She tilted her head. “I shall receive an allowance? For gowns, hats, and things a lady must have?” she repeated.
“Exactly,” he said with a smile, obviously quite pleased with himself. “I see we understand each other perfectly. So… Do you agree?”
What was wrong with this man? Slowly, Kate released a heavy sigh. She could barely contemplate such a thing as this, and yet he acted as though he’d solved all the problems of the world with fashion accessories. She’d hoped for a small stipend, but marriage! And to a complete stranger. She couldn’t! Not for all the gowns and hats on earth. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I say no, Lord St. Malin.” Her words were clipped and precise, and she hoped beyond hope he would accept her decision without argument.
His dark eyebrows rose. “No? Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“How disappointing,” he said quietly sitting down again.
Kate gulped as his heavy-lidded eyes studied her from head to foot. She was uncomfortably aware that the mist had sent her hair into a riot of untidy curls, and she smoothed it away from her face with both hands. With her muddy shoe tucked out of sight beneath her gown, she forced herself to meet his blue eyes. Might he like anything of what he saw? She had inherited her mother’s tiny waist, and she thought her hands pretty. But apart from that, she was perfectly aware she wasn’t a beauty. His lordship’s gaze strayed to her breasts and remained there rather long. She sucked in a breath as her heart beat faster. When their eyes met, did she detect a gleam of approval? She caught her lip between her teeth.
The grandfather clock struck eight of the clock. Kate’s stomach gave a loud, protesting growl. The embarrassing noise seemed to galvanize him into action. He leapt to his feet again.
His restless energy made her even wearier. “How can you make such a weighty decision on an empty stomach? You’d like to freshen up before dining, I imagine. James will show you the way. We shan’t dress as I’m sure you’d prefer to retire early. Tomorrow, I’ll have your answer. Come, Felix. Are you too lazy to eat your dinner?” The dog seemed to understand his words, and jumped up and stretched, wagging his tail.
The new marquess sounded confident he would get his way.
Kate suffered a keen sense of frustration and something close to anger at being dragged into this absurd situation, which left her stranded in a strange place. But when the footman arrived, announcing dinner, she rose quickly, eager for a meal. It had been a long day, and her nervous stomach had only allowed her to eat a small breakfast.
Kate visited the privy, and in an antechamber, was provided with a bowl of hot water. She washed her face, and did her best with her unruly hair, then scrubbed the splotch of mud from her half boot. James appeared again and escorted her to the dining room, a magnificent room brightly lit by the massive chandelier overhead and several silver candelabras placed about on mahogany tables. Gilt-framed oil paintings hung on the walls. Kate sat opposite St. Malin at a dining table long enough to seat King Arthur and all his knights.
The marquess poured her a glass of wine as the covers were brought in. She ate the fish soup and allowed the footman to serve her the sole in cream sauce, and the roast venison, which proved tender and delicious. While they ate, the marquess explained further. “If you decide to marry me, rest assured I shall not bother you overmuch.”
That was hardly a recommendation. Was he going to shut her up in the tower? She pursed her lips. “I believe I’ve refused.”
A glimmer brightened his attractive eyes. “Then I shall have to convince you to change your mind.”
Was he responding to the challenge? Or did he not like to lose? “I highly doubt that. I can be very stubborn.”
His gaze drifted from her eyes to her mouth, then dipped to the bodice of her dress. “I can be very persuasive.”
Heat blazed across her cheeks. She stiffened. What manner of persuasion did he have in mind? “That I don’t doubt,” she murmured, wondering when she could leave. He would not get the opportunity.
He laughed and tossed a piece of meat to the dog. Felix caught it in his jaws. Swallowing the morsel with barely a chew, Felix danced on his back legs begging for more. The marquess cut off another piece, and it went the way of the first. “That’s enough, Felix, off to the kitchen with you.” The footman opened the door and the dog dutifully trotted through it. Lord St. Malin turned his attention back to her. “We need not always cohabitate. I have homes in London, Hertfordshire, and Italy.”
“Italy?” Kate paused, a fork of artichoke halfway to her mouth. She had longed to visit Italy since reading her father’s copy of Shakespeare’s play, Romeo, and Juliet.
