Dancing, flirting and compliments came with such ease that he could hardly remember a time when he didn't have such things right on his tongue and ready to use.

But comforting… that was not his forte. And clearly it was what Marianne needed in that moment.

He stepped closer. "I feel I owe you an apology," he began.

Those words snapped Marianne from her fog and she glanced up at him with surprise. " You ? Apologize?"

She laughed and the sound sent great relief through Sebastian. He preferred his friend to be light again, not muted and sad.

"Yes," he continued, and reached out to take her hand.

Marianne's gaze came up to his in disbelief and Sebastian's astonishment matched the expression on her face. Her hand was ungloved and he realized he had never touched her skin before in all the years they had known each other. They had danced, of course, she had taken his arm as escort from one room to another, but there had always been a layer of cloth and propriety separating them.

Now that his flesh touched the warm silkiness of hers, the intimacy of that gesture was deeper.

"Truly, Marianne, I was insensitive when I mentioned your mourning gown," he said softly, surprised by how easily the words came. Comfort might not be his strength, but in this situation it came far more naturally than he ever would have guessed. "I had heard of the loss of your friend and I should have recalled it when I saw you. My deepest condolences."

Marianne blinked at him and her surprise faded, replaced by the return of her sadness, but also the warmth of appreciation. "Thank you. Of all the people who said that to me today, I think you might be the only one who meant those words."

He tilted his head. "Do you remember what you said to me when my uncle died?"

Marianne's eyebrows drew up in surprise. His uncle had been the only person in his painful childhood who had not failed him. As such, he was not a topic who often came up. Sebastian made sure of it, because it was too difficult and vulnerable, so he understood her reaction.

"I said many things, as I recall," she whispered.

He smiled as memories of her kindness that day almost seven years before flooded him. "You did, all of them helpful. But the one that did the most good was when you told me that the pain would never be erased, but that it would fade and mellow with time. That it would become part of the fabric of my being, the last gift from an uncle to his nephew."

Marianne's chin tilted down. "Yes, I do recall that."

"And it was true," Sebastian said quietly. "As it will be true for you eventually. Take some comfort in that."

"Thank you." Her gaze flitted up. "I think perhaps her passing would not hurt as much if I hadn't realized…"

She trailed off and Sebastian found himself leaning forward in curiosity. "Realized?"

She shook her head slightly. "I realized today that Claudia…perhaps like—like me…meant very little to anyone else. But she meant the world to me. And I miss her greatly."

Sebastian's brow wrinkled. He didn't like that she compared herself to the emptiness of Lady Claudia's death. It was as if Marianne thought that no one would care if she were suddenly gone, which wasn't true at all. Was it? He would care, her brother would care, even that batty aunt of theirs who shared Marianne's home would care.

She blinked to send away the tears that had returned to her eyes. "I'm so glad you're here tonight, Sebastian," she said with a wobbly smile. "You are exactly what I need to feel better."

Sebastian cleared his throat. He doubted there was another woman in the world who would say such a thing to him and not mean her words with an intensely sexual twist.

"Oh? And how shall I make you feel better?" he asked.

Marianne smiled. "You will tell me some terribly ribald tale and turn my tears into ones born from laughter before my brother returns. You are the only one who will allow my maidenly ears to be burned by such talk and I think it would make me feel so much better tonight."

Sebastian tilted back his head and laughed. He did delight in telling Marianne naughty stories, if only to see her blush and swallow and stammer. Though he did tone down his jokes and tales quite considerably, whether she recognized that fact or not.

He leaned forward, closer to her ear. She smelled of lemons and the faint hint of roses, a charming combination that was fresh and light.

Quietly he began to whisper a joke he had recently heard told in a pub in a humble part of town. And while he toned down the language and took out at least one lightskirt from the punchline, in the end Marianne still blushed to the tips of her ears and covered her mouth as a giggle escaped past what had been pale and pinched lips until that moment.

"Sebastian, that is terrible ," she finally said when she could manage words.

At that moment, Delacourt returned to the room. He frowned and Sebastian recognized why in an instant. His friend was always irritated when Sebastian stood too close to his sister. He wasn't the only friend who felt that way, of course. With his reputation, Sebastian supposed he deserved it, but great God! He and Marianne were friends. He had never considered her more and he doubted she considered him at all.

But still Delacourt scowled. "I apologize again for having to leave you. Please, allow me escort you to supper, Marianne," he said in a pinched tone as he stepped closer and held out an arm to his sister.

It was only then that Sebastian realized he was still holding her hand. With a quick inhale of breath, he released her and she stepped toward her brother, oblivious to the undercurrent of Delacourt's displeasure, just as she always had been.

But as Delacourt escorted her toward the dining room, she half-turned and sent Sebastian a grateful smile.

Sebastian felt a swell of uncommon emotion in his chest at the expression. Of pride that he had helped her in a moment of heartbreak. And a warmth toward her that he had never allowed for any other woman, because he had never called another something so dear as "friend".

If he had it his way, that would never change.