Noblesse Oblige

Chapter One

Marianne Noble was a noticing kind of woman, and when the tall, distinguished man walked into the public room of the best hotel at Scarborough, she noticed at once.

So did her employer. Mrs. Middleton’s sharp glance assessed the stranger and returned to rest on her companion. An interesting addition. I wonder if we can make his acquaintance? Mrs. Middleton sighed. Sometimes I miss male companionship. I’m fortunate that I’m in no need of funds, but there are things one requires from a man that money cannot provide.

Marianne shuddered. We don’t know him. Mrs. Middleton’s attempts to make the acquaintance of interesting gentlemen usually involved her, but her employer’s vulgar curiosity repelled Marianne’s natural reticence. She determined not to look after that first glance which took in the toned, muscular frame and smooth, intelligent face. Marianne didn’t like to admit that he attracted her attention. After all, this early in the season in Scarborough presentable gentlemen were rare.

Marianne’s limited experience led her to conclude that what Mrs. Middleton meant by male companionship, and what she meant were very different things, but at least Mrs. Middleton took care to preserve her respectability.

Mrs. Middleton’s ample charms ensured she was rarely disappointed in her quest for male companionship, but at present they were overlaid by bored pettishness. I’m surprised to see any one here. This hotel is one of the best in the town and it’s still half-empty. If I hadn’t been so disappointed in Mr. Calverley, I wouldn’t have considered coming here this early.

Ignoring the reference to the gentleman who’d had the good sense to back away from Mrs. Middleton’s toils, Marianne picked up the periodical from the table by her side. Would you like me to continue to read to you?

Yes please dear, said the lady, her gaze wandering the room. I find your reading very soothing. Scarborough’s waters had proved exciting enough for her for the last two weeks. The gentleman in question had been most disobliging. At one point Marianne feared she might have to look for a new position when her employer announced her forthcoming marriage, but it wasn’t to be. He hadn’t come up to scratch, and so here they were.

Marianne continued to read aloud from the newspaper, avoiding the more depressing reports on the war, deciding instead to concentrating on local events. However, she’d lost the attention of her audience. When she looked up, she saw Mrs. Middleton’s sharp blue eyes trained over her shoulder, looking directly at the place where the gentleman had chosen to sit.

She interrupted Marianne’s careful reading of the latest meeting of the Archaeological Society without waiting for her to finish her sentence. I’m almost sure I know him. If I write a note, would you take it across to him, dear Marianne?

Marianne disliked approaching a single gentleman she hadn’t been introduced to, but she had no option but to obey. All she had to do was close her eyes and remember the little terrors she had taught before changing her profession from governess to companion, and she found she had the courage to obey Mrs. Middleton after all.

The lady took out a gold case containing her tablet of paper and a small pencil, and scrawled a note. She folded it once and handed it to Marianne. Do take it to him.

Marianne took the note and got to her feet. Taking a deep breath for courage, she took a few reluctant steps towards the gentleman.

He didn’t look up from his newspaper until she had reached him. Clear grey eyes set in a face of formidable aspect regarded her, scanning her in an insolent study. I thought this was a respectable hotel? His mild tones somehow underlined Marianne’s rising embarrassment.

Mortified, she flushed deep pink and handed him the note. I’m so sorry to disturb you. Her voice came out as a whisper.

Yes, so you should be, he snapped, but he took the note. After he’d read it he glanced across at Mrs. Middleton and then back at Marianne, taking in her respectable but modest dark blue wool gown and her employer’s more fashionable confection of butter yellow. You may tell the lady she is mistaken. I have rarely visited Harrogate, and I would have been sure to remember her if I had seen her there. My name isn’t Stevens, it’s Rivers.

With an effort, Marianne prevented her trembling. Humiliated suffused her in a bitter wave and she knew for certain that everyone in the room was watching her. I’m sorry to have troubled you, sir, she murmured in a very small voice.

He looked at her with increased attention, his dark eyes taking in her deep flush. That’s quite all right. His tone softened. And I apologise for my comment earlier. I’m sure you’re a completely respectable female. With a rustle of paper, he went back to his newsheet.

Marianne bowed her head, and without another word went back to Mrs. Middleton. She didn’t know what to make of the gentleman’s last remark. How lowering, to be a ‘respectable female!’ She’d seen a handsome man, one she felt a deep instant attraction for, and he’d seen a ‘respectable female.’ Poverty and appearance didn’t prevent daydreams of a kind Marianne would be ashamed to admit in public, dreams of riches and beauty far beyond her, but she knew they were all foolish and had no difficulty relegating her imaginings to the back of her mind. Unlike Mrs. Middleton, who was making ‘a push for nobility,’ as she put it.