He nodded, his long fingers toying with the stem of the crystal wineglass. “In fact, as I have said, we need rarely meet.” His gaze wandered over her face, then focused on her mouth. She shifted in her seat. “Although I do require an heir at some point, you understand.”
“Of course.” She dropped her gaze to the plate, her appetite gone. “An heir.”
“Yes.” He tossed back the ruby wine in his glass. “And, by all accounts, it was my uncle’s opinion that you and I could produce a fine son. He said as much in the will.” His speculative glance made her hot all over.
She swallowed. “But why? He knew my father well, but he knew little about me.”
He shrugged. “I’m as surprised by this as you are. My uncle was an unusual man.”
Italy? Her interest was piqued. To be left alone in Italy, to enjoy the arts, the statues, and the food, which she’d been told was delicious. “I shall need time to give this er… proposal, proper consideration,”
He gave her an impatient, sidelong glance as if he wanted the business of their marriage over quickly, as if he was purchasing a property. “How much time? Surely you must see the advantages it offers you.”
“I said I will consider it.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you wish me to or not?”
His mouth twitched. “I do indeed wish you to consider it.”
“Then, rest assured I shall.”
“I must make it plain that I shall continue to live as I have done until now,” he said, rubbing his chin.
He was laboring that point. He didn’t like this anymore than she did. What a conundrum. But he must be quite sure of her answer. And why wouldn’t he be? When she really considered it. What choice did she have? Marry him or live in poverty. Still, she wasn’t going to give in easily. Something about his supreme self-confidence irked her. And she didn’t know him. He might hurt her, make her life a misery. What would her father have made of him?
He rose to refill their glasses. After the footman cleared the table, leaving a bowl of nuts, he left the room. When the door closed, St. Malin held his glass up to the light. “And once you have provided an heir, you can take a lover if you wish. But take care, for I don’t intend to house any bastards.” His brows snapped together in a dark scowl as if she planned to take a lover straight after they’d exchanged their vows. Had one waiting in the wings, in fact.
“I beg your pardon, my lord?” Kate sputtered, wondering if he’d lost his reason.
He rubbed a hand over his forehead. “Forgive me. That was uncalled for, and I’m not sure where it came from.” He shook his head as though clearing bad thoughts. “I’ve never negotiated the terms of a marriage before.” He smoothed his hand over his black hair, and she realized that he was as unsettled about the prospect of marriage as she was. “This has been a shock for me,” he added, confirming her thoughts.
“Yes, of course.” She selected a nut and reached for the cracker. Her godfather was dead, and she found she wasn’t able to mourn him, for she’d hardly known him. Her mind refused to form a coherent plan, but all her senses seemed to have come alive. The taste of the superb vintage on her tongue, the tang of beeswax candle smoke, the crystal, and the silver gleaming on the white linen cloth. The dark hairs on his wrist below his cuff. Surprised, she batted that thought away. She’d been thrust into
another world—a beautiful world filled with elegant things she’d never dreamed she could call her own, along with a man who, at one time, might have fulfilled her every fantasy. He was inviting her to remain in this world, but not with him, at least not very often with him. She put down the wine as her head swam. The man sitting across the table from her was handsome with a strong, trim body. He was wealthy and titled, and yet he needed something from her.
Without her consent, he would lose a fortune.
And she suspected he was far too used to getting his own way. Aristocrats were spoiled from birth. Hadn’t her father always said so? Why the former marquess wished for this union, she couldn’t fathom. Surely, he would have wanted someone titled for his nephew? She couldn’t think of it now. The long exhausting trip, the shock of his words, plus the wine, had all taken their toll; she simply must sleep. Her eyelids began to droop, and she fought to focus on his face.
She put down her napkin and rose from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, my lord—”
“Robert.”
“Robert,” she said hesitatingly. It felt odd to say it. “I believe I’ll retire.”
“The footman will show you to your bedchamber.” He stood and seized the bell cord, pulling it with the same energy he applied to everything he did. It made her think of him as a prospective lover, and her eyes widened.
