She was looking at him so directly, her brown eyes without any trace of dishonesty, that he felt something inside him soften. He cleared his throat.
“I am honored, My Lady,” he said. His voice was choked and he coughed again, to clear it.
Lady Martha smiled at him. It felt as if she had touched him, her eyes staring into his were so moving. He took a breath.
I have never been that affected by anyone.
It was as if, for an instant, the cloak of wealth and affluence he so often drew about himself as a protection had been peeled away, and somebody simply saw him—Nicholas Claydon Garston—without caring about whose son he was or how many pounds he had or which carriage he rode in.
He felt his lips lift in a smile.
Lady Martha grinned back, and his heart jumped. It was not the teasing, challenging beam of earlier, but a softer smile that transformed her face and melted his heart.
“My Lady?” Penitence said, and the sound of her words brought them both back to the moment. He looked around. There were some people walking onto the green, approaching the stalls from the opposite side. Lady Martha saw them too, eyes narrowing.
“They’re from Marleyton Village,” she said, sounding nervous. “They always want to cause trouble.”
“Trouble?” Nicholas felt his hand clench into a fist, instinctively, as though he was reaching for his sword. He saw Lady Martha notice his gesture, and felt instantly self-conscious, his hand dropping to his side.
“No trouble, really,” she said, reassuring him instantly. “Just a sort of haggle with the fleece-sellers about meeting their prices. They don’t want our market to out-compete theirs.”
“I see,” Nicholas said, frown deepening. She seemed to know a lot about things he knew so little about. He didn’t even know the price of a fleece in Calperton, the town for which his courtesy title was named.
“I’ll not have to do much talking,” Lady Martha explained, as the group of men headed to a stall where he could see wool arrayed on the table. “I’ll only go and stand there if things get nasty, just to remind them that I can take their interference to the Earl, if need be.”
“And would you?” Nicholas asked. They were walking through the fair now, and he hadn’t stopped to wonder why or where they were going. He reached his horse and turned around, looking at her as she smiled up at him.
“I would have to think of how I knew without telling him I’d been here,” Lady Martha explained confidently. “Though I reckon Papa would be quite accepting of my being here. He would just never tell Mama,” she added with a grin.
“I see,” Nicholas found himself saying for the tenth time that morning. He was more confused than he had ever been. He had no idea what went on in this village, but he felt quite happy, and that surprised him.
He had never felt content to be utterly out of his depth before.
I am with Lady Martha—nothing she says or does should surprise me anymore.
He found himself grinning.
“Are you going back?” Lady Martha asked him. He was standing at Moonbeam’s bridle. He shrugged.
“I should go back,” he said. “I have been out for quite some time. My father will be wondering where I am.”
Lady Martha raised her brow, nodding as if she understood. “I see,” she said. “Well, you should return home then—I will stay till Midday.”
“I wish you a good day, then,” he said. He found his voice was tight and cleared his throat, enabling himself to speak. “And a fine luncheon.”
“And I wish you a good ride, and a fine breakfast.”
He grinned at her. The roll of bread was shoved into his pocket, and he was sure it was sorely misshapen by now. He had to smile. She giggled and again he felt that tug in his heart, feeling drawn to her as he never had before.
“I will go back,” he said. “And doubtless stop to break my fast,” he added, patting the bread in the side pocket of his long riding coat. She grinned.
“Do that!” she advised. “And before too long, or it will all be crushed to powder. Good day to you, then, My Lord.”
“Good day to you, My Lady,” he said, raising his hat.
Penitence giggled, but Lady Martha just smiled. She waited until he had mounted up, and then raised her hand, waving at him as he rode around the field and back towards the gate. She gave a final wave and he lifted his hat, then spurred the horse out of the field.
My goodness. I have never met anyone who confuses me more, or makes me think more. But I must confess that she is easily the nicest person I have ever met.
He was still smiling as he rode off towards Headly Hall. He felt better than he had all morning.
Chapter 5
Martha looked hastily at herself in the mirror before rushing out of the room.
At least I’m ready—we need to be downstairs by seven of the clock.
The reflection showed a mass of strawberry curls, her lips red where she’d bitten them to bring out the color. She was wearing a white gown and a necklace—something she hardly ever did, as she usually forgot to put on any jewelry unless Penitence reminded her. She wondered why she’d done that.
It's not because he’s going to be here. Absolutely not.
She dismissed the thought, blushing.
She ran into the hallway and down towards the big stone staircase. At the top, she stopped to fall into step with her sister.
“Martha! There you are,” Amelia said, looking relieved. She was dressed in the cream gown with red sprigs, and she looked lovely. Her hair was styled into ringlets, as always, and she had on a thin necklace.
“Yes. Sorry that took so long. My hair,” Martha said, gesturing at her curly hair.
Amelia nodded. “It looks lovely. I’m glad you’re here. I’d much rather go down together with you.”
