The Making of a Marquess

by Lynne Connolly

  Going down to breakfast, he found mostly gentlemen, with two intrepid ladies who were looking forward to the duck hunt. Either that, or they were determined on a different kind of hunt, one where being part of a minority would work to their advantage.

  Although his future was far from clear to them, they flirted gently with him and the other men in the room, but Ben took little notice. He had no mind to engage in another love match. One had been enough.

  Fortunately, he wouldn’t be the target of the matchmaking mothers, not until his claim had been resolved. He would either take up the reins and do what he could to mend Louis’s depredations before going home to Boston, or he’d walk away, knowing he’d done his best. In that case, he wouldn’t be looking back. If he went now, he would leave a mess behind him, so he was duty bound to stay until Sir James had made his decision. But he was sorely tempted to try to persuade the man to find in his cousin’s favor.

  Damnation, what a coil!

  Today could provide a welcome distraction. Much laughter surrounded his cousin, and although the hostility was not voiced aloud, it was a potent presence. Hal entered and cast a glance over the room before helping himself to food and coming to sit by Ben. “An interesting division of forces,” he commented, shaking out his napkin.

  “It has not gone unnoticed,” Ben responded dryly. He lifted his coffee cup to his lips and took a reflective sip. Whatever else the domestic staff got wrong, they made an excellent cup of coffee. He’d come to respect the power of coffee in the morning since his sojourn abroad. “But I’d rather face them than give the gossips free rein.”

  “Hmm.” Hal forked up a tender morsel of pork chop and examined it as if interrogating a wrongdoer. “I’m not sure I would do that. Let them talk, what does it matter?” He popped the meat into his mouth and ate it, closing his eyes as he chewed. “My, that is good,” he said when he finished. Catching Ben’s amused gaze, he grinned. “What? I am half starved. I swear I barely ate a thing at dinner last night.”

  “A complete lie.” Ben marveled that he was still so easy with Hal. When they’d met again here at Cressbrook House, they had melded as if they’d last seen one another the day before, instead of after a seven-year separation. True, they had corresponded often, but that was not the same as day-to-day contact. They’d led separate lives, done different things.

  Ben admitted, if only to himself, that his ordeal would have been ten times worse without Hal. His friend had urged him to return, but Ben had chosen not to. Despite that, they had been linked in more than friendship. They were business colleagues too, jointly engaging in ventures that had proved profitable for them both. And all that time, Hal had acceded to Ben’s wishes and not told anyone where he was, or even that he was alive.

  Hence the current pickle, but Ben had to concede the fault was entirely his.

  “Did you do much hunting in the colonies?” Louis called across to him. The breakfast room was set up with several round tables to encourage informality. It also worked to separate factions, apparently. Ben’s side of the room was sparsely inhabited, but he had no doubt that once he started winning the battle, many would come over to his side. “Your outfit appears well-worn.”

  “Enough,” Ben answered, preferring not to go into details.

  Louis got to his feet and shot Ben a triumphant glance. “If you are ready, ladies and gentlemen, we should make a start. The beaters are waiting outside.”

  As any good host would, he led the way. Ben was not amused, but he kept the easy smile fixed to his face, even though he seethed inside.

  Outside, the day was dawning, the sky a light peachy color. “A good sign,” Louis remarked.

  Several men stood holding weapons. Louis took two, and handed one to Ben, keeping his gaze. The last time they’d both been holding a weapon and facing each other had been on Hampstead Heath, over seven years ago.

  “Well met, cousin,” he murmured, as he had then when they’d been standing back to back on the Heath. A startled look shocked his cousin’s eyes wider.

  As before, he said nothing, but turned away to join his friends. William glanced at Ben as Louis said something to him.

  They set out on foot over the dew-sprinkled grass toward the flat lake at the edge of the estate, where they would spend the rest of the day.

  Every time someone shot him a speculative glance, Ben smiled blandly at them. They must think he was devoid of intelligence. All well and good, since he preferred to be underestimated. Lord Steeping, a smooth-looking man wearing a brand new country coat in a shade more orange than russet, drifted to his side. “I have to say, Thorpe, that I admire any man who can make a new life for himself, however humble.”

  Ben appreciated the sentiment. Unfortunately, he had to work on the humble part. However, he seemed to be doing fine now. “Thank you. Working with my own hands, growing calluses and making profits, suited me well.”

  Steeping blanched. The man actually lost the color in his cheeks. “Why did you not tell everyone who you were?”

  Ben refrained from rolling his eyes. “Because I had behaved disgracefully. I knew Louis was alive, and I thought they were better without me. A new life, I thought.” That reason sufficed. He’d been determined to leave his old life behind, to wash his hands of everything that had gone before and start again.

  For the first time in his life, Ben had been free to follow his inclinations. With the heir to the estate after him alive, Ben had felt free to explore and enjoy life. Louis had wanted the inheritance more than he had, so why not let him handle the responsibility?

  “I spent a year in the wilderness. I was hunting bear.” A slight exaggeration, since the bear had hunted him, but the result of the encounter was the same thing.