And why not? she had said to Marianne in a more private moment. I’m respectably born, I have lots of the ready these days—oh granted, I won’t end up a princess, but I might be able to snag a baron. One of the reasons she had employed Marianne with such alacrity was the existence of a baron in her family. The connection was nebulous, but Mrs. Middleton, her investigatory senses sharpened by the trail, had sniffed him out. She had connected the surnames and traced the connection.

Mrs. Middleton’s deep knowledge of the fashionable world came to her aid when Marianne told her the gentleman’s name. Rivers? A common enough name, but there are the Rivers of Greystoke Manor. That’s not too far from here, either. They’ve been there since the Conqueror. She stole another glance at the gentleman over Marianne’s shoulder. "I don’t recognise him. There’s a young man at Greystoke Manor, but he’s too young for that gentleman. That one must be five and thirty if he’s a day, and the younger Rivers can’t be more than three and twenty. She sighed. Mr. Rivers of nowhere. Still, he might be amusing while we’re here."

Marianne lowered her head, flushing once more. Mrs. Middleton didn’t mean it, but her voice was so loud Mr. Rivers must have heard some of it. She hoped he wasn’t listening, but was afraid he might be.

***

A fashionable watering place like Scarborough wasn’t short of public places where one might ‘accidentally’ bump into an acquaintance, so Marianne couldn’t hope that Mrs. Middleton would give up her pursuit of the first eligible gentleman she’d seen so far this visit.

Her mistress questioned the Boots, even going so far as to tip him half a guinea, but the boy could tell her little about the gentleman in question. That’s just Mr. Rivers, ma’am. He comes here every now and then, and stays for a month or so, and then goes away again. He brings a groom, but he’s as close-mouthed as a gentleman can be.

So he brings horses and such? Mrs. Middleton asked, aware on every suit.

He’s got his own carriage, and he brings a hack with him.

Anything on the door of the carriage?

No ma’am, no crest, said the Boots, who, unseen by Mrs. Middleton, winked at Marianne, making her aware that he knew exactly what the lady meant.

Still, said the widow to her companion when the Boots had gone. "A gentleman with his own carriage, no sign of a wife—there might be hope yet, my dear. And he is very handsome."

Marianne was forced to admit her employer was right. It had been difficult to forget him. Marianne couldn’t deny she was attracted to Mr. Rivers, but gentlemen tended not to notice her. He wasn’t the only gentleman she had been drawn to in her nine and twenty years, and probably wouldn’t be the last. They never looked at her, especially next to Mrs. Middleton’s florid charms. Marianne was too easily overlooked.

Back in their suite, Marianne was putting on her pelisse, ready to go out for a stroll with her employer when the widow clapped her hands together. Marianne turned to see her beaming delight. I know. I’ll invite him tomorrow. See what Mr. Blunt makes of him.

Mrs. Middleton had arranged to hire one of the hotel rooms downstairs for a select gathering after dinner the following evening. She’d invited most of the gentry visiting the fashionable spa and most of them had accepted. Not, Marianne suspected, because of the popularity of her mistress. Mrs. Middleton might be a little on the vulgar side, but she was a promising widow for a gentleman on the look-out for an older wife. Barely the wrong side of forty, her blonde curls owed more than a little colour to the ministrations of her skilled ladies’ maid, but her animation was said to be attractive, and she was rarely short of company.

Marianne’s heart sank. She thought the gentleman wanted to be on his own, but it wasn’t worth putting herself at outs with Mrs. Middleton. Let her find out for herself.

To Marianne’s surprise, Mrs. Middleton met with success, and her invitation for the gathering later that same evening, delivered by a chambermaid on the instant, was cordially accepted.

Marianne spent most of the remainder of the day helping Mrs. Middleton choose just the right gown and the jewels to go with it. She eventually chose a gown of pea-green, which she said set her curls off to perfection. In any case, she could then wear the handsome set of pearls and green garnets presented to her by the late Mr. Middleton. Because it took so long, Marianne was denied her customary solitary airing by the sea which she had grown to enjoy in the short time they’d been there.

Mrs. Middleton was kind enough to compliment Marianne on her looks that evening, but she was well aware that she only presented a neat, commonplace appearance. Her soft brown hair was cast into the shade by Mrs. Middleton’s guinea-curls, her mien of quiet contemplation easily overlooked beside her employer’s animation. Which, of course, was one of the main reason she was there. Marianne could play the mouse, if it meant her financial independence. Her father, a country vicar, had loved his wife too dearly and she had been too fruitful for the eldest of her offspring to be overly fussy about where she looked for employment.