“Good night, Katharina.”
“I prefer to be called Kate,” she said faintly, wishing to hang on to some semblance of her past life. “My father named me Katharina. It’s from Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew.”
“It is to be hoped you and she have little else in common,” he said with an elegant bow.
“I like to think I do.” Kate ignored his arched brow, gathered up her skirts, and curtsied, hoping she appeared as graceful as he, but rather doubting it. She was too short for imposing gestures. Resigned, she followed the footman from the room, up the winding staircase, and down a long corridor hung with tapestries and impressive works of art to another heavy oak door.
Her chamber, filled with solid mahogany furniture, echoed with the ocean’s loud roar which filtered through the arched, leaded windows. A young maid waited in attendance. A pile of Kate’s faded gowns lay over a chair. Kate was gripped again with embarrassment and consternation. Her father was an academic, far better at verse than providing his wife and daughter with glamorous gowns. It had never mattered to her before, but now she would welcome a lift in her confidence.
“You’ve unpacked my trunk. What is your name?”
“Rebecca, Miss Bancroft.” The sturdy, fresh-faced maid bobbed, her brown curls bouncing.
“Thank you, Rebecca.”
Kate moved closer to the fire to warm her hands, cold again after negotiating the chilly corridors. The carved tester bed festooned with royal blue velvet hangings beckoned enticingly.
Rebecca closed the windows and pulled across the thick velvet drapery, the sounds of the sea muffled to a dull roar. She assisted Kate out of her gown and unlaced her stays. Then she withdrew after saying a quiet goodnight.
Discarding her shift and panniers, Kate washed herself from head to toe at a basin of lukewarm water with sweet-smelling soap. Cold despite the fire, she shivered and toweled herself dry, then donned her nightgown. She plaited her hair and climbed into bed to discover a bedwarmer at her feet. With a moan of delight, she pulled the covers up to her chin.
Her thoughts turned to the marquess—Robert. She must remember to call him by his given name. It seemed friendlier, and if all went according to her godfather’s will, he would be her husband. Her heart raced at the thought. She would have to learn to be a marchioness, and nothing in her life up until now had prepared her for such a role. She might fail and embarrass him. Or, he might remain a stranger she seldom saw, keeping her shut away somewhere. Either of those possibilities wasn’t exactly heartwarming. But what other course was open to her?
A governess? She felt sorry for governesses. They lurked in corners at social gatherings like poor relations, and even though Nanny had enjoyed a comfortable life with them, she’d never had a family of her own. Well, Kate was rather like a poor relation herself. Could she really refuse Robert and have him lose a substantial part of his fortune? It would be foolish for them both to lose out when they might gain something valuable by marrying.
“Robert. My husband,” she said to the empty room.
Such a declaration did not result in the happy emotion that should come with the thoughts of a husband, instead, it induced a quiver of alarm. Her tired mind refused to deal with it anymore. His handsome face kept distracting her. Were his eyes more blue than green? What sort of man was he? His broad shoulders and hard jaw made him appear very strong and determined. But there was something else she sensed in him that worried her. It was as if he’d donned a metaphorical knight’s armor for protection and would never allow her to get too close.
He was not the kind of man she’d wished to marry. She’d wanted someone kind and quite desperately in love with her. Someone brave who would fight her battles for her like a chivalrous knight but would never keep her at arm’s length or make her feel she was an inconvenience. Her husband would be like her father, who adored her and wrote love poetry to her mother. She had rejected two offers of marriage because she’d been waiting for such a man to appear in her life, and if she married Robert, she would never find him.
Kate sighed, what was expected of a marchioness? She had no idea. Would she be prepared for that role or thrown into it, to sink or swim. It was all so disturbing, she’d expected to lie awake all night, but sleep claimed her as soon as she snuggled down into the comfortable bed and nestled her head on the feather pillow.
*
Robert returned to the library and splashed a liberal portion of brandy into a goblet. He sat down at the desk with Felix settled at his feet. He’d never owned a dog, because his parents hadn’t approved of them as pets, but he found that he did. He wasn’t fond of this place though. The castle was too isolated and drafty. The old man had loved it here. The climate was superior, but with good society scarce, life was dull. Apart from fishing and riding, there was little to offer that could equal life in London.
