In a Perfect Mess With the Marquess

by Hazel Linwood

  “Nicholas, I believe you have done absolutely the right thing.”

  Nicholas stared. He had expected a reprimand, even a mild one. Some comment about respecting his father and doing his duty. Instead, his uncle seemed perfectly at ease with his choice.

  “Uncle?” he stared at him in surprise.

  “What, Nephew?” he frowned. “I am in absolute support of your choice. I have always believed there is only one thing to follow, only one compass. And that is your heart. It always points the right way, lad. And you should follow it.” He nodded gravely. He looked quite earnest, his gray eyes wide.

  Nicholas was surprised by the lump in his throat. He nodded. “I think you’re right, Uncle,” he said.

  His uncle just nodded.

  He looked at his uncle thoughtfully. He didn’t know much about him, he realized. He had always liked him—he was, after all, his mother’s brother, and the closest living person to her he had met. But he was surprised by the hidden depth in him.

  “I know, Nephew,” his uncle said, and his voice sounded sad. “I know I’m right.”

  Nicholas looked at him, feeling his heart twist. There was something there, he thought, some story, and it was one that he wished he knew. But his uncle wasn’t quiet for long. After a moment’s silence, he turned to the door and clapped his hands.

  “Well! That was a grand tale. But now, I think, it’s time to take another cup of tea, and mayhap to show you the building project. It’s been taking up a lot of my thinking—trying to plan the thing around this hilly bit of ground—but I think the results are rather good. If you’ll follow me?”

  Nicholas stood, grateful for the shift in perspective. He had been feeling sad and drained after all his talking, but now he was ready for something new.

  “It’s out here…” his uncle said, as he followed him out into the garden. “Where I was going to build that wall. This is much better. And all scaled down from the original plans, mind…it’s going to be a wonder, when it’s finished.”

  Nicholas grinned to himself. Historic buildings were another interest of his uncle’s. The past five years, he’d been trying to build a replica of a Mughal palace in the back garden—very much smaller than the original, and much less pricey, of course. Nicholas had never thought to question it; it was simply something Uncle Phil did.

  Now, as his uncle showed him around the place, he found that he was actually quite taken with it. It was simple, but he could see that his uncle’s plan to try and understand the architecture of another culture was working. It was simple and beautiful.

  “It’s looking remarkable, Uncle,” he nodded.

  His uncle looked shyly aside. “I don’t know about that,” he said, going red. “But I am pleased you like it. It takes up a great deal of my attention nowadays, I’m afraid…so I won’t be around as much as usual.”

  “Of course, Uncle,” Nicholas said slowly. A thought occurred to him. “Uncle, it is not inconvenient for you to have me staying here, is it?” he asked.

  His uncle looked at him, his expression so full of surprise that Nicholas felt his heart almost stop.

  “Uncle…?” he asked, feeling concerned. “What is the matter?”

  “Why, Nephew! Of course, you can stay! I’m surprised you thought anything else. The idea! Of course I wouldn’t find you inconvenient.”

  He walked away, and Nicholas, still smiling, followed him.

  He was glad he had come to stay here, and he was sure that, in a place where it was possible to build Eastern palaces in the back garden, it would be possible to find the answers that he was searching for.

  Chapter 25

  Martha leaned back against the wall of her bedroom, feeling the sunlight soak in through the window. It was warm, and she felt impossibly cold, despite the nice weather outside.

  “I’m so tired.”

  She made herself sit up, knowing that she didn’t have long to sit still before she had her next duty, which was meeting with the housekeeper to discuss the coal they needed for the upcoming winter months.

  “My Lady?” Penitence called. “The collier is here.”

  “I’ll come directly, Penitence,” she said, and got up, feeling her legs go wobbly as she walked over to the door and opened it.

  “My Lady?” Penitence asked, as she came inside. “May I do something to help?”

  Martha shook her head. She felt her eyelids drooping and wished she could just sleep! But she had to go to meet with the housekeeper to plan the expenses for the month.

  She went down to the kitchen, trying her best to revive herself. She felt as if she’d been working all morning, but in truth it couldn’t have been so bad. She was still taking care of Amelia, though her sister was looking much better and could walk about now. She was managing the household, and trying to run the estate. Their mother was still sick and in her room.

  And her father had not responded.

  Martha felt her heart ache. She had given the letter to their mother, and she had made some amendments and had Mrs. Lister take it to post. That had been a week ago, and there had been no word from London.

  “It will take longer than three days to get there,” she told herself firmly.

  She was sure that, as soon as he could, her father would write back.

  “My Lady?” the housekeeper said, coming to join her in the entrance to the house. “I have the books ready.”

  Martha nodded and followed the housekeeper down the stairs to the kitchen.

