Ben studied the figures. “I see. Do you think Louis knew?”
“I think he didn’t care. As long as everything went his way. You should be glad that there are only twenty members of staff. Any more would have been even more wasteful. Why didn’t he fill the house with liveried servants and pomp and grandeur?”
That was a good question, but Ben believed he had the answer. “Most of the servants are upper servants. He stinted where nobody could see it—in the kitchen, the garden, and the home farm. I’ve already made plans for those.”
The burden of the estate had proved so much worse than he’d imagined. A large property, left to molder for years, had provided so much work, far more than he’d expected.
But he had Dorothea to help. She pointed at a few figures, and he bent to examine them. “I find several things puzzling here. This, for instance, the wine that never arrived. That’s Schultz’s purview, but I doubt he would do this.”
“The wine that never arrived?” he queried.
“I checked. Discreetly, of course, but I took inventory and the wine never arrived. And that,” She pointed to a large consignment of tea. “That didn’t arrive either. Not even smuggled.” The payment for smuggled goods would naturally take a different path.
“So Louis may have been embezzling.”
She sighed. “It might not be Louis, but it looks that way.”
“It’s his writing.” Ben pointed to the crossed t’s. “I recognize it. Now we’re here, that will not be happening again.”
He touched her chin, and she turned her head, ready to receive his kiss, which he gave eagerly.
As well as warming his bed at night, she helped him more than he could have expected, or had any right to. He’d changed his will, copying it twice and having it witnessed by Schultz and Rougier, who was turning out to be a good hire.
Rougier had even personally stripped Dorothea’s bed after Ben’s first night with her and disposed of the sheets before Ben had time to ask him to do so. He didn’t want anyone gloating over something that should remain private. Not that he’d told Dorothea of it, although he would have if she’d asked him. When he questioned the valet, Rougier had confessed that he’d put the sheets in the fire. Ben gave him a bonus.
Dorothea and Ben were forming a partnership, and every day he told himself he couldn’t be happier with that. Each night he pleasured her, and showed her how to please him in return, something she did with delight. But after the first few days, he’d taken an emotional step back. He would not allow her to express more than liking and happiness. Anything else would make their relationship too complicated, and he had no intention of going there again. Physical pleasure was part of what he wanted with her, but he needed to know that she could cope with this estate and the others on her own. He still intended to return to Boston for extended periods of time, and he would not be taking her with him. He needed her steady presence and intelligence here, to run the extensive Belstead lands in his absence.
Mary still haunted him. Her utter devotion, his loss of temper when she clung so close, her subsequent unhappiness, one might even call it grief, when she discovered he was avoiding her. He could not allow that to happen again. Dorothea was ten times stronger than Mary, but he wouldn’t cause her such unhappiness. He’d cut his own arm off first.
Love could not become a factor between them. Friendship and mutual passion, for certain. He intended to remain faithful to her, because he despised people who did not keep their promises. Long periods of abstinence would not cause him problems. He’d gone for long periods without physical satisfaction before, except for what he could do with his own hand. He would continue in that vein if he had to.
Dorothea had acceded with the tact he admired in her. But he would have to stay longer, if only to clear up the mess she was competently handling. He couldn’t let her deal with all that alone, especially if she did fall pregnant with his child. He would stay to see his baby born, of course he would. Then he’d make his first visit to Boston as brief as he could; no more than a year, including the travel time.
But to stay longer? That wasn’t possible.
And he would ensure Louis never came near her again.
With a sigh, Dorothea straightened and flexed her shoulders, easing her hands over her back. “I will walk in the gardens for an hour.”
Regretfully, Ben indicated the windows. “It’s raining. You’ll drown.”
The weather had broken, and early September had brought squally showers. While the gardens drank up the rain, the remaining guests, immured indoors, were getting restless. The roads had immediately become mired in mud and the drive leading to the house was almost impassable.
“It will ease in a week or so.”
“After the wedding,” he reminded her softly.
“Yes. After that.”
Barely a week away now.
“Ben...” She took her lower lip between her teeth.
“Hmm?” He gave her his complete attention.
A frown pleated her brow. “I—I should probably go back to my own bed tonight.”
“Why?” He wouldn’t force her, but he’d become accustomed to having her with him, to waking up to her sweet smile.
She swallowed. “I can tell you that I’m not—not enceinte.”
Ah. “Your courses have started?”
She nodded.
That was why she’d stretched. Not just from long hours bent over account books, but the cramps that went with her condition. His jaw muscles, which had tightened in anticipation of her rejection, relaxed. “I see. But there is no reason to spend time apart, unless you’d be more comfortable that way. Come to bed in your night rail and let me warm you.”
“How did you know I get chilly when...” Her voice faded. “Oh, I see.”
Yes, this was not his first marriage. However, he had rarely shared a bed with Mary and never spent a whole night with her. She didn’t like him in bed with her all the time; she’d said she was afraid he’d squash her and not notice. Although the fear was silly, he’d complied, and while they didn’t stay apart, distance had begun to grow from that moment on.
