A Regency Match by Elizabeth Mansfield Page A

expected it would) had won the day.
    Marcus had quickly taken his leave, inwardly sighing with relief. He’d immediately written to his mother to confess what he’d done. Lady Wynwood had responded in her usual, unworldly style. My dearest boy , she’d written, you needn’t apologize at all. I should have thought of having a party for you myself. I shall be most delighted to hold a house-party on such an occasion. I am quite looking forward to it, especially to meeting your young lady. How exciting that you are betrothed! I have no doubt at all that I shall love Miss Bethany — or is it Miss Battersea ?— on sight. And Marcus, dearest, you must invite anyone you wish, but don’t forget to ask your uncle Julian. He would be quite put out if he were not included. Which reminds me that I myself have invited a few friends down for the fortnight in question, but I’m sure they will all blend in very well with your people. We shall have a very merry time of it, I assure you. Oh, by the way, do you think you should invite your cousin Elvira? She is a bit garrulous, I know, but she would be so pleased to be part of the festivities. Of course, if you do, we shall have to have the entire Fitzhugh branch, so perhaps you’d better not. I suppose we might ask Henry and Constance, too, for they are always pleasant to have by when one needs extra hands for cards. I leave it all to you, my dearest. You are so much better at making such decisions than I. A bientôt. Your loving Mother .
    The letter, while it made him laugh out loud at the first reading, soon filled him with misgivings. How many friends had his mother already invited? And did she really want him to invite Henry and Constance? They could scarcely be called immediate family, no matter how skilled they were at cards. Didn’t his mother realize that more than a dozen people would be horrendous? Every time they’d sit down to a meal, it would be like a damned banquet !
    It was clear that, if the party were not to get out of hand, he would have to take control himself. Decisively, he ordered his valet to pack a bag. While that was being done, he paid quick visits to Miss Bethune, Dennis Stanford and his uncle Julian. Those errands done, he tossed the bag into his curricle and set off for Sussex.
    It was early evening when he entered the gates of the estate. With the smoke and din of London far behind him, and the smell of spring filling his nostrils, Marcus found his mood brightening. Although he had not made his home at the Hall for several years, he loved the place better than any other on earth. His first glimpse of the house, whenever he’d been away from it for long, always filled him with pleasure. Wynwood was approached through a large, oak-studded park, over a balustraded stone bridge which spanned a bubbling rivulet with fern-covered slopes, and round a bend in the road which brought one face to face with the main buildings. The house, which had been built by the first Earl in the seventeenth century, was a lovely, three-storied block with an imposing six-columned portico, to which a pair of beautiful, curved wings had been added a century later, but with such tact that no one could see they’d been an afterthought. Even the outbuildings, the stables and the greenhouses seemed to blend in a pleasing coherence. As Marcus rounded the bend, he saw that the setting sun had sent sparks of radiance to dance on the bowed windows of the west wing and the greenhouses. He drew his horses to a stop and sat for a moment in admiring contemplation of his Sussex home, the view driving from his mind the annoyances that had brought him here.
    But an hour later, after the affectionate greetings between mother and son had been exchanged, and his travel-weariness had been dispelled by the indulgence in a lavish tea prepared by Mrs. Cresley, the housekeeper, in honor of his arrival, the problems of the forthcoming festivities returned to his