  When she had finished discussing the expenditure in the month, she went upstairs, feeling exhausted. Her eyes were blurred from staring at the little columns of numbers in the tally-book. Her head hurt from reckoning numbers.

  “My Lady?” the butler said as she crossed the reception hall. “Lord Huddersford is here to ask after the Countess. Will you meet him?”

  Martha felt like screaming. She wanted to tell Lord Huddersford to go away and not bother her, unless he could do something useful, like tally amounts of coal or count silverware, but she couldn’t.

  “Send him to the drawing room; I’ll be there directly. And send up tea and refreshments, please.”

  “Very good, My Lady.”

  She finished talking with Lord Huddersford, and then, thankfully, sank down onto the chaise lounge, shutting her eyes. Her duties for the morning were done. She could go and spend some time with Amelia.

  Her sister was sitting in bed when Martha came in. She had her embroidery on her knee, her hair beautifully arranged in ringlets, dressed in a plain white nightgown. She looked up as Martha walked over.

  “Sister! How good to see you. Shall I ring for tea?” Amelia asked. She looked fondly up at Martha as she took a seat beside her bed.

  “Amelia. I am so pleased to see you,” she said sincerely. It was wonderful to sit in this quiet, tranquil place with someone who never thought to judge.

  Amelia smiled peacefully. “Have you been very busy?” she asked.

  Martha shrugged. “Not too bad,” she said. “What are you sewing?” she didn’t want to talk about her day. Amelia would feel guilty, and she was too sick to get up yet. She had been feverish for days, and was only just starting to recover. Martha desperately wanted her to get better before she tried to do anything too ambitious.

  “I’m decorating a collar,” Amelia said, showing her the patterns. “I want to do one for you, too, to match that brown gown.”

  “The one with the flowers?” Martha asked, genuinely confused.

  Amelia giggled. “Yes. They’re brown flowers, aren’t they?”

  Martha frowned and they both chuckled. It was good to see Amelia again.

  They talked for a while. Amelia sent for some tea, and Martha was glad to see her able to eat a sweet biscuit. Martha was also pleased that Amelia was planning to get up later. She wanted to play the pianoforte.

  “That would be nice,” Martha agreed. The house was very quiet without anybody playing music.

  Neither of them mentioned their mothe
r’s illness. They made skirted references to it, but it was something they were not going to discuss directly. Martha knew Amelia was deeply worried, and she didn’t want to distress her. She also had no idea what was ailing their mother, but suspected it was something serious.

  “I am definitely feeling well enough to walk around the house a little,” Amelia agreed as they talked. “It will be good to see some other walls besides these four.”

  Martha nodded. “I’m sure,” she agreed.

  They both took luncheon at midday—Amelia in her bedchamber, and Martha in the dining room. She felt a sudden stab of surprise—here she was, taking her noon meal without anyone criticizing her choice of gown or reprimanding her about anything. She was enjoying her meal and feeling surprisingly good.

  This isn’t so bad!

  It was demanding, exhausting, and even a little frightening. But it was quite nice, in some ways, to have Mama elsewhere.

  She instantly felt guilty and stood, shocked at herself. “Haley? Please come and clean up,” she said. “I’ll spend some time in the small drawing room, with some sewing I must finish.”

  “Very good, My Lady.”

  Martha went to her work-basket and took out a gown with sleeves she was adjusting, embellishing the cuffs with a small pattern in embroidery. She had spilled something on one sleeve, and she was using the embroidery to cover it.

  She was sitting sewing when she heard the sound of music drifting through the house. She felt her shoulders relax, tension draining out of her. Amelia was playing the pianoforte again. The sweet music soothed her soul.

  She frowned as, after two pieces, the music abruptly stopped. She waited for a few minutes for it to continue, and when nothing happened, she walked to the drawing room to check on Amelia.

  “My Lady,” she heard the butler say. “Lord Alton just arrived…Lady Amelia is downstairs in the reception hall speaking with him,” he added, and frowned at her.

  “Yes,” Martha said, as if she knew that.

  Where was her sister?

  In the garden, someone was wearing a white gown, walking slowly across the lawn. As she watched, she noticed it was two people, and that one of them was a man, pale-haired, big shoulders squared as he held onto Amelia’s arm protectively.

  Martha smiled.

  “That is good,” she murmured.

  Lord Alton was able to come to the house now, while their mother was ill. Nobody was about to tell him not to and it didn’t matter if anyone saw him because now her sister was free to court him if she so chose.

  Martha felt her lips lift in a big smile. If this terrible situation had managed to create one thing, she was glad it was that. All the same, she couldn’t help feeling guilty.