  Several people turned their heads, showing him how many were eavesdropping. “Bear?” Lord Steeping perked up, his sharp features gaining a keener edge.

  “Black bear. Very large, very dangerous. Unfortunately, they can climb trees, should the mood take them. And a mother bear guarding her cubs is one of the most dangerous creatures in nature.”

  He wasn’t lying. He wasn’t afraid to admit that the only time he’d confronted a bear, he was scared for his life. But he had never gone seeking them; he’d confronted one on his travels. Still, it made for a good story, and he wasn’t ready to divulge the whole. Let them think him a moderately successful man, rather than a wealthy one. Let them believe he wanted the title for what it brought, rather than rescuing it. Allowing them to underestimate him would have better results.

  But he had killed the bear. “It took more than one shot. The damn thing wouldn’t stay down. The first bullet did no more than madden the creature. It chased me in fury, and I was never so close to dying. They have huge paws with long, thick claws that can strike you down with one blow. And they move fast. I had no choice but to turn and fire before it was on me. Luckily, the second shot slowed it down. The next felled it, but it took two more before it ceased to breathe.” And yet he would have preferred to leave it alive.

  “How many people were with you?” Lord Sandigate asked, his gray eyes, so like his sister Dorothea’s, sparkling.

  “One, but he was half a mile back on the road. I’d gone foraging.”

  “For nuts?”

  “For wood.” For a fire, ironically to keep the wild creatures away.

  “Then where did all the bullets come from?”

  He laughed at the ridiculous question. “Have you seen engravings of pirates? They have six or more pistols stuck into their belts. I had the requisite half dozen, and a rifle.” After confronting the bear, he’d had to retrace his steps, picking up his discarded weapons. Loaded a couple in case he met another creature. But bears were not sociable animals, so he did not believe he’d meet a second. Fortunately, he’d been right.

  Now he had the company in the palm of his hand. The women were staring at him openmouthed, adm
iration in their gazes. Better still, his cousin was distinctly annoyed. Although he was smiling, he had a spark in his blue eyes that didn’t indicate amusement.

  Ben understood Louis so well. He had the advantage there, too, because Louis had not changed, while he had. He felt twenty years older, not seven, such had been his experiences since he’d set sail for the colonies.

  About half the house party had decided to rise early and attend the duck hunt. There wouldn’t be many ducks left when they finished, and since this was the season for hunting birds, Louis would have more expeditions planned. Ben preferred to hunt purely to eat, but he was better off here to quell the inevitable gossip than at the house.

  The weapon Louis had given him was a shotgun, adequate, but not particularly fine. It didn’t have the chased stock and silver mounts sported by Louis’s weapon. As long as it worked, he had no particular opinion on it. It had been loaded, too, something Ben especially disliked. He preferred to make sure of that himself. The only other time he’d allowed someone else to load his gun was on Hampstead Heath, when the rules of the duel demanded that the seconds oversaw the loading of the weapons.

  He gritted his teeth. Old history. Now he had to concentrate on preventing Louis ruining the estate. He would not allow it. Justice would be done.

  Hal kept up with him, stride for stride. “Do you think anyone truly imagines you are not who you claim to be?”

  “They want to believe I am not.”

  “You have changed, but not that much.” Hal’s boots swished through the wet grass, thicker now they were walking across open fields. “People know you. You have not returned hideously scarred or with anything else that would prevent identification.”

  Recognition wasn’t enough. “Nevertheless, we will go through the right channels. I want Sir James’s decision to be without doubt.” He said no more, because people were walking close to them. But he did not want to give Louis any opportunity of bringing a case to court. That could waste thousands of pounds and drag on for years. In that time the estate could be completely ruined. Without effective managers for the minerals, the farming produce, and the investments associated with the estate, it would fall apart. Even worse, the court could allow Louis to continue to manage the estate.

  Rather than that, he would subject himself to any process Sir James thought fit. Then the man would make his recommendation and the title and estates would be his.

  “Of course,” Hal answered. He would understand. Instead, he moved to another topic. “Rather fine, Miss Rowland. I wonder how I have not noticed before.”

  “I thought so,” Ben said, recalling Dorothea’s fine eyes, and the way her breasts swelled invitingly over the low neckline of her dinner gown.

  Hastily, he turned his mind elsewhere. To the hunt. The lake had come into sight, together with the collection of flat-bottomed boats set aside for their use. At the edge of the lake was a canal, constructed by his father. Trees and weeds overflowed the wide stretch of water to entice the birds to roost there. While Ben’s father had introduced the birds to the estate, these days they were carefully conserved and nurtured by the gamekeepers. Only for people to come along and shoot them.

  A sense of being hunted had not left Ben since he’d woken up. Uneasiness crawled under his skin, of something not quite right with this morning. He would get over it, except that this sense had never let him down before. When everything appeared right, sometimes only his sense alerted him to something being wrong. Though he had not the least idea what it was.

  Usually he would set his staff to double-check everything. They would invariably find something. Either that, or an external event, like a drop in the price of the goods they were selling, would happen. Today, he had nobody but himself.

