A Most Intriguing Lady by Sarah Ferguson

Author:Sarah Ferguson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2023-03-07T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

A Maid All Forlorn

Mary closed the door of her bedchamber and turned the key. Her heart was racing. How dare Tre attempt to change all the rules, force her to think about things she didn’t want to think about. Couldn’t afford to think about, right now. He was wrong! It was just a few kisses. They meant nothing at all.

Shaking, she tottered over to the bed and lay back, her feet still on the floor. How did he imagine they would explore the possibility of a future together? And where? London? Drumlanrig? Please, Mama, would you invite Colonel Trefusis to stay, so that we can explore the possibility of a future together? The moment her father got wind of any exploring of any nature, he’d summon Tre, who would find himself on the other side of an interrogation into his circumstances and his intentions. Did Tre have an income? A house? She knew nothing at all of his life, none of the important things a future wife should know.

What were the important things? Mary pushed herself upright. Income and property are what her parents would say, and lineage, of course, which was the one thing Tre did have. Connections, power, influence. Did Tre have those? He certainly had power and influence, but was it the right type of power and influence?

She sighed impatiently, and began to pace her bedchamber. If a man had all those things, would a woman be a happy wife? Margaret hadn’t thought so. Margaret’s most heinous crime had been her inability to stomach the man who had all those things. Surely Margaret was right—what mattered most was the man himself. Tre. Whose kisses made her feel as if she were melting and burning at the same time. Whose kisses made her want to forget everything—yes, absolutely everything—and lose herself in his arms. Whose kisses made her want more than kisses. He made her laugh, too, and he understood her own dark, wry sense of humour. He was the only person she had ever met who almost never asked, what do you mean? He was interested in her—another rarity—in her thoughts and her opinions and in how she felt.

She picked up a hideous porcelain statuette of a simpering little boy dressed in blue velvet and his equally simpering dog from the mantelpiece and stared at it. “Honestly, Mary,” she said to it, “you’re going to miss him when this is over.”

True, but when it was over the last time, she had recovered. She had made a life for herself. She was perfectly—happy? No, but she was perfectly content. When she was resolving other people’s problems, at least. There were times when she was lonely and bored and restless, but . . .

She replaced the statuette with an impatient sigh. If only she hadn’t met Tre, she wouldn’t have to ask herself all these questions. Well, yes, she had been asking some of them before, but he had made the questions much more difficult to answer. Explore the possibility, he’d said, which meant that it was possible he could change his mind.

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