Standing beside Mrs. Middleton greeting the guests when they entered Marianne was aware of a sense of relief when Mr. Rivers didn’t turn up. However just as they were about to leave their station by the door he appeared, perfectly attired in evening wear which must, even to Marianne’s inexperienced eyes, have been carefully tailored. Everything fit so well but nothing shouted. The coat fit perfectly over the broad shoulders with only the minimum of padding, and his breeches and stockings displayed strongly made, long legs. He wore the minimum of jewellery, unlike some of the bucks present, and seemed to wear his clothes well, unlike, for instance, young Mr. Crede, whose clothes seemed to wear him.

Mrs. Middleton greeted him with a simper that didn’t suit her forty years. So good to see you, sir. Although Scarborough is pretty thin of company yet, we hope to offer you some interesting entertainment.

Indeed. Mr. Rivers bowed over her hand with an elegance Marianne suspected was born of long use. He turned to Marianne. Good evening, ma’am.

He glanced around the room, letting out a breath of what seemed to the observant Marianne like relief. She wondered whom he expected to see there, but whomever it was, they weren’t there. The circumstances of his late arrival couldn’t have been more fortunate for the widow. She was able to lay her hand on his arm with; Well, everyone seems to be here. May I introduce you to some people, sir? She led him off.

Wistfully, Marianne thought they made a fine couple. A voice by her side broke into her reverie. I trust I find you in good spirits this evening, Miss Noble?

She turned to see Mr. Blunt smiling at her. This gentleman had unaccountably taken a shine to Marianne. Since she was all but dowerless, Marianne wasn’t such a fool as to assume his intent was anything but friendship, but she enjoyed the individual attention that was so rare for her. Mr. Blunt was forty if he was a day. Once Mrs. Middleton had discovered his liking for Marianne, she had done her best to promote it. Marianne’s protests had fallen on deaf ears. No, my dear, he’s on the look-out for a wife, and your lack of portion may not deter him as much as you think. You could do a lot worse. Vainly Marianne had protested that a man’s friendship didn’t include marriage, at least for her. Mrs. Middleton was an inveterate and enthusiastic matchmaker, especially when it involved someone she was not the least attracted to herself.

Occasionally, a younger gentleman would try his luck with Marianne, especially once he found out how embarrassed even the simplest compliment made her. They found it fun to see her blush and disconcert her. Mr. Blunt was not one of those people. He drew Marianne to a sofa and procured a glass of wine for her while Mrs. Middleton paraded her new conquest around the room, bowing elegantly to the people she introduced him to. Will you go to the Pump room in the morning? Mr. Blunt asked Marianne.

Yes, I think so. Mrs. Middleton says the water is most enlivening. I think it horrid, but I suppose it must be good for one. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mr. Rivers bow over another young lady’s hand. A pretty young lady, dressed in the finest Scarborough could offer, unlike Marianne in her old dark blue.

Indeed. It is said to be good for most ills. I find it particularly soothing to the stomach, for you should know I suffer greatly from stomach pains if I eat too much of certain foods.

After that Marianne was honour bound to ask Mr. Blunt which food, and listened to an astonishing recitation of menus that had so put Mr. Blunt out of curl he had sworn never to eat them again. "But what do you eat, sir?" she asked eventually.

He gave her question a good deal of consideration frowning over his glass. Chicken I find to be very beneficial. And a glass of burgundy with a meal makes everything a little more bearable.

A new, deeply masculine voice entered the conversation. I’ve found that the more burgundy one drinks, the more bearable things become.

Mrs. Middleton and her new friend had done a complete circuit of the room, ending up at the sofa where Marianne and Mr. Blunt sat. Mr. Blunt immediately stood and offered his seat to Mrs. Middleton,

Appropriately, a servant brought a tray of glasses around at that point, and Mr. Blunt gallantly helped everyone to a glass. After one sip, Mr. Rivers put his down. At an enquiring look from Mrs. Middleton he said apologetically, Very good madeira, ma’am. Just not to my taste.

Instead of allowing Marianne to sip her drink, Mrs. Middleton said, in the prettiest way imaginable; Marianne, would you play for us? One of those little tunes you seem to carry about in your head?

Marianne had been expecting this, and, contrary to what Mrs. Middleton said she had stowed some of her music under the seat of the piano stool that afternoon in readiness. It was a relief to escape from Mr. Blunt’s recitation, so she got up with alacrity, leaving a convenient place for Mr. Rivers. Instead of taking the seat next to Mrs. Middleton, he said to Marianne, Allow me to turn the pages for you, and followed her to the piano. He gave her a private smile. I beg your pardon, but I thought my attentions were becoming too particular, and I have no desire to attract too much attention.

