Author: Sara Bennett
Category: Historical
Go to read content：https://readnovelfree.com/p/39974_5
Chapter 2
Abbey Thorne Manor was a treat. George had spoken of it to Marissa but she hadn’t realized until the carriage brought them into the quiet serenity of the Surrey countryside and she saw the mellow red bricks and half-timbered upper stories of the old moated manor house just how beautiful and ancient his home was. As she recalled he’d been far more interested in his London town house.
“The countryside is all very well,” he’d said, with a hint of wickedness in his smile, “but it dulls in comparison to the excitement of life in London.”
At the time Marissa had been quick to agree, but now as she stood in her room, overlooking the moat and the countryside beyond, she wondered how it would be to live her life in such a place as Abbey Thorne Manor. Her family resided in London, when they weren’t out and about on field trips. Their house was large and untidy but there was no tradition, no heirlooms or family portraits. Her father didn’t believe in hanging on to the past, and her mother usually went along with her father’s wishes. What would it be like to be George and his brother, descendants of a family who’d lived in the same house, on the same piece of land, for centuries? Wistfully, she decided it must give them a wonderful sense of belonging, of knowing who they were. Until this moment Marissa hadn’t quite understood it was a feeling she was missing in her own life.
“Who would have thought a rattle like George Kent would come from such delightful beginnings?”
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Lady Bethany’s voice startled her. Her grandmother had removed her hat and gloves and set out on a journey to inspect Marissa’s rooms. Her elegant, upright figure showed nothing of the weariness most older ladies would be feeling after such a journey, and her dark eyes darted about her. She murmured her appreciation when she spied the ormolu clock on the mantel, and lifted the pince-nez which hung on a fine gold chain about her neck so that she could examine it more closely.
“So, where do you think he has got to?”
Marissa met the sharp eyes that missed nothing and deliberately made her tone light. “I have no idea, Grandmamma. Perhaps he was called away on some business and did not have time to let us know.”
“Mmm, perhaps he was. Although if that was the case, my dear, one would think he would have left word with his brother, or the servants.”
“Not—not if it was extremely sudden and—and urgent.”
It was a poor effort, and Lady Bethany rightly ignored it as she perambulated toward the window, gazing thoughtfully through the small glass panes. “The brother is nothing like George, is he? Has George spoken much about him?”
Marissa didn’t trust her grandmother’s airy tones, eyeing her suspiciously and wondering where this was leading. Lady Bethany kept her eyes trained on the view.
“George said his brother was much older than him, and that he more or less brought him up after their father died at Waterloo. Lord Kent is a keen botanist. George calls him obsessive.”
“One doesn’t see Lord Kent about in London society. Is he married, do you know?”
“I think he is a widower.”
“Ah.” She smiled.
“Grandmamma, he is far too young for you,” Marissa retorted.
Lady Bethany smiled. “Wicked girl, I wasn’t thinking of myself.”
“Then who—” But suddenly it seemed more sensible not to prolong the conversation; whatever machinations were going on in her grandmother’s head were better left unspoken. Lady Bethany had a reputation for meddling and although Marissa supposed she meant well the outcomes to her plans were not always the ones she’d imagined. Look at her own parents. Lady Bethany had decided upon a rich and handsome gentleman for her daughter, but instead found herself with a son-in-law whose hands were perpetually stained green from handling the mosses in his ever-increasing collection.
Lady Bethany was leaning forward to peer down toward the gatehouse, and the stone bridge that spanned the moat. “I thought Lord Kent said there wasn’t a house party planned for this weekend?”
“Yes, he did say that.”
“Well, a gentleman on a rather fine bay has just ridden over the drawbridge.”
“George—” Marissa began, hardly daring to believe.
“No, my dear, it wasn’t George. He was more mature than George. I wonder who it could be? There isn’t another brother we haven’t met? Or an older relative?”
Marissa swallowed her disappointment. “No, there are only two brothers and I don’t know of any elderly relatives. Perhaps we will learn his identity at luncheon, Grandmamma.”
“Perhaps we will. I must say I am looking forward to luncheon a great deal more than I ever expected to when we set out for Surrey.” Lady Bethany gave her an innocent smile and wandered off. Marissa watched her go, eyes narrowed suspiciously. Her grandmother was up to something, and Marissa knew her well enough to be extremely uneasy.
If only George was here!
With a sigh she turned again to the window as if she expected to see him galloping wildly toward her. Where could he have gone? And why? She’d so looked forward to being here with him, to him showing her his home, to their conversations, and the way he made her laugh. He was so different from her parents and their circle of friends.
Marissa had been positive George was as attracted to her as she was to him. She was so certain she would not have to try very hard when it came to hunting him and making him hers. Now she was thrown into confusion and doubt.
To be honest she didn’t know if she was capable of hunting a man, especially if he didn’t want to be hunted. She knew more about the mating habits of plants, such as they were, than she did about people. Lady Bethany may have told risqué stories but they meant little to Marissa—it was because she’d never felt the passionate emotions her grandmamma remembered with such fondness. Until she met George she had begun to think herself incapable of anything warmer than a formal, cool fondness, and a dispassionate intellectual curiosity. It was a frightening vision of her future, never to care enough or feel enough for her husband beyond liking, and perhaps not even that, if some of the marriages she’d seen were anything to go by.