She thought she saw the man’s lips twitch just a little, but other than that, he betrayed no reaction, his dark green eyes on her with little interest that she could discern. She shifted under his cool, indifferent gaze and didn’t know what next to say. With horror, she realised he would now leave her standing as he had Lady Scranford, when Mr Russell joined them and gave her a reassuring smile.
“Good evening, Edward, I see you have met Miss Holbrook. You may be seeing much of her, as I am informed by my wife that she has every intention of making her a close friend.”
Belle could have kissed the man at that moment, so great was her relief at not being cut dead by the marquess. She sent Mr Russell a grateful smile, and as the marquess was still silent, filled the conversational space he’d left gaping.
“That is so very kind of your wife, Mr Russell. I pray you convey to her how very grateful both I and my sister are for her kind attentions. Indeed, I very much look forward to knowing her better.”
Aubrey nodded his approval of this, and they both looked around in surprise as the marquess did speak.
“What happened with this project of yours, Russell?” he demanded, with the wave of one hand, a rather disinterested and superior look glinting in his eyes.
Mr Russell’s face closed off somewhat, though Belle could see fierce pride blazing in his hazel eyes.
“Extraordinarily well, actually, Edward,” he replied, and Belle got the distinct feeling that the marquess’ Christian name was very deliberately spoken, even though the marquess had not used his. Though of course they were brothers-in-law and Christian names ought to be perfectly normal, she felt instinctively that there was no little animosity between the two men. “In fact, I’m sure you’ll read all about it in the news sheets over the next few days.”
There was a glimmer of surprise in the marquess’ eyes and Belle grinned inwardly. Well done, Mr Russell, she silently applauded.
To her relief Mr Russell turned to her and explained what the project was, as she could never have asked and was dying to know.
“Have you heard of George Stevenson?” he asked, clearly expecting a reply in the negative, as such things were not generally of interest to young ladies. Well ... most young ladies. Belle however was delighted.
“Oh yes!” she exclaimed, quite unable to hide her interest as she might have done if she’d thought about it. “The Kilmarnock and Troon railway! Is it true they have carried passengers all that distance, and at such speeds?”
Aubrey looked at her in surprise, his handsome face creasing into a wide smile.
“Why, yes, indeed, Miss Holbrook. In fact, I had the honour of travelling on it myself.”
“Oh!” Belle stared at him in awe and couldn’t help herself as the questions tumbled out. “What was it like? Was it terribly fast? How many passengers were there? What did it feel like?”
“I’m sure if you pause for breath long enough, Mr Russell would be delighted to answer you.”
The words were icy and cutting and Belle flushed, her pleasure quite taken from her. Mr Russell sent the marquess a quelling look of cool dislike before returning to her.
“Miss Holbrook, you have no idea how refreshing it is to find someone as interested in my project as I am. Perhaps you would care to join myself and Violette. She accompanied me on my visit, and I am sure she would also be delighted to discuss it with us.” He held out his arm and the two of them walked away without giving the marquess a backward glance.
For a moment, she felt a surge of pure triumph, as the wretched man had been odious and appallingly rude, but rather later she noticed him still alone, still forbidding, and quite obviously troubled, and her heart went out to him nonetheless.
***
“I’ve made up my mind,” Belle said to Crecy, smothering a yawn as the two of them sprawled over her bed later that evening.
Crecy looked up, her grey eyes full of hope. “You’ve decided to come ghost hunting with me?”
Belle tutted in disgust and suppressed a shudder, looking at the dark corners of her bedroom with misgiving. “No,” she replied, her voice brooking no argument. “And I told you, just stay in your room and if you’re really lucky you’ll see a murdered housekeeper,” she said, her tone dry.
Crecy gave a happy sigh and Belle rolled her eyes.
“Anyway, as I was saying ...” she continued, sliding her satin slippers from her feet and rubbing her toes. “I think it will have to be Lord Nibley.”
Crecy blinked and stared at her, obviously shaken from daydreams of murdered servants long enough to turn her attention to her sister. “What will have to be Lord Nibley?” she asked with suspicion.
Belle tutted and flung a cushion at her. “Really, Crecy, can you keep your mind from the dead for one moment and attend to the problems of the living? Why are we even here? I have to find a husband!”
Crecy gaped at her and then gave a determined shake of her head. “Oh no!” she exclaimed, quite surprisingly vehement in her objection. “No, no, he won’t do at all.”
Belle slid off the bed and gestured for Crecy to undo the lacing at the back of her dress.
“Why ever not? He’s very wealthy and seems a rather kind man. I think he’d do very well,” she replied, trying to sound enthusiastic about the idea, though in truth, it didn’t appeal to her greatly either. Part of her hoped Crecy had heard he was a committed gambler or libertine and she could put the idea from her head. It seemed rather unlikely.
“B-but he’s so ... dull!” Crecy objected. “And if he went out and found some curiously shaped rock or something, he’d probably forget to come home at all!”
Belle tutted at her sister in a disapproving manner, but conceded privately that there might be some truth in the words. She had spoken at length with Lord Nibley earlier. Well, they had stumbled around an appallingly stilted conversation for the best part of fifteen minutes, until she’d been so utterly desperate that she’d uttered the fateful words, “I hear you’re interested in geology, my lord.” Well. There had been plenty of conversation after that, all right, all of it one-sided and most of it utterly incomprehensible. After the first twenty minutes Belle had admitted to herself the rather unkind thought that if one of his blasted rocks had been to hand she’d have thrown it at him.
“He isn’t dull at all, he’s ... he’s academic,” she said with dignity, hanging her dress up with care and turning her attention to Crecy’s. “And it’s not as if I have any other options. He’s the only single man who so much as acknowledged my existence.”
She undid the fastenings of Crecy’s gown as her sister made a disparaging noise, and mentally thanked Violette for being so thoughtful as to give them connecting rooms. They couldn’t afford the services of a lady’s maid, giving the excuse that theirs had been taken suddenly ill if anyone asked, and always saw to each other’s toilette.
“The marquess spoke to you,” Crecy said, turning her head and giving Belle a diabolical grin. “You’re the only female he spoke to all night, you know.”
Belle felt an unaccountable lurch of something in her chest at the idea that the imperious marquess might have taken note of her, and then gave a bark of laughter.