The Marquess Meets His Match

by Maggi Andersen

  “Really?”

  He looked pleased when she handed him the snuff box wrapped in silver paper. “I cannot give you anything as wonderful as these,” she said, touching the cold gems at her throat. “It is only a small thing.”

  He pulled the silver paper away and studied the enameled box with the chestnut horse painted on the lid. “It’s charming, Kate.” He reached for her hand and kissed it, his smiling blue eyes seeking hers. “Thank you. I shall fill it with my special mixture.” He took a far grander silver box from his coat pocket and opened it, transferring its contents to the new one.

  “Isn’t that my godfather’s snuff box?” Kate moved closer to examine it. “It’s the one with the pig. I thought it so unusual when he showed it to me.”

  Robert stared at her, an odd expression in his eyes. “He showed you this?”

  “Yes. I suspect your uncle preferred pigs to people.”

  “I do believe you are right.” He laughed.

  She giggled. It was heartwarming. As if they were friends. More like husband and wife. For a breathless moment, she thought he might kiss her, but he escorted her to the door. She left the room a little flat. But she supposed he wouldn’t want to spoil Brigitte’s careful maquillage.

  In the foyer, a maid brought Kate her velvet cloak. Robert took it from her and settled the cloak over Kate’s shoulders, the ermine tickling her chin. “Come, allow me to show you off to society.”

  His voice sounded impersonal and brisk. As if she was a new acquaintance. He’d done it again! Retreated and become aloof as if they hadn’t shared an intimate moment only a few minutes ago. With the light touch of his hand on her arm as he escorted her to the carriage, she wondered if she had done something to provoke it. Or perhaps she had not done enough to make him realize that she cared for him? It was so dreadfully hard when he appeared not to welcome it. Or was she just a possession, like this mausoleum of a house with its endless corridors and cold marble columns? Her interest in him had grown, along with the desire for more intimacy between them, but would he ever want the same?

  As the carriage drove through the London streets, Kate asked Robert to tell her more about King George and Queen Charlotte.

  “He’s a good king. He takes a very real interest in the policies of the government, so much so he annoys his ministers on occasion.”

  “Yes, but tell me what they are really like as people. One hears rumors, of course.”

  “You mean his illness? He is well at present. He and the queen are good people and devoted to each another.” An approving gleam appeared in his eyes. “After all, they have fifteen children.”

  Kate flushed and bit her lip. She was glad the light in the carriage was dim. He looked at her differently since he’d seen her without her clothes. The expression in his eyes made her feel desired and womanly. She wanted to ask him how many children he hoped they’d have, but found she couldn’t say the words, because the act which produced them was yet to take place. “Tell me more about the king,” she urged.

  “He likes to dress as a farmer and even lives like one on occasion.”

  “He sounds nice.”

  Robert raised an eyebrow. “Do you think everyone is nice?”

  She made a moue with her mouth. “You’re not always nice, Robert.”

  She held her breath as he took her hand. “I’m sorry if you think that. You look lovely tonight. Quite delicious in fact.”

  When he flirted, his frank gaze was highly disturbing. Even his lightest touch made her body respond. Kate didn’t know quite how to deal with it. She turned to the window.

  “We must have arrived.” The carriage was slowing to turn in through a pair of ornate gates. “The drive is strung with lanterns, how pretty.”

  “We have, and just when things were getting interesting,” Robert said enigmatically.

  Why was he more enamored of her in the carriage? Why not in the bedchamber, she thought crossly. But she had only herself to blame for that. She wondered what she might do to change it without becoming a hoyden.

  Chapter Six

  The Elphinstone ball was held in a mansion north of the city, set in acres of formal gardens. Lanterns dressed the trees along the driveway of Fairgrove Hall, and braziers lit up the terraces. Their hostess, Lady Arabella Elphinstone, a slender, fair-haired woman in her late-twenties, greeted them in the vestibule. Her much older husband had died several years ago.

  “Lady Elphinstone.” Robert kissed the lady’s fingers. “Allow me to present my bride, Kate, Lady St. Malin.”