She slipped her arm into Martha’s and together they went to the staircase.
“Girls!” their mother said from behind them, making them both stand still instantly, rooted to the spot. Martha felt anger rush through her.
“Y…yes, Mama?” Amelia stuttered.
Martha instinctively stood in front of her, feeling her back stiffen. She had always felt protective of Amelia, which was odd, since her mother was always telling her she should be more like Amelia.
“Girls, no need to rush. Wait for me,” their mother hissed, coming to stand on the step behind them. Her dark navy gown rustled stiffly, the taffeta making a soft hiss like little snakes. “It’s terribly unseemly to be down there alone, unchaperoned, with a man.”
“He’s not here yet,” Martha pointed out reasonably. Their mother gave her a cold look.
“You don’t need to dissemble, Martha. You know very well what I meant.”
Martha swallowed her protest—that she had no reason to chaperone them when the only person in the hall was the butler—and walked silently down the stairs, cheeks flushed with color.
As if this isn’t an awkward evening as it is, without Mama fit to pounce on everything anybody says.
As they went down the staircase, though, she found her heart pounding, cheeks flushed. In a few minutes, Lord Calperton would be here. She recalled the encounter with him at the village fair, and how surprisingly nice it was to talk to him. She blushed.
Martha, he is not here to talk to you. You must comport yourself like a young lady, not like a village milkmaid.
She reached the foot of the stone steps, breathing in the scent of wax candles from the high chandelier that lit the hallway. She could see Haley lighting lamps below. It seemed strange to be making such a to-do about a dinner at which they would only have a few guests.
It’s us, the Huddersfords, and them.
The other invited guests had said they couldn’t be there. She still didn’t know if the Duke of Dellminster was going to come with his son this time. Somehow, she hoped he wouldn’t. One of them was more than enough.
Martha felt her heart flutter at the thought of Lord Calperton. She wanted to see h
im again. She glanced at their mother, who was talking quietly to the butler, and then at Amelia, who was looking up at the high windows as if she wanted to fly through them and escape.
“It won’t be long,” Martha reminded her sister.
Amelia looked down at her suddenly, brown eyes round. “I know,” she said in a small whisper. “But I’ll still have to be there and pretend I like him, and I hate having to do this!”
Martha put her head on one side, thinking. She could almost wish that she and Amelia looked more alike, so that she could swap with her. She would have liked to relieve Amelia of the duty of making conversation with someone she didn’t like; and talking to Lord Calperton all evening would be quite charming.
She looked across at their Mama, wishing that she would see the error of her choice. Amelia didn’t like him. It wasn’t fair on either of them.
Martha was still standing in the middle of the hallway, trying to recall if it was possible, legally, to end a betrothal of this sort, when Haley coughed peremptorily.
“Lord Gracefield and Lady Gracefield,” he announced, and Martha went to go and join Amelia, who was standing ready to greet them. She hurriedly stood beside their mother and dropped a curtsey, after scraping a handful of curls out of her view.
“Good evening,” she echoed Amelia’s words.
“Why! Lady Amelia! You look lovely,” Lady Gracefield said approvingly. “That gown is so becoming!”
Martha looked at the floor, feeling a little sad. Her mother’s friends always made much of Amelia, and it always made her feel inadequate. She already knew she wasn’t a good society lady—why did they insist on rubbing it in?
“It’s a very fine fabric…imported from China, you know,” Lady Weston commented to her friend.
Amelia was looking at the wall, her eyes big. Martha knew she was feeling awkward, so she waited until they’d gone, then made a face behind the guests’ backs and Amelia started giggling.
Lady Weston was talking to the guests.
“I am sure our other guests will arrive any moment.” She walked with them towards the dining room, skirts sweeping the floor as she moved.
“Oh, thank you, Alexandra,” the older woman nodded, following her towards the dining room. “Sounds lovely.”
Martha glanced into the dining room as the guests followed her mother. The table was laid out, cutlery gleaming along the length of it. The walls were papered in white, but the furniture was all dark red, the Chinese vases and other decorations likewise a red, the same as that of blood.
Amelia gazed at Martha, and she could read the question in her expression—should they stay there, or follow their mother? Amelia was just about to do so, when Haley cleared his throat loudly.
“His Grace, the Duke of Dellminster, and the Marquess of Calperton.”
Amelia stopped dead. Martha turned to see Lord Calperton coming in through the doors alone. She frowned.
Where is the duke?
She caught a look of consternation on her mother’s face.
“My Lord,” Lady Weston said. “Welcome.”
“My Lady. Lady Amelia, Lady Martha,” Lord Calperton added, straightening up from his bow. He caught Martha’s eye and held it a moment, then addressed Lady Weston. “Thank you for inviting me.”