She stole a glance up at him, meeting his eyes with a soft smile of her own. That’s quite all right sir, but you should know most of these people are acquainted with each other, and so you are the centre of attention already. Unseen by the others he raised his eyebrows in a resigned grimace that nearly made her laugh. She felt as though she had entered into some kind of conspiracy with him.

Lifting the seat, Marianne took out her music, choosing a piece and setting it on the piano stand. Mr. Rivers stood just behind her where he could keep an eye on the music and on the room. Marianne ran her hands over the keys to test the tuning and she began to play.

Music was her solace and her joy, her only accomplishment. Her mother had brought a pianoforte into the vicarage when Marianne had been small, and she’d taken to it at once, despite the dampness in the atmosphere that threw the instrument ferociously out of tune. She knew she played well, and when she sat at the piano, her whole bearing underwent a change. Gone was the embarrassed gaucherie that marked her usual movements, and the downcast gaze she adopted in her position as paid companion. Her hands, once on the keyboard, seemed less large next to her small frame, her long fingers an asset in spanning the keys.

The piece began quietly and so she heard the startled intake of breath from behind her after she’d played the first few bars. She heard him move so he could watch her play, but he was careful not to disturb her. When the page needed turning he did it with economy and speed.

Marianne forgot herself; concentrated on the music and the feeling the composer had locked into the piece. No one else took any notice of her playing. It didn’t matter. The world stopped for Marianne, and she created her own inner place, where she felt impregnable and secure.

After three pieces Marianne stood up and closed her folder. The applause was brief and muted, and she moved away after a small smile of acknowledgement, only to find Mr. Rivers moving away with her. Let me get you something to drink, he said, and refusing to hear her protests, took her to a waiter and gave her a glass of champagne, taking one for himself. Where on earth did you learn to play like that? He sounded shaken, his carefully modulated tones warmer.

She found herself warming to him, responding to his intimacy. Was it that bad?

It was exquisite. You must know it.

Marianne hated false modesty. I know I play better than a debutante, but I’ve been around a few years longer, and I practice as much as I can.

He took a sip of his wine. A remarkable talent. Allow me to compliment you.

She blushed. Thank you. It’s my first love.

How sad. Marianne looked up at him, puzzled. He smiled, a one sided wry smile. Usually a woman cites a boy as her first love. It seems a shame that has passed you by.

She shook her head. It never does to wish for the unattainable, and I’m perfectly happy as I am. The music is mine, and I’m glad of it. It sounded so convincing, even to her own ears that she almost believed it.

You could make a living at it. I would imagine the wages you could earn would far exceed what Mrs. Middleton, however generous, pays you.

It isn’t a respectable living, and my father wouldn’t like it.

He frowned down at her. How old are you? I had thought when I first saw you that you were barely out of the schoolroom, but a lady would hardly wish anyone as young as that as her companion. He gave a short laugh. I’m sorry, what an impertinent thing for me to say!

She smiled. I don’t mind. I’m nine and twenty.

He examined her afresh, one thick brow lifted in surprise. Well the years have treated you very well. You hardly seem that age to me.

Nevertheless, it’s what I am.

He looked at her totally without humour, where another man might have laughed at her. And you’ve never been in love? With a man, that is, rather than with music.

Shocked by this last question she stared at him wide-eyed. Nine and twenty, he said meditatively, And never been kissed.

She blushed at the intimacy. Oh I have been kissed. she protested, startled by his practised flirtation, something never aimed at her before. But only at Christmas, and by my mother and—people like that.

He laughed, a long, easy sound. You should seek to remedy that, Miss—Miss—I’m sorry, I—

Noble. Miss Marianne Noble.

He laughed again then, a short bark of mirth. I like it.

His amusement puzzled her. Her name wasn’t so unusual. She met his eyes , a brief, fraught moment. It seemed to her that they were alone. Marianne’s mouth dropped open slightly and she forgot herself so much as to reach for his hand.

When she touched it she remembered where she was, and who she was. She looked away, blushing furiously to see Mrs. Middleton was watching her, eyes hard. Not obviously, it was true, but her gaze strayed in Marianne’s direction too frequently to be accidental. I think Mrs. Middleton needs me, she stammered. Do pardon me, and with only a glance of farewell she fled across the room.

***

Later, back in her room, when she had changed into a dressing gown that looked like an explosion of expensive lace, Mrs. Middleton called for Marianne. I couldn’t help noticing that Mr. Rivers showed a certain partiality for your company tonight.