  Mama is ill. And she is my mother and I should feel remorse for her condition.

  She walked silently out of the drawing room and down the hallway.

  She went to their mother’s chamber, but the door was shut and she dared not to disturb her. The physician had visited earlier, and he had said that, though the countess had not worsened, she was still gravely ill and there was the possibility that she would sicken more. He had been angry that she had been disturbed as much as she had and declared that unless it was an emergency, nobody was to enter or leave besides the maid.

  I will leave her to rest.

  Martha went towards the stairs. As she did, she caught sight of the portrait of her mother in the drawing room. She looked at those dark eyes, full of secretiveness. She wondered what reason her mother had for keeping the portrait in the drawing room, when all the others were in the gallery. She’d never asked.

  She felt a twist in her heart, looking at that still, haunting face. Her mother had a good side—she was intelligent, spirited, and firm. She could be witty and she was always up to the minute with fashion and manners. She was not a bad person—at least, she had the capacity to be good. Martha wished she could have known her as a young woman.

  We might have been friends then.

  The face in the portrait was haunting and full of secrets, but it had not hardened into the severe, cruel person her mother was now.

  Martha made herself turn away and walk down the hallway. There was no point in dwelling on things that were in the past, or impossible altogether.

  “My Lady? There was a message from the village for Lord Weston. Do you advise us to tell them to wait? They wanted him to advise on a matter about tax.”

  Martha nodded. “Yes, thank you, Haley. If you could ask them to archive it for a time when he can address it?”

  “Yes, My Lady.”

  Martha nodded again and strode past him, going up to her bedroom. She sat down in a shaft of sunlight feeling weary, but not altogether unhappy.

  Now that she was alone, she could think about the situation in question. She was gravely worried about her mother, and was terrified to do anything that would cause a relapse. At the same time, she wished her father would come, and she regretted not having sent the letter directly.

  I should have told him just how grave matters are.

  She sat up, still sleepy. Now she had no immediate duties to occupy her, she could feel how exhausted she was. She jumped as someone knocked at the door.

  “My Lady?” Penitence said. Her voice sounded tense.

  “Yes? What is it, Penitence?” she asked softly.

  “My Lady…a message for you. It’s Lord Calperton. He’s in the woods by the carter’s entrance.”

  “I’ll come down.”

  Martha pulled her shawl on and ran down to the gate, taking the long way. Penitence followed her—she was not going to cause her mother to relapse by letting her know she’d been running around unchaperoned.

  “My Lady,” Lord Calperton said as she hurried through the gate. Penitence followed her, waiting just out of hearing distance.

  “My Lord,” she said. His eyes were intense with feeling. She stayed where she was, feeling frightened.

  If I am seen with him, Mama might hear about it, and I might cause her to become more ill, or to pass away!

  She felt her spine tense, and she stayed where she was.

  “Lady Martha, I had to call on you. I needed to know that you are well. I have been so worried for you.”

  Martha felt her heart twist. She knew he would have been worried. He was a good man.

  “I thank you. Yes, matters are hard,” she said. She was not about to hide the truth of the situation from him. She looked exhausted, she knew, and she couldn’t hide it in any case.

  “My Lady, I know and I wish I could help.”

  Martha looked at the track. She knew that he wanted to help, and she wished she could talk to him honestly, let him know how much she cared. But something about her guilt would not let her. She had caused her mother to be lying there between life and death. She couldn’t face it.

  “I know,” she said softly. “And I wish that, too. But, My Lord, my mother is gravely ill. I cannot risk her finding out that we have met. I do not know what to do.” She looked up at him, desperately.

  Please understand, and do not visit me here.

  He nodded. It seemed as if he had somehow heard her thoughts. “I understand you,” he said.

  Martha looked away, heart aching. “I am glad,” she said. “I should go.”

  “Lady Martha,” he called, as she turned and walked back to the gate. “Please, know that this situation is as sorrowful to me as to you. I will do whatever I can to be of assistance to you.”

  “I know,” she said, heart aching. “And I must ask you not to be seen here. I could not bear it, if I caused aught else to happen.”

  “I understand,” he said.

  Heart aching, head sore, Martha turned around and walked slowly back to the house. Penitence followed, but she dismissed her and went alone to her bedroom, so that if she cried, nobody would have to see her do it.

  Chapter 26

  Nicholas looked out at the gray sky and felt the same blankness inside his heart. Nothing seemed t
o touch him anymore. It had been a week since the ball, and he had heard and seen nothing from Martha, besides that one meeting. He sensed that she had changed and moved away. He wished he knew what he could do.

  He had been living in Bloomington Hall for the past week, and he still felt as if he had no idea what to do to change his situation.

  “I need to seek advice.”