  “Lady St. Malin.” Arabella curtsied.

  “How do you do, Lady Elphinstone?” Kate caught the sharp expression of dislike in Arabella’s eyes, before the countess turned to give Robert a flirtatious, intimate smile. Could there be a history of dalliance between them?

  “I had heard the rumour, St. Malin, but I must say I did not believe it.” Arabella spoke as if Kate didn’t stand before her. She opened her fan and fluttered it gracefully like a merry lady, just as Brigitte had demonstrated. “An unusual man, your uncle, was he not?” Although she spoke to Robert, her eyes rested on Kate. “Not at all conventional. Do you think the poor man was in sound mind at the end?”

  “Why would he not be?” Kate asked before Robert could answer her.

  Arabella’s delicate brows rose. “Oh? Because of his odd behavior?”

  “Was it so odd to not always like those of his own class?” Kate opened her fan and gave it an angry flutter and closed it with a snap. Brigitte would be proud of her.

  Arabella tittered. “But far superior to the lower classes, surely.”

  “Lady Elphinstone.” Robert bowed and took Kate’s arm and drew her toward noise erupting from the ballroom at the top of the stairs. “You must learn to treat anything you see as a slight with grace. It doesn’t do to make enemies.”

  “So you agree it was a slight?”

  “If so, a very subtle one.”

  “Meant only for me,” Kate said. “And she insulted your uncle. Why didn’t you stand up for him?”

  Robert made no comment.

  Feeling socially inept and a little hurt, Kate longed to leave, and the night had not yet begun. “I’m not used to being insulted in such a fashion. Country folk don’t hide behind snide innuendo. They call a spade a spade.”

  “I’m sorry if you think Lady Elphinstone has insulted you. But please do not allow it to spoil your evening.”

  “She looked at you as though she had a prior claim on you.”

  He pulled his arm away. “What!”

  “And does she?” Kate searched his eyes, but he glanced away.

  As if he feared they might cause a scene, he tucked her arm back into his. “A lady does not ask her husband such things.”

  “I only wish to learn the truth,” she said faintly.

  He squeezed her arm. “Forget about the truth. In this town it is more important to learn discretion.”

  “Then perhaps I shall not like it here.”

  The butler announced them.

  Kate stepped into the ballroom at Robert’s side, awestruck by the scene before her. A minuet was in progress, the ladies and gentlemen in their silks and satins gracefully executing the steps. The high-ceilinged room was awash with color, from the dancers on the floor to the crowd milling around the edges, to the large urns of hothouse flowers, the air smoky from the hundreds of candles, and the massive chandelier casting fractured light over on the scene.

  Robert smiled and nodded to someone in the crowd. “Shall we discuss this later? Do you want to cause gossip before the night has even begun?”

  Her chin raised, she rested her hand lightly on his arm as they proceeded further into the ballroom.

  “Smile, Kate. You have a very engaging smile.”

  Kate almost stopped and turned to him at this unexpected and perfectly timed compliment. She smiled as everyone crowded around them offering their felicitations and asking Robert why he’d done them out of a wedding at St. Paul’
s. Robert began to introduce her. Their names she would never remember, and after a while, their faces became a blur.

  Women curtsied as they studied Kate from beneath their lashes. Some showed genuine warmth and were gracious in their praise, but others less effusive. She would have to prove herself to become one of them. The witty and often scandalous gossip she overheard as they strolled through the huge noisy ballroom made her wonder if she really wanted to. Lady Sommerford’s new babe apparently wasn’t her husband’s, and gossip had it that several men might have fathered the child. It mattered not, for he had his heir and a spare, and had become quite taken with his new mistress.

  The men and women flirted outrageously in the honeyed light of a thousand candles reflected in huge gilt-framed mirrors adorning the walls. The air close and humid, different scents fought for ascendancy, and not all of them pleasant. Ladies whispered behind their fans, their eyes full of laughter. A lady tucked a man’s note into her cleavage when her husband’s back was turned. Kate fanned herself, too, not coquettishly, as Brigitte had suggested, but because she feared she might faint, not just from the heat of close contact with a hundred bodies, but the shock of such an extravagant display of wealth.