Uncle Alford offered him love and support when his family had failed him. Robert fully intended to honor his memory and make him proud, but if his uncle had believed Robert marrying this young woman would improve his character, or that it might heal Robert’s emotional wounds, he was wrong. His uncle’s will was unfair, and it asked a great deal of him.
He leaned down and absently patted the dog. Robert quickly banished the disloyal thought that his uncle might not have been of sound mind when he made the will. He shook his head, bemused. He should be outraged that such a trick had been played on him, but he couldn’t find it in himself, because he knew his uncle had cared deeply for him. And this might have resulted from his uncle’s disapproval of Millicent, the one thing he’d shared with Robert’s mother and her husband.
Robert shrugged and went to add coal to the fire. He stood close to the burgeoning heat as if it might melt the tense knot in his chest. It mattered not whom he took to wife. Society beauty, Millicent Borrowdale, who set the ton on its ear, had rejected him for a nabob’s son. Her choice of husband was neither titled nor distinguished, but heir to one of the richest men in England.
And at that time, Robert had little to offer her. It was expected his uncle, who was in rude good health, would live for many years. Perhaps all women were calculating, and that small, sweet-faced young woman asleep upstairs would most likely prove to be the same when put to the test. It would be a shame to see that happen, for she had an honesty and a frankness that he liked. He liked her pretty, green eyes which tilted up at the corners in a most intriguing way, below straight brows.
With a frown, he returned to his desk and mended his pen. He dipped the quill into the ink pot and paused. He’d barely made a dent in the mountain of paper he worked through. His uncle had vast interest
s and owned several businesses including an iron works in Birmingham and a pottery factory on the lands of his great aunt’s estate in Vauxhall.
There were tenant farmers who had been left to the care of a steward which required his attention. When his uncle grew ill, he lost interest in his investments and left it all to his man of business, Mr. Garvie. Mr. Garvie also rested below ground now. Consequently, Robert had inherited a fine mess to sort out. He needed to employ a new business manager, another steward, and would need to inspect all the properties to ensure the staff were up to scratch.
He’d been gratified to find that St Malin Castle at least, was well run. Although his uncle discussed business with him and attempted to prepare Robert for the responsibilities which lie ahead, he sorely missed his sound advice, and the weight rested uncomfortably on his shoulders. His agreeable life in London seemed to have been thrown into chaos. Despite obtaining a first in mathematics at Cambridge, he’d never actually had to employ it much, beyond toting up bets at White’s or the races, and now felt totally unprepared for what was now required of him.
His marriage might prove the easiest part of this new order to manage. Kate seemed the sort who would be content with the comfortable life he could give her and ask little of him.
He threw down his pen and took a liberal pinch of snuff, admiring the large ruby on the quaint silver box engraved with a stout pig which had belonged to his uncle. It was so like him to have such a thing made. The pig was a delightful jest at what he perceived as the shallow habits of the ton, although he did enjoy his own special blend of tobacco. Robert flicked snuff from his coat, preferring to mull over his bride-to-be instead of what was on the desk before him. There was nothing for it, but to accept his lot with as much grace as he could muster.
Kate’s appearance and bearing would improve considerably with a more fashionable and costlier wardrobe. Robert had not been blind to her charms beneath the shabby, old-fashioned clothes. In time, she may even trump a diamond of the first water like Millicent. He’d studied Kate over the dinner table. Her un-powdered, dark, honey-colored locks, tied up with a green ribbon, had curled around her shell-like ears. When startled, those large eyes appeared greener. She was every inch an innocent country girl, completely unaware that the way she bit her full provocative bottom lip was bordering on erotic. He soon realized his attraction to her would serve to make the act of producing an heir far more pleasant. Yes, he was more than willing to bed her, but he would have to go gently. She might become too dependent on him too quickly. Even though she’d refused him, as was the fashion, he was confident that she would agree.
The Marquess Meets His Match Page 2