At this stage of his relationship with Dorothea, he didn’t want that to happen. “I won’t force you.” He took her hand, chafing it between his. It was cold. “But I’d like to help. Please join me.”
She jerked a nod. “All right.”
For such a private woman, that was a great leap forward. He rewarded her with a kiss.
* * * *
Every day Ben pushed her a little more, persuaded her to step out of her comfortable ways of thinking.
That had to be good. He treated her with care and consideration and, slowly, Dorothea was releasing her idea of living as a single lady. Her inevitable fate, she’d thought, but one she’d been determined to make the most of.
When he kissed her, she tingled all over, and when he spoke to her he really listened. She wasn’t used to that.
As their lips separated and an intimate smile warmed his face, the sound of carriage wheels came from outside.
Dorothea frowned. “Who on earth is traveling in this weather?” She went to the window and peered out. “I can’t see properly, but it’s a traveling carriage for sure. Visitors?” She turned. “Who are we expecting?”
He was standing by the door. “We’d better go and find out.”
Downstairs, the hall was busy. Footmen were hauling a trunk across the space, and two men were divesting themselves of their outer clothing.
Louis was back, and he’d brought Sir James with him.
Pasting a smile to her face, she took Ben’s arm and they went down to greet them.
Louis, dressed in his usual finery, this time a scarlet riding habit, had a smile to match hers. “Ah, here you are. I do trust you have not turned my wife out of doors?”
“Of course not.” B
en frowned. “Why would I do that? She, and you, are welcome here for as long as you wish.”
No, they’re not. Dorothea fought to retain her smile, although she had to fix it in place. “Of course.”
“Very gracious, I’m sure.”
“You may use the marquess’s apartments as long as you wish,” Ben said.
Sir James was not looking happy. He shook his head slightly, although Dorothea didn’t know what he meant by that. “We have decided,” she said, “to make our apartments in another part of the house.”
“Just as well.” Louis’s smile turned cold. “Since you won’t be the marquess after all.” Louis glanced at Dorothea. “Just as well,” he drawled, “since my marchioness is a better example of the kind than yours. If you intend to marry her, that is. After all, you don’t have to produce an heir any longer.”
Dorothea gripped Ben’s arm hard. She did not want him to respond to that blatant attempt at provocation. “We will marry,” Ben answered, his voice like ice. “We do not need your approval.”
“Not even as head of the family? However, we may choose not to acknowledge the more disreputable element.”
Beside her, Ben straightened. The atmosphere between the cousins froze. “Care to explain that?”
“Gentlemen.” At last, Sir James came forward, although he had to walk around Louis to do so. “Should we not take this to a private place?”
Ben raised a dark brow. “It would be more civilized.”
They were interrupted by a voice from above. “Louis, oh Louis! Oh, I have missed you! You have no idea how tedious this place is without company!”
Showing little sign of her recent indisposition, Lady Honoria, gloriously attired in pale yellow silk, hurried down the stairs, trailing her hand elegantly along the banister. She stopped a foot away from them, eyes wide. “Is there something amiss?”
“Not for us.” Louis bent over his wife’s hand. “But for Mr. Thorpe here, perhaps so. I am not even sure he is entitled to use our name.”
Sir James sighed. “That has yet to be ascertained.”
“Really?”
“The yellow parlor,” Dorothea murmured. She would not stand in the hall yelling their business for everyone to hear. Her stomach tightened, and she felt ill. Something was seriously amiss here.
Pulling away from Ben, she led the way. For a few seconds she wasn’t sure the others would follow, but eventually she heard the echoes of their footsteps behind her. She had that much authority then, at least.
The yellow parlor was a family room set behind the hall, close to that other chamber where Ben had found her before. But she didn’t want to use that. These were rooms that belonged to the original Tudor structure, and they had lower ceilings. Dorothea liked the dark-paneled, simply furnished austerity, but she would wager her best pearls that Louis and Lady Honoria disliked them. A good reason for choosing them, because she had a feeling Ben needed all the help he could get. He was on the edge of losing his temper, especially from Louis’s blatant attempt to rile him. She needed him to stay calm.
“Do I offer you my felicitations?” Louis asked. “Otherwise, I have to insist that Miss Rowland leave us.”
“Next Monday,” Ben said shortly, holding a high-backed chair for Dorothea, the best this small room had to offer. She accepted it. “We had the banns called the week you left.”
“Unfortunate,” Louis said. “You might wish to think again, Miss Rowland.”
Dorothea said nothing, since the question was evidently another jab at Ben.
After helping his wife to a chair, then taking a seat himself, Louis dug into the pocket of his riding coat and brought out an oilcloth-covered parcel. He unwrapped it, revealing a sheet of paper. “It appears your parents married in haste, my dear cousin,” he drawled. “They wed in London.”
“Yes, they did,” Ben said.
“And you were born a mere seven months later?”
Ben nodded. “Within the sanctity of marriage.”
Slowly, as if sorrowful, Louis shook his head. “Except they were not married at all. The cleric who performed the office was an impostor. I have the proof.” He tapped the paper. “I have the original safely at the solicitor’s office, but I thought you might like to see what I have found. This is a true copy. Discovering it took quite the search, but eventually I tracked it down to a small church in an unfashionable parish.” His lip turned. “A very unfashionable parish.”
