The Marriage Mart

The Marriage Mart by Teresa DesJardien Page B

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Authors: Teresa DesJardien
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them.
    The tea was very pleasant, with not a soul touching the tiny, lovely cakes sent out on the tray, but for Mary a little of the magic of the day had left. “Business” had transpired over the top of her pleasure. She was out and about, with John, for the sole purpose of finding a husband, and she must not forget it.
    The ride back to London was not so giddy as before, and in fact after Lord Bretwyn had yawned for the third time, they allowed conversation to lapse except for occasionally pointing out a site or two to one another.
    When the carriage jolted to a halt before her home, and the footman had opened the carriage door, Lord Bretwyn made as though to descend to assist Mary out of the carriage, but John stuck out a foot, barring the way. “Allow me,” he murmured, only moving his foot out of the way when Lord Bretwyn retreated to his seat.
    As he took Mary’s hand and steadied her upon the ground, his mouth came close enough to her ear to murmur, “Tough business, this.”
    It was enough; he need say no more, for she was entirely weak toward him. He could dispel her megrims with but a few words. “Thank you for a lovely day,” she said with a gentle nod.
    The rallying of her spirits was rewarded by a light coming into his features. An impish grin flickered into being, and he asked in a very low voice, “Care to bag this one, madam?”
    She made a small murmur of protest at the vulgar phrase, but played along. “He’s quite pleasant,” she hedged.
    “Clever girl. Keep your options open. There’re more on a level with this one.”
    “Whatever are you two doing, standing about whispering in the rain?” Lady Hammand called from the carriage’s interior.
    “Yes, I had an enjoyable time today, too,” he said more loudly, then climbed back into the vehicle. There was only enough time for her to smile at her host for the day, and a lifting of hands in salute, and the carriage was away.
    Over dinner, her family asked after the excursion, and she rambled on a bit about the meal and the estate. Her mother nodded at the pleasantness of the day her daughter had spent, her father said he was glad there was a solid fellow such as Lord Bretwyn along, elsewise he would think twice before letting his daughter go about with such a rackety one as Lord Rothayne, and Lydia changed the conversation entirely to a discussion of whether she and her daughters ought to have matching dresses made for the annual derby days coming in August.
    It was only Mrs. Pennett who saw shadows behind the smile in her charge’s eyes, but try as she might, she could only solicit remarks about how pleasant a day Mary had known.
    As she tucked herself into bed that night, Mary contemplated the prying inquiries Pennett had made. How did one explain the ache that came from having someone do for you exactly what you asked them to, and not what you really wanted? How did you say aloud that a bit of your heart was bruised because you were imperfect and could not have the fairytale ending? No, it was all silliness, and it served her right that she felt all befuddled in her mind, for she kept forgetting that a ring on her finger was the purpose behind her gay life these days. Enjoy the wine, but do not allow yourself to become drunk upon it, she chided herself as she slid toward slumber.
    ***
    Two nights later, Mary had her outing with one Lord Revenshaven, one promised to him last night at the fete thrown by Lord and Lady Elsworth.
    He took her to see the opera. He was very pleasant, and knew quite a bit about the music. Mary enjoyed his comments, for she was somewhat musically inclined herself, and found it entertaining to discuss the various arias and chorus ensembles they witnessed. They enjoyed sips of champagne and some of the dainties the theater offered for sale. Afterward, when Mrs. Pennett escorted her charge back into the house, that lady prattled on a bit about the gracious manners of Lord Revenshaven, all comments with which Mary could

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