A Midsummer Kiss: Kiss the Wallflower, Book 1

by Gill, Tamara

  Louise stared at her siblings. When had they grown up and become so knowledgeable and supportive? She nodded, determination thrumming through her veins. “You are both correct. I’ll inform the staff we’re to travel to town. Let us see if we can make a splash big enough to be noticed.”

  Sophie laughed. “Oh, you’ll make a splash all right, and it’ll be big enough to drown the marquess.”

  If only… At least, Louise would certainly try.

  * * *

  They arrived in town three days later and thankfully settled themselves into the Marquess Graham’s London townhouse without incident. In fact, upon arrival they were told that the marquess was not in residence, was in fact staying at his flat that was closer to his gentlemen’s club, Whites.

  It should not have surprised Louise that he would opt for a smaller residence. Even so, her fear of being so bold as to come to London had well and truly been replaced with annoyance that her husband would treat her in such a way.

  The staff at their London home seemed as pleased as those at Ashby House to have someone to attend to. After the housekeeper Mrs. Ellis had shown them the house, and introduced the staff, Louise had opted for tea in the front parlor, wanting a moment alone. She sat down at the ladies’ writing desk and pulled out a piece of parchment, quickly writing a missive to Mary that she’d arrived in town. She invited her friend to attend her outing tomorrow and begged her for assistance to help her with her first foray into the ton as the Marchioness Graham.

  She rang for a footman using the little golden bell on her desk. He entered within a moment, bowing. “You rang, my lady?”

  “Please have this letter sent directly over to the Duchess of Carlton’s home. Also, I need a carriage tomorrow morning. We’re going shopping and I’ll need its services most of the morning and possibly the afternoon.”

  “Of course, my lady.” The young man dipped into a curtsy and left, the soft click of the door loud in the sizeable room. Louise took a calming breath. She could do this. She was not an interloper or unwelcome here. She was the Marchioness Graham and no matter what her husband thought of that detail, she would show him that she was here to stay and that no one made a fool of her.

  Especially when none of this was her fault.

  * * *

  Their shopping expedition was unlike any Louise had ever experienced in her life. The shop assistants went above and beyond to help her and the duchess in choosing the full wardrobe of evening gowns, day gowns, morning and riding ensembles. Colors that suited her dark hair and fair skin. Nothing that left her washed out or looking sickly. When holding up the deep reds and greens, she had almost looked like a different woman. Gone was the lady’s companion, and in her place stood a marchioness. A woman who in her own right had power within the ton, whether the Society she now graced liked it or not. She was here to stay and she would not let anyone, not even her husband, look down on her and her common beginnings.

  Had she not had such a humble start in life, she would not be the generous, caring woman she was. Which, in her estimation, was a lot better than those born to wealth that cared nothing for the common man or his struggles.

  After her gowns, hats, caps and bonnets were ordered from the modiste and promised within a fortnight, they had gone on to purchase a riding hat from a gentlemen’s hat maker. They visited shoemakers and ordered slippers and evening shoes. Reticules, gloves, muffs and shawls were ordered, all to suit the different gowns and outings she’d attend.

  To celebrate their afternoon of shopping, of fun and plenty of laughter, they had traveled to Gunthers and tasted sweetmeats, pastries and fruit ices. The outing together had given Louise a chance to catch up with the duchess, whom she’d not seen since her marriage to the marquess. And allowed the duchess to get to know Louise’s sister Sophie who accompanied them.

  “You’re going to look beautiful at the Kirby ball next week,” Mary declared, smiling. “Madame Devy has assured you the sapphire embroidered gown will be delivered by then. As much as I care for Lord Graham, his treatment of you is intolerable and I’m looking forward to seeing him eat humble pie.”

  Louise took a sip of her tea, enjoying its rejuvenating qualities. “I’m sure I’ll see him before the ball. The accounts he’s to receive in the coming days will no doubt alert him to my arrival in town. The size of the bills may ensure I see him sooner rather than later.”

  Mary and Sophie chuckled. “You may be underestimating how much you’re worth now, my dear. The Marquess Graham’s estate is one of the richest in the country. I believe Cavendish is on equal bearing with your husband’s wealth.” Her friend threw her a mischievous grin. “The accounts may alert him to you being in town, if your staff has not notified him of this fact already, but I do not think this is what will bring him to your door. He’ll be more interested in why you’ve returned to London when he’d decidedly relocated you to Kent.”

