The Making of a Marquess

by Lynne Connolly

  Putting her clenched fist to her mouth, she took a few deep breaths, now Ben was not here to see her weakness. He would have sent her straight back to bed, and that would never do. The room reeked of blood, the distinctive sweet metallic tang hitting the back of her throat every time she inhaled. She breathed shallowly and went closer.

  Sir James was standing by the bed, staring down sorrowfully at Louis. His eyes were open wide, no doubt in shock, and his cherry-red lips were partially open, revealing a glimpse of sharp white teeth. Even in death he was handsome. He had cropped dark hair with chestnut highlights, the same as Ben’s, but while Ben wore his own hair, Louis had always worn a wig. The short strands revealed a tendency to curl. She forced herself to take note of everything, in case it was needed later. Poor Louis!

  “They say that if we look into a dead man’s eyes, we can see the last sight he had in this world,” Sir James said. “I have no faith in superstition, but you are welcome to look, if you wish.”

  Dorothea shuddered. “No. How could this happen?”

  “Not suicide,” Sir James said. “Why would he do such a thing? And in any case, suicides are disgraced. They can lose their property and their right to be buried in consecrated ground. So I think we can assume this is murder.”

  “Undoubtedly,” William Thorpe said.

  “I’m sorry, Major.” Sir James lifted his gaze to meet William’s sorrowful one.

  William’s eyes were the same blue as his brother’s, but they were alive, filled with emotion. He heaved a great sigh. “I am sorry too.”

  “Did you hear anything? Isn’t your room close by?” Dorothea asked.

  William glanced behind him to where Lord Evington stood. “We were playing cards until late. Louis seemed fine when he left us.”

  His lordship nodded, confirming William’s words.

  Angela straightened. “What time did you last see your brother, Major?”

  “Three o’clock. We played for small stakes, but Louis wanted to raise them.”

  “Did he?” Sir James enquired.

  William shook his head. “Neither I nor Evington have the taste for deep play. We told him we would leave if he wanted to do that. It was a way of passing the time, that was all.”

  “Indeed.” Hal moved closer to Dorothea. “We can do nothing here. We should leave this room as it is, for the magistrate to see. Dear lady, would you allow me to take you back to your room?”

  Instinctively, Dorothea wanted to protest at leaving Lady Honoria with Ben, but that was foolish. He didn’t care for his lost love. At least, she didn’t think so.

  Steadier now, she nevertheless accepted the support of Hal’s arm when he offered it. It felt wrong because it wasn’t Ben.

  “I believe that’s my duty.”

  Ben stood in the doorway. “I called a maid for Honoria, one with a sturdier temperament than her usual woman. We should retire and dress. I believe Lady Steeping has arranged for hot drinks in the breakfast room, and if anyone requires stronger sustenance, that is freely available. I suggest we meet in the breakfast room when we are ready.” He addressed Sir James. “I will send for the magistrate immediately. We must put ourselves in his hands.”

  “And let a puffed-up squire take control of the affair?” William went to the bed and put his hand over Louis’s face. It was his right to close his brother’s eyes for the last time. As a soldier, he’d most likely done that before, but never to one of his own. Nevertheless, his hand was steady as he performed the office. “I thank you, no. He will be informed. That is all.”

  “He will do what he needs to do, and nobody will interfere with that.” Ben was clear.

  As if Ben hadn’t spoken, William said, “I will work with my brother’s valet and ensure he is made decent. Nobody should see him this way. I grieve that so many people did so.” He glared at Sir James, as if daring the man to gainsay him.

  Sir James spread his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Very well.”

  Ben sighed. “I’d rather the officials saw the scene, but he is your brother, and you have the right.”

  When Dorothea would have protested, Angela held out her hand by her side, palm down, in a signal to keep quiet. Dorothea took her unspoken advice. William was not convulsed in hysterics like Lady Honoria, but his grief was no less palpable. Performing this office for his brother did seem right.

  Hal went to the door and opened it. The sound of quiet sobbing came from the other room in this suite, and the murmuring of another woman, presumably the maid. This part of the house was shrouded in sorrow.

  Lady Honoria’s maid would have carried the news down to the servants’ hall. They would have been awake for an hour or two, preparing breakfast and laying fires in the unoccupied rooms. There was no keeping this news quiet.

  Only one woman would be oblivious to the shocking events of the morning, and she was in a suite not far away from here. Ben’s mother.

  Silently, everyone filed out of the room, and Ben locked it, handing the key to William. Sir James gave him the others, tacitly acknowledging his right to claim them. William thanked him quietly. “I want my brother to have every honor. He should be buried as the Marquess of Belstead.”

  Sir James sighed. “I’m sorry, but that is not possible. He will be buried with all honors, but he was not the marquess when he died, and he cannot claim the title in death.”

  “I see.” William turned around, the sheen of tears in his eyes. He went back inside the room.

  Instinct urged Dorothea to go after him, to offer him some comfort. Ben pulled her back. “Give him some solitude,” he murmured in her ear. “Let him mourn in peace.”

  Slowly the five people remaining walked back the way they’d come. Hal bade them a subdued farewell outside his room. “Unfortunately, he cannot even be buried as the heir. He was never that, because you were alive.”