Martha looked at their mother carefully. She hadn’t noticed the glance that had passed between Lord Calperton and herself, which was good. Nevertheless, her mien was troubling. She was staring past Lord Calperton at the door, and the expression on her face was one Martha had never seen before. She looked watchful. Expectant. Was that also a touch of tension in the set of her shoulders? Fearfulness, maybe? She’d no idea.
“Where is your father?” Lady Weston asked. Her voice was wintry like the cold night air coming through the doors.
What is the matter with her?
Martha tore her gaze away from her mother, wondering what made her look like that when she asked the question, and turned back to Lord Calperton as he cleared his throat.
“My Lady, I convey my father’s apologies. He had a fall when out riding and is in bed resting.”
“Oh.” Lady Weston straightened up, and Martha fancied she looked instantly less worried. “Well, then. Please, be welcome. If you would like to come through to the dining room? Girls,” she added, gesturing to them. “Come.”
Martha felt Amelia flinch at the peremptory command, and when she saw Lord Calperton’s face, she was surprised to see anger in his eyes. She realized their mother had not meant to speak so sharply to them—not in front of a guest.
“I will accompany you to the dining room,” Lord Calperton said, falling in beside Martha and Amelia. “It seems this dinner has some urgency about it.”
Martha hid her laugh by raising her hand to her lips. Amelia looked shocked, but then relaxed when it was clear their mother couldn’t hear her.
“It is very good that you could be here, Lord Calperton,” she said. Martha felt her brow raise in surprise. Clearly Lord Calperton’s sympathy regarding their mother had won Amelia’s approval.
Amelia was seated opposite Lord Calperton, beside their mother. Lord Gracefield sat on their mother’s right, Lady Gracefield opposite him. That meant Martha sat opposite their mother, beside Lord Calperton.
Martha held her breath as the footman pulled her seat back, nervous about being so close to Lord Calperton.
“It seems it will be a hard winter, yes,” their mother agreed with Lord Gracefield, distracting Martha from her plight. “Now, of course, I think you have met our guest, Lord Calperton?” she gestured from Lord and Lady Gracefield to Lord Calperton, making the introduction.
Martha, sitting beside him, felt him shift in his chair. She held her breath. She could feel his leg beside hers and she had never imagined being in such close proximity with anyone, much less with him. Her cheeks were red and she didn’t know what to do. His knee was now pressing against her leg.
“Yes, Lady Weston,” Lord Calperton was saying evenly. “I have had the honor of meeting Lord Gracefield. We bumped into each other while on a ride.”
“Ah. Capital,” Lady Westford said lightly. She was a beautiful woman in a gaunt, haughty way, Martha had to admit, especially when she was trying to be nice. Martha couldn’t help feeling inadequate as well as resentful of her mother’s constant barbs.
“I was pleased to make the acquaintance, yes,” Lord Calperton said.
Martha felt his leg brush against hers and held her breath, waiting for him to notice. He must have noticed his digression just then, for his leg tensed and shot away as he hastily bent it beneath the chair. He glanced at her.
She looked down at her plate, cheeks flaming.
She wanted to gasp, or to chuckle with surprise, but if she reacted at all, their mother would surely have something to say.
“A soup of river fish, My Lady,” one of the footmen said behind her chair. She knew him as Mr. Fencer, the cousin of the innkeeper.
“Thank you,” she murmured, and reached for her spoon as he set the plate down in front of her. Beside her, Lord Calperton reached for his. All around the table, sounds of appreciation were echoed by the click of spoons on crockery and the distant rumble of the tea trolley on the hallway floor outside.
Martha glanced at Amelia, who was reaching for the cordial to pour herself another cup. She seemed to have a strategy for avoiding conversation—drinking cups of cordial so that her eyes were either on the glass or the carafe and never looking directly at anybody.
“You had a good ride yesterday?” Lord Calperton asked her. Martha tensed.
Don’t talk to me. Talk to Amelia. Mama will never stop shouting at me.
She nodded, deciding to keep her responses monosyllabic. “Yes. Thank you.”
“Amelia, my dear,” their mother said, turning to Amelia with a smile on her face. “You were practicing at the pianoforte all day. Amelia was playing Mozart,” she added, looking at the guests.
“Yes,” Amelia said in a whisper.
She looked at her plate, clearly embarrassed.
Lord Calperton blinked. He was aware of Lady Weston’s eyes on him and must have realized the comment was being addressed to him because he nodded awkwardly.
“I believe Mozart is very challenging to play.”
“Oh, no,” Amelia said, animated now that her favorite topic was under discussion. “It’s ever so easy, really. Mozart is no challenge at all. Beethoven’s the one you want to watch out for. I never play him if I can get away with it,” she gestured at Lord Calperton with a grin.
“Really?” Lord Calperton sounded interested. He was smiling at Amelia, and pleased as she was, Martha felt a little jealous. “That’s intriguing.”
In a Perfect Mess With the Marquess Page 5