  The orchestra struck up again.

  “Bach. A favorite composer of the king.” Robert bent toward her to make himself heard above the babble of conversation around them.

  Couples performed an allemande, twisting and turning on the polished wooden floor in graceful movements.

  Footmen carried trays of champagne and dainty foods to the guests, who clustered around the rim of the ballroom floor or wandered in and out of the adjoining chambers.

  Seated on ornate, gilt chairs upholstered in crimson velvet, the jovial King George and the queen were surrounded by six of their children. When introduced, Kate sank into a deep curtsey while the monarch peered at her nearsightedly. When the queen smiled, Kate’s nervousness slipped away. Their questions were mercifully brief. They both expressed genuine sadness at the marquess’ passing.

  Their eldest son, and heir to the throne, George Augustus Frederick, the Prince of Wales, kissed her hand, observing that her husband was a lucky fellow. Considered handsome and known for his charm, Kate failed to find the tall, bulky man with a florid complexion attractive. He appeared to be much older than his two-and-twenty years. His attention to Kate made her uncomfortable.

  As soon as he could, Robert drew her away.

  “I’m not sure I quite like the prince,” she said in an undertone.

  “I’m relieved that you do not,” he said shortly. He turned to greet someone at his elbow.

  When he turned back to her, she asked him why.

  “He’s been through several mistresses already. I don’t want him adding you to the list.”

  She wondered if Robert might be jealous. More likely it was a matter of possession or pride. She disliked him thinking she could be swayed in that direction and huffed. “As if I would. I am a married woman.”

  “The prince’s ladies most often are. Some cuckolded husbands are busy elsewhere. Some suffer in silence. Royalty live by a different set of rules.” Robert glowered down at her. “Prince or no, I’m not one of those husbands who will turn a blind eye, Kate.”

  The dangerous light in his eyes, made her gasp.

  He said no more and, claiming her arm, moved on to introduce her to more guests. They were polite to her face, no doubt because of her high rank, but a buzz of conversation followed her. The aged Duke of Allthrop raised his pince nez. “That’s the chit who married young St. Malin? Did all right for herself,” he said loudly. His wife whispered in his ear. “What? Don’t hush me. I’m not deaf. She’s a fetching little thing.”

  Kate feared her face was scarlet.

  She performed the cotillion with Lord Branchford, who when they came together, gazed at a fixed point above her head. He trod heavily on her toes. “You are from the country, I believe, Lady St. Malin.”

  Kate sighed. “Oxfordshire is not so terribly far from London, my lord.”

  “Ah, yes, but bucolic, eh? I have a hunting lodge in that area. We all withdraw to the country when the Season ends. I find it a bit of bore and short of the comforts one comes to expect.”

  Kate was about to defend her childhood home, but she remembered Robert’s warning and merely smiled as at the end of the dance, he returned her to Robert.

  A handsome middle-aged couple approached them. The dainty woman smiled, but her partner, a heavy-set man, scowled.

  “Robert, how well you look.” The lady reached up to touch his face.

  Robert bowed stiffly. “I should like to introduce my bride, Marchioness, Lady St. Malin,” he said stiffly. Surprised, Kate noted the ridge of color on his cheekbones and the unhappy expression in his eyes. “Kate, Lord and Lady Charlesworth.”

  “How delightful to meet you, my dear,” Lady Charlesworth said. She turned back to Robert. “Why were we not invited to the wedding?”

  “It was done quickly and simply, in Cornwall.”

  Her eyes turned wistful. “Will you bring Lady St. Malin to visit us soon, Robert?”

  “Regrettably, we have many social engagements to fulfill.”

  “Robert, please—” The lady’s blue eyes filled with tears.

  Lord Charlesworth returned a cold bow and ushered his wife away.

  “Who are those people, Robert?” Kate watched the lady dab at her eyes with a handkerchief as they left the room.

  “My mother and her second husband.” Robert’s fingers firmed on her arm, and his cold, strained voice did not invite her to comment.

