After a week's campaign of flowers she’d discarded and letters she'd refused to open, he was steadily wearing her down. Would he seek her out again? Would she once more snub him if he did? She didn't know if she had the strength to do so.
Her heart was sorely bruised, as was her pride, but her anger had softened. She would not seek him out, but if he asked again, she would at least allow him to explain himself. That was not to say he'd be forgiven, but not knowing what had moved him to write that heart-wrenching letter still tortured her.
It was just past dusk, yet the river teemed with sailing vessels of all shapes and sizes, from fishing boats to the wherries that taxied the working classes and then the elegantly canopied and gilt-adorned luxury barges, such as the one that would convey them to the duke's fete.
The night breeze grew in strength as they approached the dock, blowing back the hood of her cloak. Mariah breathed it in as she stepped across the planks onto the barge, allowing her olfactory senses to explore the unfamiliar melange of scents—dank and briny riverbank mixed with the hemp and teak wood oil of the barge.
Although Mariah would have preferred to remain in the open air to take in all of the sights and sounds of the Thames by night, she accompanied Lydia and Lady Russell inside the velvet-draped cabin.
Ever solicitous of his pregnant wife, Marcus had ensured that the barge provided every conceivable amenity. The cabin was stocked with hampers of food and bottles of wine, and a Turkish divan provided a place of repose. Though Lydia rarely complained, it was evident by her demeanor that she was growing increasingly uncomfortable by the day. Mariah was both surprised and a bit envious of Marcus's thoughtfulness. Would she ever know such devotion? She had once thought it possible, had dreamt of the day she and Nicolas would have a child, but now her chances of that kind of marriage seemed so bleak.
Marcus didn't immediately join them inside, but stood on deck until well after the oarsmen had launched the vessel.
"Mariah," Lydia said. "Please don't let me forget that there is a package hidden in one of the hampers."
"What kind of package?"
"A gift for Marcus. I didn't know how else to carry it undetected, so I asked the footman to hide it in the hamper. Since tomorrow will be our first anniversary, I thought it appropriate to give him a signed first edition of Henry Fielding's newest novel."
"Mr. Fielding has a new novel?" Lydia remarked excitedly.
"Yes. It's said to be a scandalous story entitled The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling. It is almost impossible to get one's hands on a copy, but Marcus is such a great admirer of his works that I had to find one. I am planning to surprise him with it at the stroke of midnight." Lydia bit her lip. "With all of the excitement of the party, I fear he may have forgotten our special day."
"I am sure he has not," Lady Russell interjected. "I have rarely seen a husband so devoted to his wife."
Although a short distance, the journey by barge took close to an hour with the river traffic that significantly increased the closer they got to Richmond House.
"It appears we aren't the only ones who thought to travel by water," Marcus remarked at the long line of vessels queued to land at the duke's dock. "If we don't wish to wait here all the night, we will have to moor and approach the house by tender. Are you comfortable with that idea, my dear?" Marcus asked.
"I am a passable swimmer," Lydia replied, "but I daresay I would float exceptionally well were I to fall into the Thames."
"Don't even jest, my love," Marcus chided.
Moments later, he hailed a passing wherry manned by two watermen, one of whom deftly ascended the ladder to assist the passengers. Marcus was first to board the smaller craft, from whence he assisted each woman by turn into the wherry—Lydia, then Lady Russell, and finally Mariah, who was halfway down the ladder when Lydia exclaimed, "Botheration! The hamper!"
"My dear wife," Marcus said, "I daresay the duke will have enough food—even for you."
"That's not funny, Marcus." Lydia swatted his arm. "I left something important on board."
"Then I will retrieve it for you," Marcus offered.
"Pray don't trouble yourself, Lord Marcus. I'll be happy to fetch it," Mariah said.
"Yer hand, milady?" The wherryman on deck offered his own as she reascended the ladder. His collar was turned up against the wind and his tricorn pulled low, casting his face in shadow, but there was no mistaking the golden-brown eyes that stared back at her. The moment she came under the lamplight, she realized she'd been duped.
"You!" She snatched her hand away.
"Aye, me."
Mariah spun back toward the ladder, only to discover the wherry had already pulled away. "I can't believe this!" she cried, aghast at the conspiracy. "Lydia! How could you?"
"She didn't have much choice, I'm afraid," Nick answered. "Marcus wouldn't let her come tonight unless she agreed to give me a chance to speak to you. In turn, I promised her I would take you immediately back to them once you have heard me out."
"Very well," Mariah said stiffly. "Speak your piece and take me back to them."