Falling for the Marquess - Julianne MacLean Page 0,113
her head again. “No, I would not. I am content with my decision to marry Lord Osulton. He is an agreeable gentleman and a very good match for me. From what I understand, he doesn’t enjoy the city, either. He prefers his country house.”
“But aren’t you afraid you might someday wonder what extraordinary adventures you might have missed?”
Adele squeezed her sister’s hand. “I don’t seek adventure, Clara. In fact, I loathe the idea of it. I prefer a carefully laid out plan, free of the unexpected. Besides that, I believe that sometimes, the best marriages are sensibly arranged. Love comes later, when it has time to grow and become something more substantial, based on admiration and respect rather than a spark and flame. Fire can be unpredictable, and it often burns.”
“It can also be wonderful, Adele.”
“Can it? Funny, I do recall when it was not so wonderful last year, when you thought your husband was going to leave you. You were miserable. I don’t want to be miserable like that. I prefer a sense of calm without any of those difficult emotional ups and downs.”
“But Seger did devote himself to me,” Clara said, “and we are very happy now. What we have today was worth every minute of misery, no matter how excruciating it was at the time. Some things are worth fighting for, no matter how unpleasant the task. Are you sure you don’t wish to postpone the wedding, and suffer through just one Season? You might discover the greatest romance of your life.”
Adele sighed and stood up. She crossed to the wardrobe and began to unbutton her bodice.
“You would think,” Clara continued, “being bookish, you might have read something about love.”
“I’ve read plenty about love,” Adele said with her back to her sister, “and I could never relate to those simpering, lovesick heroines stuck in towers, who stake their happiness on white knights. There are no towers or white knights in real life, Clara. There are only realistic men, and I am quite content to have found a most agreeable one for myself. Besides, it makes me happy to please Mother and Father. You should have seen Mother’s face when I told her I had accepted Lord Osulton’s proposal. I’d never seen her so proud.”
“You cannot live your life to please others, Adele. You must think of yourself and your future. After the wedding, Mother and Father will return to New York, and you will be left in England on your own—no longer a dutiful daughter, but a married woman. You will be responsible for your own happiness and be free to choose what you want to do with your life. You should marry whomever you wish to marry.”
“I wish to marry Lord Osulton. Harold,” she added, deciding she should probably start referring to him by his given name now that they were betrothed.
Clara smiled lovingly at Adele. “I daresay, you will do as you wish, won’t you?”
“As long as it is the right thing to do. I have chosen my path, and I have made a commitment. I will not veer from it.”
Clara raised an eyebrow, stood up, and walked to the connecting door to her own stateroom. “I suppose there is no arguing with you. You always were determined to do the right thing, even when Sophia and I tried to convince you to do otherwise. You missed some fun, you know.”
Adele tipped her head at her sister. “I also missed many hours standing in the corner.”
Clara shrugged. “Adventure has a price.”
“And you and Sophia were always willing to pay it.”
Adele’s maid entered and began preparing the bed.
Clara opened the door. “We’ll be docking overnight to pick up some extra passengers, then it won’t be long before we reach Liverpool. The captain says we should be disembarking by mid-morning. It sounds to me like you’re sure.”
“I am.”
“Then I am satisfied. I must go and check on little Anne. I’ll see you in the morning.” She walked out and closed the door behind her.
Adele smiled at her maid and reached for her nightgown.
London’s Savoy Theatre
Shortly after four a.m. the same night
It was a well-known fact among certain circles in London that Frances Fairbanks—celebrated actress and hailed by some as one of the most beautiful women alive—enjoyed lying about naked. Especially on the soft, bearskin rug on the floor of her dressing room, when the room smelled of wine and French perfume, and she was gazing at a lover.
Or rather, one lover in particular. Damien Renshaw, Viscount Alcester.