  Shocked, Kate suffered a rush of sympathy for the woman. Ignoring his warning, she gazed into his face. “Your mother? But you were so harsh with her. Why, she was crying!”

  Robert stared down at her, his expression confusing her. “Becoming my wife does not give you the right to question my behavior.”

  Kate clamped her lips together to stop herself from answering back. It was unthinkable that such bad blood could occur between family members. What on earth happened to cause this dreadful rift?

  She danced twice with Robert. He was a graceful dancer, and even though she was absorbed with the steps, she relished being with him and hoped they would dance together again. It appeared unlikely, for husbands and wives did not seem to dance together overmuch. A friend came to claim him for a card game and after he introduced her to Lady Blaine, he bowed and left her, disappearing into the gaming room.

  Older, Lady Blaine clucked her tongue. “It is a shame to desert you when you are newlyweds, I must say. But your husband is no different to any other men here tonight, my dear. Shall we sit down?” Kate spent a pleasant half hour with Lady Blain who told her about her grandchildren until Kate was asked to dance again.

  For the next few hours, Kate drank champagne, chatted, and danced. Her toes hurt in her new shoes, and the droll and salacious banter swirling around the room began to fatigue her. George, Prince of Wales, who had left the ball with his parents, was discussed at length. Mrs. Maria Anne Fitzherbert had given birth to a son who, it was said, had been sired by the prince. Intent on pursuing her, he had consented to their marriage, now deemed illegal because the lady was Catholic. The baby, christened James Ord, was to be raised by Catholics in America. It shocked Kate when a witty man induced great amusement by listing all the women the Prince had bedded before the tender age of one-and-twenty.

  Kate sat to rest her aching feet and declined another glass of champagne. She hadn’t noticed how many glasses she’d drunk during the course of the evening. It would not do to appear in one’s cups here, and she was already a trifle tipsy.

  When she could bear no more, she went in search of her husband. She found him at the card table. His face tightening, he stood to greet her. “Yes, my love?”

  Kate quaked and gritted her teeth. “I wish to go home, my lord.”

  Robert threw down his cards. “I’m out.” His challenging gaze roamed the assembled grou
p as he tossed a pile of coins into the mix of paper money and wagers in the center of the table. “Gentlemen. I shall have to wait for another evening to relieve you of your funds.”

  “Take care, St. Malin. You may not win at home, either,” a red-haired gentleman said. Their chuckles followed Kate and Robert from the room.

  Robert glowered at her as they sought out their hostess. “Please don’t ever do that again,” he said in a fierce undertone.

  He complimented Lady Elphinstone on the success of her ball.

  She tilted her head with a flirtatious smile and discussed the ball for several minutes while failing to draw Kate into the conversation.

  Perhaps aware of it, Robert took her arm. “It is Lady St. Malin’s first ball,” he said. “And I believe she enjoyed it, too. Did you not, Kate?”

  “Indeed. I met so many kind people, I am overwhelmed,” Kate said pointedly.

  In the foyer, Robert called for their cloaks and their coach to be brought around.

  Kate wanted to apologize for embarrassing him in the card room but feared it might start an argument. She had no energy for it.

  As they donned their outer garments, Kate yawned behind a gloved hand. Outside, the fresh air made her dizzy, and she gripped Robert’s arm, stumbling over her feet.

  In the flickering light of the braziers, his eyes softened. “It’s been quite an evening for you, hasn’t it?” He tucked her hand through the crook of his arm. “And you did remarkably well.”

  Their coach drew up, and Robert assisted her inside while the footman stood back.

  Relieved she’d made it through the evening without disgracing herself or Robert, Kate sank down gratefully onto the luxurious satin squab. She was awfully tired, and the dimly lit blue and gold interior of the carriage began to waver about.

  They drove through the dim London streets wheels clattering over the cobbles. Robert had employed two link boys to run ahead to light the way, for it was black as pitch when the moon hid behind the clouds and the street lamps had been doused hours ago.

  Kate yawned, her head spinning. She tried and failed to count how many glasses of champagne she’d drunk during the evening. They drank champagne only rarely in Oxford, her father preferred ale and her mother sherry.