  But he would rather face his enemy, if there was one, than wait for him to strike. If he kept Louis in his sights, he’d be prepared, and now he was a better shot than he had been, and a better hunter, too.

  He hefted his shotgun, reassuring himself with its solid weight. He’d lingered behind the rest, waiting to assess the lay of the land. Soon they’d take to the flat-bottomed boats and set off along the wide river to where the ducks were. The birds had been bred for this, their special day.

  Men waited with dogs to retrieve the fowl as the guests caught them. The animals were straining at their leashes, eager to start their jobs. Their sleek, well-fed bodies told Ben where some of the estate’s income had been expended. On amusements. What else?

  A flash of fire alerted him and without thinking he dropped to the ground, dragging Hal after him. His friend cried out as the retort rocketed through the still air. Morning dew soaked them, a flock of birds rose up with a clap of wings, and the dogs set up a volley of barking.

  Someone had fired their weapon, and not at the ducks. At him.

  Chapter 7

  On her way down to breakfast, Sir James fell into step next to Dorothea, so they took a detour to the small parlor. “I will not keep you long,” he said, holding a chair for her. The furniture in this room was mismatched, some pieces old, the upholstery worn. She took the seat, the best on offer, an overstuffed chair with worn plush cushions.

  “Thank you. Was there something in particular?”

  “I am still a little way from declaring him the missing marquess. I have interviewed the domestics, but I would like something more.”

  “What more do you need to declare him the missing marquess?”

  He paced to the fireplace. “Documentary evidence that links the man we know now to the man we knew then. Recognition can be challenged, as can memories. And Louis Thorpe won’t hesitate to seize any weak spot in the chain.”

  “I see.” Dorothea concentrated on staring at her hands. For some reason, thinking of Benedict Thorpe made her grow uncomfortably hot.

  “The fact that he used a different version of his name also speaks against him.”

  “Why?” She jerked up her head. “That seems foolish.”

  “Because it might be his real name,” Sir James said softly. “Someone called Benjamin Thorpe who had a passing resemblance to Benedict Thorpe might decide to use those facts to gain more than they were entitled to.”

  Where she had been warm before, Dorothea suddenly felt chilled. “That’s ridiculous!”

  Sir James’s ascetic face turned still and cold. “Young lady, I am here to adjudicate. I cannot appear biased. As the evidence stands, nothing is clear. I need something that will provide a link between the man here today and the one who left England seven years ago.”

  “I thought there was no question.”

  Sir James shrugged and spread his hands wide in a gesture of helplessness. “I merely adjudicate. I will be as fair as I can, given the evidence I have. I must present a solid report to the Lord Chancellor, or there will be court cases aplenty.”

  He was right. If he found for Benedict with only anecdotal evidence, Louis wouldn’t accept the decision. “What about his mother? Would her evidence tip the scales in his favor?”

  Sir James gave a tiny shake of his head. “The lady lives completely isolated. She is well cared for, but either her mind or her body or both have gone. If her body, then I will seek an interview when she is ready.”

  They were talking about somebody’s life here. The impact of their discussion hit her amidships, completely without warning. “What we’re doing is of the utmost importance, isn’t it? It affects lives.”

  Sir James turned a look of deep understanding on her, studying her gravely. “Yes, it is. That is why it’s important to get this decision right. Once I have given Lord Hardwicke my recommendations, the House of Lords will accept it, then the findings will be sent to the King, and he will accept them.”

  “And when I tell Miss Childers, she will make her decisions about finance.”

  He nodded.

  She did not like Louis, but if she was instrumental in den
ying him the title he’d been borrowing on for years, what would he do then? How would he and his wife, and the two children upstairs in the nursery, survive?

  A long court case could ruin the estate and both parties. Sir James was right. The evidence had to be concrete. Not just hearsay.

  She bade the Crown officer good day and went downstairs to breakfast in a much more thoughtful frame of mind.

  A footman directed her to the small dining room, although “small” was not the word she would use to describe it. Spacious, sunny, the expansive windows opened on to the magnificent gardens at the back of the house. The modern furniture, lighter in style than that of a generation ago, added to the airy feel. A long sideboard groaned under a large selection of viands.

  The gossip was all about Benedict and Louis.

  Mrs. Thorpe was making a good breakfast, seemingly unperturbed by the momentous events of the night before. She could be turned out of doors by the end of the week, but she was not in the least concerned, or so any impartial observer would believe. She was wearing a beautiful heavy satin French sacque in cream, embroidered with spring flowers, her natural fair hair on seemingly negligent, but actually carefully arranged, display.

  Dorothea’s fairer, cooler shade of blond was dull in comparison. But she was used to not showing to advantage next to society beauties, so she settled to her breakfast in a reasonable frame of mind. More thoughtful, to be sure, and with a new resolve to impartiality, not to allow personalities to sway her opinions. But she did want to find something that would prove Benedict the true marquess. His kindness to her last night put her at the center of events instead of constantly on the fringes.

  Mrs. Thorpe was holding court. She announced, rather than conversed, expressing her distaste with the current situation. “After all, who knows who the man is? He walked into the house as if he owned it, although he does not, and tried to overwhelm everyone with his presence.”