Falling for the Marquess - Julianne MacLean Page 0,31

your presence in the drawing room.”

Clara called out, “Is it important?”

“There is a gentleman caller, miss.”

A swarm of butterflies exploded in Clara’s belly. She rose and went to the door. “Do you know who it is?” Clara pulled the door open, but the maid was gone. Standing motionless, holding the doorknob, Clara wondered if the marquess had come to call upon her properly. Was he willing to make this concession, or was it another man wishing to pay his respects?

Clara hurried to the mirror to look over her appearance. She pinched her cheeks and smoothed her hands over her upswept hair. Perhaps it was the marquess. Perhaps it wasn’t. She would know soon enough.

With a hand on her belly to quell her nervous stomach, Clara made her way into the corridor and walked slowly toward the drawing room. She entered and saw her sister sitting near the fireplace pouring tea, laughing at something, then she turned her eyes toward the other occupant in the room.

Her entire being swirled with a dizzying current of desire. It was indeed the marquess. And he was smiling wickedly at her.

Somehow, she managed to enter the room on steady feet.

She had not told Sophia about the letters. She wasn’t sure why. She usually told Sophia everything—she’d told her every word the marquess had said to her at the assembly—but this was different. Perhaps she was afraid Sophia would begin to disapprove of him, and whether it was wise or unwise, Clara did not wish to be told that she should not respond. She wanted to make up her own mind about that.

Sophia stood. “Clara. How lovely that you are here. See who has come to pay us a call today. You remember the Marquess of Rawdon? He attended our assembly the other night.”

It was all so proper. Sophia was a brilliant hostess. “Of course I remember you,” Clara replied. “Good day, my lord. How good of you to call.”

“It is entirely my pleasure, Miss Wilson.”

Not knowing what to expect, Clara took a seat next to Sophia, who poured her a cup of tea. The conversation then turned toward the usual topics—the current events in The Times, the most recent debates in the House of Commons, and of course, the most agreeable topic that could always be depended upon for propriety—the weather.

At the end of the obligatory fifteen minutes, the marquess reached for his hat and walking stick. “I must thank you, duchess, for a delicious cup of tea. It was second to none.”

His behavior was impeccable. He moved toward the door. One would think he had been a respectable member of society forever.

He bowed toward Clara. “Miss Wilson.” Then he turned and left the drawing room.

As soon as the front doors opened and closed downstairs, Sophia rushed to Clara and took hold of both her hands. “He came to call.”

Clara didn’t know what she felt. She was in shock. She was confused. What exactly did he want—a torrid affair or a proper courtship? Perhaps he had changed his mind after he’d sent the last letter. Perhaps he was giving in to the idea of reforming himself.

“I wonder if we should call on his stepmother,” Sophia said. “Lady Rawdon seemed to enjoy herself here the other night. I believe she was pleased to receive the invitation. From what I’ve heard, she has not been received in most houses, not since the marquess was involved in that beastly court case.”

Clara sat down again. She picked up her teacup and took a sip but set it down again when she realized it was cold. Sophia sat beside her. “He came for you, Clara. You’re the one he wanted to see.”

“But he has a reputation, and I am quite certain that Mrs. Gunther disapproves of him.”

“It’s your future. You are the one who must choose, and it’s obvious that you fancy him.”

“But how do I choose when I still know so little about the marquess, except that he is not respectable? The Duke of Guysborough on the other hand is very well regarded, but he does not interest me, not the way the marquess does. Perhaps it’s just a foolish desire to possess something that cannot be possessed—like the wind or the sun.” She gazed imploringly into her sister’s eyes. “I feel like I’m losing my mind. My head is telling me that he is all wrong, but I can’t stop thinking about him.”

Sophia rested her hand on Clara’s. “Sometimes the heart does not make sense. It only knows