  Ben nodded.

  They had reached Sir James’s room. “Does it not occur to you that if you declared your decision, we would all be less fraught?” Ben asked him.

  Sir James frowned. “I had not thought of it that way. Allow me to consider it.”

  He went inside his room.

  “He does nothing but think,” Ben muttered as they made their way to Angela’s room. “I wish he would just say something. We can’t hare off after missing papers and also discover who murdered my cousin.”

  “But we should,” Angela said. “I have held Mr. Thorpe’s debts for too long. His debts of honor might die with him, but not the ones he has with my bank. If he is not the marquess, then he is a debtor I must deal with. I fear foreclosure will be in the widow’s future. There is little I can do about that now. If I allow his widow to renege on the debts, the City will not take it well.”

  She bade them a quiet good morning and entered her room which, Dorothea noticed, was exceedingly fine, as if Louis had wanted to keep her sweet. He probably had.

  Back in their corridor, she made to walk on, but Ben asked her into his room for a moment. She entered, assuming he wanted to talk about Louis’s murder. His murder! “I can’t believe he’s dead. Only last night he was saying—”

  Ben pulled her into his arms and kissed her, then released her and stepped back. “I’ve never known fear before. But I’m afraid they might come for you.”

  She frowned up at him in surprise. “Pardon me?”

  “Someone tried to kill me twice now. I thought it was Louis, but now he’s been murdered. I’d assumed it was Louis, but now I’m not so sure.” Turning, he strode to the window and flung back the drapes. The household was in turmoil, and the maids hadn’t yet been up. Digging his fingers into his thick hair, Ben sent it into wild disarray. “I was concerned when the cherub dropped from the roof. But now we know what lengths the murderer will go to, and I can’t bear to think of you in such danger.”

  He cared that much about her? Or w
as this all a subterfuge? Her experience with men at this level of intimacy was limited to one. She was in the dark. “Why do you say that?”

  “It could be anyone, and now he has committed murder.”

  “You think the incidents are linked?”

  “I’m sure of it. And because of that, the perpetrator is a man. Only two women came on that duck hunt, and neither of them were in the right position to fire the shot.”

  “I hate to mention it, but I must.” She hesitated, finding the right words. “Could Honoria be involved?”

  His eyes widened. “Truly?”

  She swallowed. “She did tell me that if you were both single...”

  He said nothing for a moment. Then he said, “I think it unlikely. She would have needed an accomplice for the duck hunt, and there is nobody I know she would have that kind of control over. But I will bear it in mind.”

  Relieved, she took a deep breath. Because of their previous connection, she’d been concerned that he might react badly. But he no longer had Honoria on a pedestal, and she’d had to mention it.

  “I’m thinking about sending you away, so you can be safe.”

  He was mad. He had to be. “Safe? How safe? Do you mean to force me to the other side of the house? Or even away from Cressbrook completely? Is that what you want?”

  “No, God help me!” He spun around to face her. “I need to take care of you, Dorothea. I’ve never felt this strongly before or been so afraid.”

  “You’ve faced bears.” She folded her hands tightly in front of her. “How can this be the first time you’re afraid?”

  He tore out the velvet ribbon confining his hair and tossed it aside, the better to run his fingers through his already disordered locks. “I had no time to think when I confronted the bear. Now I’ve done nothing but think.”

  “But we can still marry?” Her throat was relaxing, and she took a couple of deep breaths.

  “The marriage will still take place, but in private. We’ll cancel the wedding breakfast.” They had planned a large celebration to include their neighbors and tenants, but that couldn’t happen now. “You deserve better.” His tone was gruff, and he wouldn’t meet her eyes, but paced around the room restlessly. “But I will have you.”

  “I want that, too,” she said.

  He jerked his head around and met her gaze. Even from four feet away she saw the pain in those steel-gray eyes. The frown between his brows was graven deep. “Even if we end up going to Boston?”

  She smiled. “I’ve never met a bear.”

  “There are bears and natives. Not all the people who originally occupied the colonies are friendly. They attack at will, destroy, rape, and steal people, who are rarely seen again. The settlements are small, even Boston and the other larger cities. Nothing like London exists there. No palaces, no kings.”

  She would not be deterred. He would have to admit that he didn’t want her if he wished to persuade her to walk away from him. She could not do it. Once she knew him, inside and out, she recognized the man she was meant to be with for the rest of her life. It was this man or no one, because nobody else would come up to the standard he’d set. But she would not say that now. She refused to beg. “It sounds interesting.”

  He sighed and his mouth flattened, deepening the lines either side of it. “After church, we must make arrangements for the funeral.”

  And to think, she’d have been happy with her cottage by the sea and the elderly companion.

  Who was she fooling? Not herself, not any longer. If she had to do that, she would, and she’d make the best of it. But want it? No, not any more.

  Chapter 22

  Waking in his own bed, Ben tucked his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. Although he and Dorothea spent every night together, after that first night he’d ensured they were in their own beds by dawn. He didn’t want to embarrass her again, but he could not keep away from her either.

