When Marrying a Duke.... Helen Dickson

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      ‘Not today. I had other fish to fry.’ A warm gleam lit up his brown eyes.

      Marietta laughed, giving him a knowing look. ‘You’re looking very pleased with yourself, Teddy. Do I know the lady?’ she said teasingly.

      He lifted a dark, winged brow, his lips twitching with humour. ‘I very much doubt it—but she’s a looker all right.’ Taking a long draw on his cigar, he squinted at her through the smoke. ‘Are you looking forward to the New Year celebrations?’ he asked, referring to the forthcoming event to be held at Government House.

      ‘Very much. What about you, Teddy? Will you be there?’

      ‘Naturally. Your father and I have a very important lady to escort.’

      ‘Then how could I resist two such handsome escorts?’ Marietta laughed, dancing off to placate her father.

      Lord Trevellyan’s rebuke for her inappropriate behaviour had done nothing but inflame Marietta’s smouldering resentment towards him, but when confronted by her father’s state of agitation over her escapade, she felt a deep remorse for causing him such anxiety. Her first idea of slipping to her room to change her clothes was instantly discarded when she saw how pale he was.

      Upright and decisive, Monty Westwood was a tall man with thinning fair hair and mutton-chop whiskers. His olive-green eyes were flecked with gold—a feature his daughter had inherited. He was a handsome man, though his flesh wasn’t as firm as it had once been, but he’d lost none of his ability to charm the ladies, although of late Marietta had noticed he’d lost weight and his tan had become an unhealthy yellow.

      For a long time now Marietta had begun to suspect he wasn’t well—although if he wasn’t he would never talk to her about it. He did not burden his daughter with his own worries, for there were some things he might have talked about, but didn’t. His eyes held a faraway look and his pupils were often dilated. Of course he drank too much, but then everyone in Hong Kong drank too much and many suffered from damaged livers.

      Marietta loved her father passionately. He was the only person in the world she did love—the only person she had loved since the death of her mother.

      ‘Please don’t worry about me, Papa. Here I am, safe and sound. I am sorry to have caused a fuss and I hope you are not too cross with me. I’m sorry. I know my behaviour doesn’t reflect well on you.’

      Relief at seeing his daughter unharmed following her tumble caused the blood to return to Monty’s cheeks and he gave rein to his feelings. ‘You naughty child, Marietta! What have you been doing? Ever since Mrs Schofield called I have been so anxious.’

      Marietta grimaced. ‘Oliver’s mother! I might have known she would seek you out to inform you of my latest misdemeanour. She hates it that Oliver and I are such good friends.’

      Having stopped off at his club for a reviving drink after extensive negotiations with business associates at his office, which had taken up most of the day, Monty had arrived home to find Mrs Schofield—a tiresome busybody who minded everyone’s business but her own—waiting in the hall to relate his daughter’s latest escapade. She had gone on to list all of Marietta’s shortcomings and insisted that he kept stricter control on her at all times.

      It was one of those occasions when Monty felt a twinge of guilt over not having remarried, because it meant that Marietta had been left to the care of her amah, Yang Ling. Yang Ling was like all Chinese, industrious and cheerful, and Marietta was extremely fond of her. She acted as her companion and personal maid and accompanied his fun-loving daughter everywhere.

      ‘I thought you must have been injured,’ he went on. ‘As for Julian Fielding—it is singularly tiresome of him to cause so much trouble. I shall speak to his parents. He should not have ridden off with you like that. It was totally irresponsible—of you both,’ he added as an afterthought.

      ‘Julian isn’t to blame. It isn’t his fault,’ Marietta said defensively. ‘It was my idea to race. I took a tumble on Oliver’s mount, that is all. I didn’t mean to make a scene and it was nothing serious. Unfortunately I happened to land at Lord Trevellyan’s feet and he was none too pleased.’

      Monty glanced at her sharply, his interest peaked. Lord Trevellyan never failed to make a big impression on those he came into contact with. He had a clever financial brain and was possessed of one of the finest business minds he knew. As with everything in his life his business affairs were conducted like a well-oiled machine. Those he dealt with were in awe of him, regarding this cold, frighteningly unapproachable deity whom, because of his wealth and the benefits of being associated with such a clever, powerful man, they strove desperately to please.

      ‘So you have spoken to the formidable Lord Trevellyan.’

      ‘Yes—although what he had to say wasn’t at all pleasing. What does he do? Is he very rich?’

      ‘I’ve made a lot of money, Marietta—I won’t go into the intricacies of it because you wouldn’t understand—but the days of the small shipping businesses are over. This time belongs to financial wizards with money, power and authority—men like Lord Trevellyan with grand ambitions. It’s about economics and insurance and industrial development. What did he say to you?’

      ‘He gave me a dressing down for muddying his shoes.’

      ‘Then I can only assume that coming from Lord Trevellyan it was well deserved.’

      ‘I suppose it was. I tried to apologise. His wife was more forgiving, though. How does she put up with him? She has my sympathy. She’s very lovely, isn’t she, Papa?’

      ‘Yes, she is. But—things aren’t always what they appear to be on the surface.’

      Marietta looked at him with sudden interest. ‘Why, what do you mean?’

      ‘Never mind,’ he said airily.

      She didn’t ask him to explain, but it left her wondering.

      Arriving at Marietta’s house the following morning, Oliver didn’t recognise the girl dressed in loose black trousers and a long-sleeved, green-and-yellow-patterned tunic, round-toed slippers and one thick pigtail hanging down her back waiting at the gate. She had pencilled thin kohl lines around her eyes to alter their shape. It took him a moment to realise it was Marietta, waiting for him to take her to the native quarter. He was about to walk past her and, seeing his intent, she broke out into peals of laughter. Failing to see what was so entertaining, Oliver turned and looked at her stiffly.

      ‘I had you there, Oliver. Did you not know me?’

      ‘Marietta!’ Oliver was deeply shocked. ‘Why are you dressed like that? And whose clothes are they?’

      ‘I’ve borrowed them from Yang Ling. You said yourself that the native quarter is not a fit place for an English girl to visit, which is why I’ve adopted this garb. It’s going to be such fun. No one will recognise me.’

      ‘Yang Ling? You have told Yang Ling?’ He sincerely hoped she hadn’t.

      ‘Of course not,’ Marietta laughed. ‘I wouldn’t dare. She is convinced that Europeans lose face by visiting the native quarter and she would have a fit if she were to find out. Now come along! We are wasting time and if we loiter any longer someone may see us and ask questions.’

      Oliver СКАЧАТЬ