Never had she imagined that Jonas Merrick’s scarred face could look kind, but when she glanced up, she was surprised to read concern in his dark gaze, along with a reassuring absence of criticism.
“Th-thank you.” Reaction set in and she felt sick and unsteady. Her head pounded from Tranter’s blows. Hillbrook’s arm was all that kept her upright.
“I’ll see to our guests,” Sidonie said from beside her. “Perhaps I can persuade them that gossip will only cause harm and discretion is the better choice.”
Nobody graced that overly optimistic remark with a reply as Marianne turned to her friend. “Please, will you stay with me?”
Sidonie’s brown eyes swept the unrelentingly masculine group surrounding Marianne. “Of course.”
It was a subdued company that assembled in the room Lord Hillbrook used for his business activities. Marianne looked around the prosaic space and guessed this must be the heart of Jonas Merrick’s financial empire. In a way, she appreciated the lack of ostentation. Tonight’s negotiations wouldn’t be pretty either.
Lord Hillbrook guided her to a leather chair and poured her a brandy. “This will help,” he said softly, touching her shoulder in a gesture of encouragement as she sank into the seat.
She blinked back grateful tears and rested her throbbing head on the back of the chair. “You’re being so good.”
“Nonsense,” he said with a hint of a smile.
“I’ve spoiled your house party,” she said in a choked voice.
“I forgive you. Now drink up.” In an unexpected mark of support, he stood next to her chair. Having such a powerful man on her side bolstered her failing courage.
She sipped her brandy, surprised that the burning warmth did make her feel marginally better. It also reminded her that she possessed a shred of pride. She refused to act like a whipped dog, cowering in the shadows. Tilting her chin, she reviewed her surroundings with a more critical eye. Sir Richard might have dismissed the merely curious, but still a daunting number of people filled this workaday room.
Tranter sauntered in with her father. His brashness sat oddly with the scratches she’d inflicted. Obviously he couldn’t believe that she’d prefer notoriety to marrying him. He started in Marianne’s direction until her blistering glare brought him to a halt near the window.
In the center of the room, her father looked livid. He also looked old and tired and ill. Guilt speared Marianne that she’d brought him to this.
Sidonie stood beside her husband, taking his hand in a loving gesture. Marianne turned to give her a wobbly smile. The Hillbrooks had wordlessly declared themselves her supporters. Shaky and shabby as she felt, she appreciated their endorsement.
Next to arrive was Lord Desborough. He also looked tired and disheartened. Another pang of remorse stabbed Marianne. This was the second time his marital plans had dissolved into scandal through no fault of his.
Elias marched in and closed the door after him in a clear signal for everyone else to keep out. Her father cast him a narrow-eyed look but, to Marianne’s relief, saved his ammunition for the upcoming battle. Elias propped himself against the mantel in a characteristic pose, his black eyes running over the company. She had no idea what he was thinking.
“I’ll arrange to have the banns called,” her father said grimly, once he was sure of no further intrusions. “As soon as the flood subsides, my daughter and I will return to Dorset. A quiet, quick wedding in the family chapel is the best we can do. At least away from London, we’ll escape the worst of the talk.”
“Capital,” Tranter said with a cheerfulness that made Marianne itch to flay him. “I’ll come through Town and put a notice in the papers.”
“As y
ou wish,” her father said heavily without looking at him.
Regret and lifelong love made Marianne lean forward and extend a hand. “Papa…”
He stared over her head. “I’ll give you what countenance I can with a wedding, but I don’t want to see you once the match is made.”
She flinched from this new pain, although she’d known when he found her in Tranter’s clutches that he’d never forgive her. “I understand that you’re angry—”
“You have no idea.” He stared directly at her and she quailed at the distaste in his eyes. “No use trying to mend what can’t be fixed. At least Lord Tranter is willing to do the right thing.”
Pity and shame had briefly submerged her rage. Now anger stirred anew. “The man is a swine.”
“I say, that’s strong,” Tranter complained. Neither Marianne nor her father paid him any heed.
“You should have thought of that before meeting him on the sly.”
“I didn’t,” she said in a thick voice. I will not cry. I will not cry. “He tricked me into that conservatory. You heard me scream.”
“A modest woman’s reaction to a lover’s natural ardor,” Tranter said with a smile that indicated this was something these men of the world would understand. Nobody smiled back. Despite his scratched face, he attempted to appear the harmless milksop she’d thought him in London. She wondered if the act was convincing anyone. She couldn’t tell from the somber expressions around her.