  Had she realized that he could be the prime suspect in the murder of Louis? One would think he had the most to gain—that is, if he wanted the title. The death of Louis left his brother as the other potential marquess. But William wanted to return to his army career. He would gain promotion to colonel, and end as a general. If he had to deal with the duties of restoring a depleted estate, he could not concentrate on the military. It would suit him to have Ben as the marquess, so his motives were far less compelling.

  Would Dorothea take to life in the colonies?

  Dorothea had no idea what it was like. It could be tedious in the extreme, and the dowagers over there expected a finicky standard of behavior she would not like. And if they decided not to accept her, then she would be on her own, and miserable. Expulsion from the achingly small community would leave her truly isolated.

  He had every faith in her, but she deserved better. And if he did not inherit the marquessate, he saw no point in staying in England. He could not effectively run his business from London, not without a great deal of expense and rearrangement.

  But all that was excuses. He wanted Dorothea badly, but he didn’t deserve her. Not after Mary.

  Rougier entered with Ben’s clothes for the day draped reverently over his arm and a tray holding coffee and bread and butter in the other hand. Ben tried to make sense of his whirling thoughts.

  Up to now, his business, the fleet he’d built ship by ship until he was wealthy enough to buy the six belonging to the Cressbrook estate, had meant more to him than anything else. More than his name, more than Mary.

  More than Dorothea? More than the tiny body of his son, who had taken one breath in this cruel world?

  That he couldn’t answer. He refused to. Deliberately, he turned his thoughts away. Instead, he sat up. “What are they discussing downstairs?”

  Rougier gave him a jaded look from under heavy lids. “They talk of the death incessantly, sir. Some wild stories are already circulating.”

  He could understand that. It wasn’t every day the potential heir to a marquessate was found stabbed to death in his bed. The sight of that body, still for the first time in restless Louis’s life, had brought back memories Ben hadn’t realized he was still carrying with him.

  As Rougier shaved him, Ben went through the recollections of his childhood. Infrequent visits to his parents, long sessions with his tutor, and a lot of time spent with his cousins running about the estate and swimming in the ornamental lake. They’d been severely punished for that. His father had not spared the whip. That had been the only time his father had personally handled their punishment. Only later did Ben understand why, when his father had taken pains to explain it to him. If the three boys had drowned, the title would have died. There were no other heirs.

  Not that the three boys would have been lost, or that their mothers would mourn. No grief, just the perpetuation of the title. The blasted title could go hang. Ben had made his mind up that very day. What if Louis had decided that too, and set about laying waste to the estate?

  No, he had not done that. Ben tilted his head so Rougier could gain access to his throat with the cut-throat razor. Without a second’s thought, he’d allowed someone he’d known for a matter of weeks access to a vulnerable part of his body with a deadly weapon.

  Strange, that.

  Enough. Time to face the world. Speculation was useless.

  On his way down to breakfast, Miss Childers waylaid him. “Do you have time to meet me and my man of business?”

  “Your manager is here?” He didn’t remember meeting him.

  “He’s staying at the inn in the village.”

  That offended Ben. “I’ll order Schultz to have a room prepared for him. Pray tell him to have his things sent up. How could you imagine I would allow him to stay elsewhere?” If it crossed his mind that he was behaving like a marquess, he quelled it.

  “That’s very kind of you. I didn’t like to impose, c
onsidering only I was invited.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “Well, if you meet us after breakfast, you may tell him yourself.”

  “I will be there.”

  Seeing Dorothea so unhappy and trying so valiantly to hide it struck Ben to the heart. However, he said nothing, merely helped her to sit and took a place further down the table, since the ones either side of her were already occupied. The guests were avidly waiting on events. Being well-bred, they began by discussing affairs in London with their friends, aided by the newspapers that had arrived from the village.

  Lady Steeping expressed her sympathy and offered, “As a dear friend of your father, I will do everything in my power to help you through this terrible time.”

  Was she such a good friend? Ben had no idea, but perhaps she planned to use the ploy to get more information.

  Her husband, as usual, made a good meal and spoke little. He’d helped himself to a newspaper from the pile by the table. Louis had them delivered every day, but most were a week old, having been brought up from London.

  Few people did more than glance at the printed sheets. They all wanted to watch the ensuing show. They had the best seats in the house.

  William appeared, dressed in somber black, and reported that Lady Honoria was in bed, heavily sedated, since she had gone into strong hysterics once more. The guests expressed their sorrow.

  Lady Steeping’s comments brought the subject around to the inevitable discussion of Louis’s death. Everyone commiserated with Ben. “To come back to this!” one lady exclaimed. “How dreadful for you!”

  “I didn’t exactly expect it,” he said. Few people had connected the stray bullet and the cherub falling from the sky, but it would not be long until they did, especially with this new development. “Yes indeed,” he said gravely. “Despite our recent disputes, Louis and I grew up together—and William, of course. I will always remember those days fondly.”

  Further down the table, William murmured his agreement.

  Leave, Ben thought, but did not say it aloud. When someone died, wasn’t it polite to give the family some privacy? But the guests here would not leave until the whole grisly business was over with. Goodness, if they left, they might miss another murder, and that would never do.