When Marrying a Duke.... Helen Dickson

women who no longer mixed with their unmarried friends, being excluded from the excitement and demure flirtation, were seated in chairs beneath the shade of the trees. ‘Promise me, Oliver, that if such a thing should occur, you will have the goodness to rescue me.’ Smoothing her skirts, she sighed in a way that displayed a very fetching dimple. ‘I beg of you if you value our friendship.’

      Glancing down into Marietta’s wide olive-green eyes flecked with golden lights, Oliver Schofield would have forfeited both his feet to do her bidding. ‘I give you my word,’ he replied adoringly. ‘You know perfectly well I would do anything you asked me to do, Marietta.’

      Oliver Schofield was a good-looking young man, just one of several who hung around the group of pretty girls. They were like a cloud of bright butterflies beneath light and colourful parasols. Their fashionable wide skirts of palest pink, light-blue, lemon and creamy white, pleated and flounced in delicate tulle and chiffon and muslin, swung and swayed and dipped to reveal their shoes and the lower part of their white stockinged legs.

      With a gay and uncritical nature, Marietta Westwood outshone all the other girls and was the most sought after among these bright young things. Having spent a great deal of her time with her father and allowed to do very much as she pleased, at seventeen she possessed an active mind, a lively wit and an amazing tendency to think for herself.

      As a child, as soon as she had stepped off the ship she had been enchanted with the tiny island of Hong Kong. She loved life in the colony—the picnics, regattas and parties, where she waltzed and polkaed the night away. She was just one of a civilised society, if one could ignore the heat and humidity of the South China seas and the suffocating stuffiness of the Europeans. Sporting their beards and whiskers and top hats and waistcoats and woollen suits as if they were in London, they would never dream of succumbing to the natural elements of the colony—unlike her father, who favoured wide-brimmed hats and cool linen suits, which gave him a crumpled air.

      Marietta moved towards Oliver with the lightness of step of a fawn. She was naturally cautious, like one who suspects there is a delightful danger ahead, but is prepared nevertheless to enjoy it. She smiled at him beautifully.

      ‘I know I can rely on you, Oliver—always the gallant one and so sweet, that’s what you are.’ Taking his arm, she drew him to one side, leaning forwards so that only he could hear what she said. ‘You haven’t forgotten our outing tomorrow, have you? You said you would take me with you to the native quarter.’

      His face fell. ‘No, Marietta, I can’t.’

      ‘But you promised!’

      ‘I’ve changed my mind.’

      Her lips forming a petulant pout, Marietta gave an indignant toss of her head. ‘Then I’ll never speak to you again. I swear I won’t.’

      ‘It’s not that I don’t wish to take you with me,’ Oliver said, goaded, ‘but the native quarter is not a fit place for a young English girl to visit. It’s not safe. Besides, your father would never consent to it.’

      ‘He won’t be here. He’s leaving for Kowloon tonight and won’t be back until the day after tomorrow. Besides, what possible harm can come to me in your company?’ she added mischievously.

      Oliver shrugged. ‘I warn you, Marietta, it can be awfully dull. There can be little of interest for you there.’

      Marietta lifted her chin. ‘I will be the judge of that. But since you seem to be averse to my company, I shall not trouble you nor hold you to your promise. Perhaps some other gentleman will be more willing to accompany me instead.’

      ‘Come, Marietta, you need not take that attitude with me,’ Oliver said in a more conciliatory manner. ‘The fact is you misunderstand my reluctance to take you with me.’ He hesitated, then went on in a low voice, ‘I would not wish it to reach your father’s ears that I have taken his daughter to purchase opium supplies—on behalf of a friend of mine, you understand, who is unable to go himself. I have the address of a merchant and I plan to visit him tomorrow.’

      She stared at him. It all seemed so terribly exciting. ‘Are you afraid you can’t trust me? Is that why you won’t take me? I promise I will be all discretion if that’s what worries you.’

      Oliver shrugged. ‘I see I am outwitted and shall have to give in to your wishes. But you must promise not to tell anyone, Marietta.’

      With a sense of adventure and eager to explore Hong Kong’s China Town, Marietta’s eagerness increased. ‘Of course you may trust me,’ she exclaimed. ‘Though you really need not fear my father’s disapproval, for he has told me himself that he has the greatest faith in opium as a medicinal cure for everything from the most serious illness to toothache. I do know some people abuse it, but one has to be sensible about these things. I am already a convert to it since it was opium that Yang Ling gave me in the posset to cure a fever I had last month.’

      Privately Oliver doubted if Marietta’s father would approve of the use he planned to make for the drug, but he wouldn’t express his doubts to Marietta. He wished he’d been firmer with his refusal to take her, but when Marietta turned her big, dark green eyes on him, resolutions were apt to vanish. He was happy enough to have her smiling at him again and told her he hadn’t doubted her for a moment. Some people had prejudices and misconceptions about opium smoking, but since she wasn’t one of these killjoys, he would be happy to take her to the native quarter.

      Thanking him prettily and arranging to meet him the following morning, Marietta turned her attention to Julian Fielding, who was holding the reins of Oliver’s horse and seated atop his own. Suddenly she had what she considered to be a brilliant idea to spark up the afternoon. Spinning on her heel, she sprinted towards Oliver’s horse and with a fluency that caught the eye, she hoisted herself up into the saddle, her legs astride the huge gelding.

      Emma, a petite brunette and Marietta’s best friend, in a flurry of pink taffeta and bouncing ringlets, moved to stand beside Oliver. ‘Oh dear! Whatever do you think Marietta is planning to do now?’ she enquired, knowing that whatever it was, her friend was about to make a freak of herself cavorting on the back of Oliver’s horse.

      Oliver sighed, resigned as always to Marietta’s reckless escapades. ‘She will do whatever she wants to do—which is what she always does, Emma.’

      ‘Come along, Julian,’ Marietta urged with a shout of laughter, hearing the smattering of giggles as the group looked on and encouraged by it. ‘Let’s you and me have a little race of our own. To that post at the end of the green and back—and I bet I win.’

      With a gentle kick at the horse’s flanks with her heels and firing an amused glance over her shoulder at her friends, while feeling the force of the ancient ladies’ unwavering scandalised cold stares, their faces taut with disapproval on the veranda, with her skirts ballooning behind her she was off, with Julian, always game for anything, tearing after her.

      Their horses’ hooves thundered over the hard green turf. All the way to the post they were neck and neck, and not until they turned for home did Marietta pull ahead, finishing a length ahead of Julian. Unfortunately her horse was going so fast she had to pull up sharply, causing the animal to stumble on a raised hillock and tossing her over its head. After flying through the air, in a tangle of flounces and frills and furbelows as her skirts were upflung, she landed on the ground. Unhurt and laughing happily despite the loss of her dignity—for she was the victor after all—she scrambled to her feet.

      ‘Dear God in heaven,’ she heard someone exclaim in a furious voice, his temper roused, not at all pleased at being almost knocked off his feet. ‘Why don’t you look where you’re going, you stupid girl? You might have caused a serious accident.’

      Marietta hadn’t seen him at first. She was too busy trying to regain her balance, but she did feel a crackle in the air and perceived the unnatural silence when it fell among her chirruping friends. As she stood, with her nerves jangling like wind chimes in a typhoon, her heart began to beat unaccountably faster when she found herself confronted by the formidable Lord Trevellyan and his beautiful wife, Nadine, who had been forced