Falling for the Marquess - Julianne MacLean Page 0,112
earring and watched it sparkle in her hand. She closed her fist around it, then looked up at her reflection again.
She felt oddly disconnected from the floor, as if she were in someone else’s body. A stranger was staring back at her—an elegant, sophisticated heiress who wore a jewel-trimmed Worth gown from Paris made of the finest silk money could buy, and around her neck, an antique, pearl-and-diamond choker to match the earrings.
She turned away from the mirror and looked around. Suddenly, even the room seemed wrong. Wrong. There was no other word for it. Carved mahogany panels covered the walls, the ceiling was painted gold with extravagant ornamentation around a dazzling crystal chandelier. The sheets on her bed boasted the ship’s monogram, and all the fixtures, from the doorknobs to the lamps, right down to the nails in the bulkhead, were polished brass, pompously gleaming.
Sometimes it seemed as if she were living someone else’s life. She had not been born into this wealth. She didn’t even know how to feel comfortable with it. At the moment, she felt as if she shouldn’t touch anything.
Adele sighed. What she wouldn’t give to be riding bareback through the woods as she used to do when she was younger, before they’d moved to the city and ventured into high society. Oh, to smell the damp earth and the leaves on the ground, and the green moss around the lake....
She inhaled deeply, longingly, wanting to remember, but smelled only the expensive perfume she wore. Feeling absurdly deprived, she exhaled.
It’s nerves, she decided, crossing to her bed and removing the other earring and setting both of them on the night table. Tomorrow she would greet her future husband, Lord Osulton. An English earl. The newspapermen would probably be there to greet the ship and take her picture. No wonder she was nervous.
She would get through it, however.
Adele removed the combs from her honey-colored hair and shook out her long, curly locks until they fell loose upon her shoulders. That was better.
The door to the adjoining stateroom opened, and Adele’s sister Clara peered inside. Clara had married the handsome Marquess of Rawdon the year before and had left her London home a month ago with her new baby daughter, Anne, to visit her family in New York. “You’re still awake?”
Adele faced her sister. “Yes, come in.”
Clara, still in her glittering evening gown, her mahogany hair swept into a flattering knot, entered the room and sat down on the chintz sofa. “You barely touched your supper. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” But Adele knew she couldn’t fool Clara who always strove to see beneath the surface of things.
“Are you certain, Adele? You’re not having second thoughts, are you? Because it’s not too late to change your mind.”
“I’m not having second thoughts.”
“It would be perfectly normal if you were. You barely know the man. You’ve met him so few times, usually at dull assemblies with Mother breathing down your neck. You’ve danced with him only once, which is essentially the only time you’ve been alone with him. And what was that, three or four minutes?”
Adele sat down next to Clara. “I’m just a little nervous, that’s all. But I know in my heart that this is right. I’m sure of it. He’s a good man.”
“But you haven’t had a chance to know for sure if there is any true intimacy between you. Some form of attraction. A spark that leads to a flame. Maybe you should think about enjoying the London Season just once before you marry. Imagine who you might meet. A dashing white knight, perhaps.”
Adele shook her head. “I’m not like you, Clara. You and Sophia were the adventurous ones, while I’ve always been prudent and practical. Isn’t that what Mother and Father said every time you and Sophia got into trouble?”
Clara smirked. “I can hear Father now.” She put a finger under her nose like a mustache. “Why can’t you two girls be more like your younger sister? We can always depend on Adele to behave herself.”
Adele smiled and rolled her eyes. “The fact remains, I don’t wish to suffer through an entire London Season, being speculated about, forced to wear diamonds every night and flirt in crowded drawing rooms. The thought of it, quite frankly, makes me ill. I’d much rather be in the country—outdoors with the fresh air, which is exactly where my future husband is at this moment.”
“You might enjoy the excitement of a Season,” Clara said, sounding a little frustrated.