Marianne kept her eyes downcast. He enjoyed my music.

Mrs. Middleton raised her eyebrows. Indeed? It looked more than that to me. Now I know you won’t mind if I put something to you. She indicated a stool by the bed, and Marianne sat down. "You must not encourage the attentions of men overmuch, especially men of the world like Mr. Rivers. Your lack of a good dowry makes it extremely unlikely that such a man would take any legitimate interest in you. He’d be far more likely to offer you a carte blanche. You know what one of those is?"

No.

Really? Mrs. Middleton emitted her carefully cultivated tinkling ripple of a laugh. "Oh my dear, such innocence! A carte blanche, my dear, is everything except marriage. In short, it is an offer to keep you for a time—as long as it amuses him to do so."

Marianne put up her hands to her heated cheeks. Oh, Mrs. Middleton!

So do be careful. Mrs. Middleton watched Marianne until the colour mantled her cheeks. He is not for you, Marianne. I may accept his attentions, should he look my way, but Mr. Rivers is far too rich for your blood. Leave him to me, my dear.

Chapter Two

Mindful of her employer’s warning, Marianne took care to avoid Mr. Rivers’s company after that, although she didn’t believe any gentleman would think of her in a flirtatious way. She was too slight, too easily overlooked. It should stand her in good stead in her career but wasn’t a quality which attracted the attention of gentlemen, especially good looking, confident ones.

Over the next few days it became apparent to the ladies that Mr. Rivers preferred his own company. Without showing the least incivility, he contrived to avoid most of the little social gatherings arranged by the visitors to the spa and the officials employed for that purpose. He was up early and retired early.

Mrs. Middleton took personal offence at this, and one morning waited, with Marianne in tow, with the intention of waylaying him in one of the public rooms. She had ascertained that Mr. Rivers liked to sit in the sunny parlour at the back of the hotel and read the morning newspapers. He could hardly avoid Mrs. Middleton’s approach without being positively rude.

She walked towards him, smiling, with both hands outstretched, as though they were old friends. Why dear Mr. Rivers, how nice to see you again! Where have you been hiding away?

He stood and bowed over one of the proffered hands, letting it go almost immediately, and then made a little bow of acknowledgement to Marianne. Surprised at being noticed, she bobbed a curtsey back. He indicated the sofa opposite his, set by one of the large picture windows. Won’t you sit down? He didn’t sound particularly welcoming, but Mrs. Middleton ignored this and sat down with a little rearrangement of her skirts and the expensive Paisley shawl she wore, a gesture designed to draw attention to her fine arms. Marianne sat quietly by her side without fuss.

I prefer to retire early, Mr. Rivers said. Consequently, many of the amusements go on past my bedtime.

Oh, Mr. Rivers, have you been ill?

That’s why many people come here, isn’t it? He didn’t look ill to Marianne. There was none of the pinched, white appearance that recuperating invalids wore. He looked strong and vigorous. Handsome, even.

Mrs. Middleton sailed past the comment. Oh, to restore one’s health, certainly. But we have to remember our fellow man and continue cordial relations, don’t you agree?

Within limits, he replied. I came here to rest.

Of course, of course. I’m so sorry to hear you were ill, and we must hope that the excellent air here restores you to health. Do you take the waters?

He shook his head determinedly. Disgusting stuff. I prefer a good burgundy.

Mrs Middleton laughed her practised, rippling laugh. Gentlemen are all the same. I trust you don’t suffer from gout, sir?

Do I look as if I suffer from gout?

Why no, I can say with confidence that I have rarely seen someone in such good health. In fact, you may, as my late lamented brother would have said, ‘strip to advantage’.

Marianne felt her cheeks turn hot. The expression wasn’t one she had heard before, and it sounded extremely indelicate, but after a slight lift of his dark brows, the gentleman replied, Boxing isn’t one of my sports. I ride and hunt, and I fence tolerably, but I’ve never appreciated why I have to stand in a space and hit someone I haven’t the least animosity against.

Marianne felt her colour subside, and then noticed he was looking at her. His smile was enough to make her blush again, but she was used to being laughed at, and could cope with it better than most. She sat straight up in her chair.

Mrs. Middleton cast Rivers a flirtatious glance. Will you come to one of the assemblies before you leave, sir? I’m always being asked where the handsome gentleman I introduced the other evening has got to.

Frankly ma’am, I spend the better part of the year attending such functions. I came here to avoid them. He glanced at Marianne again, now the picture of the docile companion. I suppose I might attend one or two, but I don’t think I’ll be here much longer.

"Oh that