Ben clutched the back of Dorothea’s chair, shifting it a fraction.
“Proof?” Dorothea said icily. “Marriages can be irregular but still legal.”
“Not when the person performing the ceremony was not a recognized cleric. Handfasting is all very well for the peasants, but our kind need something more legal. The man who married your parents, Ben, saw a quick way of making money, so he posed as a vicar. But he was never ordained, and I have proof of that.”
Dorothea’s stomach plummeted. Ben had done much to control his temper in the last seven years, but Louis was pushing him to another confrontation.
Louis leaned back and stretched his booted feet before him. “Which of course means that I’m the Marquess of Belstead.”
Dorothea’s chair vibrated with the intensity of Ben’s grip on it.
“That is for me to determine.” Sir James stepped between the two men and shot a sharp glare at Dorothea. “I am the arbiter of this question. While the marriage you investigated was indeed invalid, probably conducted in too much haste, I found the records we have at the office. They give another date for the wedding of the last marquess, a month after the first. I want to investigate that discrepancy.”
Louis waved away the statement. “I have never found any proof of that. And the current marchioness is hardly in a position to confirm it. She is quite mad.”
“Not mad,” Ben corrected him firmly. “My mother is not without her wits. They wander sometimes, that is all.” He moved from behind Dorothea’s chair, pausing to snatch up the paper. “I will look at this.”
Dorothea rose, relieved Ben was leaving the scene. If he stayed, Louis would doubtless provoke him to display his anger. Nobody got to him like his cousin. Louis got under Ben’s skin and poked fine needles into every sore spot. Ben’s rugged face was pale with fury, and the flat line of his mouth would have made a weaker woman tremble with fear.
He did not look back, but she followed him anyway, hearing a low feminine laugh as she did so. “Fortunately, I stayed in the marchioness’s chambers,” Lady Honoria said, loud enough for Dorothea to hear.
She didn’t care. Not very much, anyway. Ben stormed up the stairs, forcing Dorothea to lift her skirts as she scrambled after him. At the top, he turned, the very image of a powerful lord.
Even if he wasn’t.
“Why do you follow me?” he demanded. “You should be running away.”
She didn’t reply until she joined him. She folded her arms and glared at him. “Why? Are you planning to hurt me?”
“No, of course not.”
“Well, then.”
He spun around and stalked to another room, the cabinet, it was called, because of the magnificent Italian cabinet of curiosities that it contained. This room was a sharp contrast to the one downstairs, the furniture gilded, delicate, exquisite, and French. At least it was clear of dust. The extra ten maids Dorothea had engaged last week had worked hard to eliminate that annoyance.
“How would your family feel about you marrying a bastard?”
She flinched. That name, so ugly, didn’t describe Ben, in any sense of the word. “You’re giving up?”
His upper lip turned in a sneer. “Giving up what? This place? The debts? I’m well rid of it.”
When he swallowed, Dorothea recognized his pain. This house, the title, was his father’s legacy to him. Ben wouldn’t want to give that up. “You would disgrace your mot
her? Have her labeled a sinful woman by the whole of society? How do you think she will take to being called Miss...” She didn’t know Ben’s mother’s maiden name.
“Bassington. I suppose I am a Bassington, too. Not that they would accept me any more than the Thorpes.” A wealth of pain lay in his voice, held back by sheer self-will.
How could she abandon him now? How could he think that of her? “You’re a Thorpe, and the Marquess of Belstead until Sir James decides otherwise. We must find the record of that other marriage.”
Emitting a choked laugh, Ben turned and strode to the window, resting his clenched fists on the ledge. “I never heard of it before.”
She softened her voice. “What is the story of your parents’ marriage? Please tell me.”
“How much do you know?”
Were there tears in his voice? Although he rarely mentioned his parents, he visited his mother every day, and she knew the disappointment he’d caused his father was a great sorrow to him. He had never said anything, but Ben was a man of honor, and when he spoke of his father, it was with reverence.
She recalled the stories, old ones, but still occasionally spoken of. “Your mother was on the brink of betrothal to another man, one she disliked. Your father came to her in her bedroom, took a brass ring from the curtain, and they eloped. Surely that is enough.”
“Not if the priest was not a priest at all.”
Tired of talking to his back, she went to the window and tugged at his sleeve. “Look at me, Ben. Tell me the whole.”
He had his eyes tightly shut, but he opened them and turned to her. She’d never seen such a bleak expression on his features before. This wasn’t the grief she’d witnessed after he’d seen his mother for the first time in seven years. This was despair. But he spoke steadily.
Dorothea faltered. He’d locked himself away. That was how he’d coped with his cousin and taken the news that his parents had not married. “I should have stayed dead. Because then Louis could have gone on his merry way wrecking the estate, and he would not have dug up this old scandal. My mother has lucid days, but once she hears this, she will retreat completely.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “There is so little left of the woman she was. Louis will turn her out of doors or have her locked away.”
The Making of a Marquess Page 19