The Marquis's Awakening by Elizabeth Beacon

Author:Elizabeth Beacon [Beacon, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Christian, Historical, Romance, General
ISBN: 9781488790652
Google: UGNEBQAAQBAJ
Amazon: B00L0XIHCY
Barnesnoble: B00L0XIHCY
Goodreads: 23491115
Publisher: Harlequin Historical
Published: 2014-12-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

That day set the pattern for the Marquis of Mantaigne’s return to his primary country seat. Whenever it didn’t pour with rain he spent his days exploring the estate and its villages, with or without his secretary at his side. If he stayed home he was polite and surprisingly easy with the interlopers at his once-grand mansion and they did their best not to ask what he intended to do about them as days grew into weeks. Polly felt like the outsider as her friends and family came to look on him as a genial and civilised gentleman. So why was she the only one who felt as if she was constantly waiting for the second shoe to fall?

Her life had narrowed to the park and gardens, and she supposed glumly that it would prepare her for a time when they must leave and patch together some sort of life elsewhere. One day she came home from working in the fields around Dayspring to find a beautiful riding habit draped across her bed. For a moment she enjoyed the sheer pleasure of seeing the richly dyed forest-green fabric lying there in the dappled sunlight slanting through the ancient leaded windows. There were depths and shifts in the folds that told her it was the work of a master weaver and she knew that colour would suit her to perfection, if she had any intention of wearing it.

Knowing she was being stubborn and ungrateful, she still felt her temper rise to dangerous heights at Lord Mantaigne’s presumption. If the man didn’t like her as she was he could tell her so; this was an attempt to force her into the role of a meek and properly dressed female without him having to point out her clothes were unladylike and shocking even to a rake like him.

She refused to fit into a neat little niche where spinster ladies with no prospects must live. She couldn’t cram herself into such narrow confines even if she wanted to, she concluded, with a severe nod at the beautiful garment lying there like a false promise. How did he expect Miss Paulina Trethayne to force herself into the cramping styles of a proper lady when she hadn’t a penny to her name she hadn’t earned through working his land when his back was turned? Surely he didn’t think local society would blink at such an unlikely spectacle and make space for her?

The very idea of the derision that would greet her if she tried to cramp her long limbs and unladylike lope into the mincing gait and quiet littleness of a spinster’s day-to-day life made her cringe. He was setting her up to be a mockery, and she felt the sting of it, even as she slammed the door of her bedchamber and ran back down the stairs to find the wretched man and berate him for taking this latest chip out of her self-confidence.

He didn’t need her to accompany him about the estate while he was visiting folk who only a few weeks ago had turned to her for help and advice.

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