  Louise bit her lip, the thought of facing her husband for the first time in a month making her skin prickle. He would not be pleased she’d ignored his decree and returned to London. He’d likely demand she return to Ashby House and forget about the Season altogether.

  “Well, I won’t be going back to the country. Not until after the Season ends at least,” she said, determination cloaking her words. “I may be his wife, but I’ll not be sent back to Kent like an embarrassing little secret. I cannot help but be disappointed that he’s not put a stop to the talk about town about our marriage. I know he never wished to marry me, but now that he has, all due to his own tomfooleries, he should squash any talk about us. My arrival in town at least should put to rest that he’d sent me off to the country never to be seen again. Now I have to try and gain some respect within the ton. Not that I care what they think, but I’ll not be laughed at. Not by any of them.”

  “I shall be right beside you too, and the duke also. The marquess and the ton will not stand a chance of bringing you down.” Mary plopped a pastry into her mouth with a determined nod.

  Louise liked the sound of that and hoped it would be so. This was her life now, no matter if she’d imagined different. She was married and the sphere in which she now circulated was exalted. That did not mean that she would lose who she was, for nothing could change her principles, but she would not let those who sought to tarnish her name to continue. The Marchioness Graham was in London, and she would not be looked down upon by anyone. Not even her husband. The marquess and the ton would not stand a chance in bringing her down.

  Chapter 7

  Luke had heard the rumors over the last week. His wife was back in London. The stiff-rumped chit had gone against his orders and returned to town. Not that he’d expressively demanded her to stay in the country, but he’d not thought she would leave their country estate for the viperish world of the ton.

  Which, in fact, had turned out to be exactly what she’d done. And if the accounts he’d received over the past week were any indication, she was spending his money like water on a wardrobe fit for the Season.

  He sat in his carriage and took a decidedly calming breath. The Kirby ball was one event they would both attend. The Duke and Duchess of Carlton had demanded his presence in support of their mutual friend Viscount Kirby who had just inherited his title. Of course he would’ve attended in any case, whether his wife was present or not, for he would never leave Christopher alone to face the horde of young ladies who would no doubt be looking to capture his attention. The lad was only one and twenty, too young for marriage and he would not have him become prey to the matrons of the ton. No matter how well they thought the young lord would suit their charges.

  That his wife would also be present was merely a complication or annoyance depending on his mood. Over the last few weeks he’d pushed aside the hurt he’d registered on her face when she’d realized he was leaving her in Kent. It was his fault, after all, that they were married, she didn’t deserve to be treated with his wrath. He was more angry with himself than with her. He’d placed them into this po
sition. His selfish need for pleasure had outweighed his common sense that night and now they would both pay for his sins.

  The mistake had caused ripples throughout the ton and of course with his cousin, whom Luke had promised the title would revert to upon his death. His relative had taken the news of his marriage reasonably well, even so, Luke had assured him that the union would not bear children and so the title would be his cousin’s one day.

  Luke tapped on the roof and the carriage door opened. He strode into Lord Kirby’s Mayfair residence and shook his hand at the doors to the ballroom. His young friend seemed uncommonly nervous, and he supposed stepping into the new shoes of viscount and being so very young was want for some anxiety. A few whiskys would put him right.

  He strode into the ballroom, the crush of people almost as oppressing as the smell of perfume and sweat. His nose twitched and he started toward the windows where at least some fresh air may venture indoors and save his senses.

  Luke spotted Carlton, who seemed to have his very idea of being near a window and he made his way over to him. “Evening. Looks like Kirby had a good turnout this evening.”

  Carlton, thankfully on his own, his duchess nowhere to be seen, nodded. “A successful ball for his first.” The duke took in his appearance before turning back to watch the dancers. “Good to see you here. I had wondered if you would stay away.”

  Luke took a crystal flute of champagne from a passing footman, taking a much-needed sip. “I suppose you’re implying that because my wife is to attend that I would not.” He glanced at his friend. “I promised Kirby I would be here tonight and I am. My wife had no bearing on the matter.”

  Well, a very little bearing. He was interested to see how she had fared all this time without him. How she took to the sphere in which she now circulated. Luke schooled his features as he studied those about him. He did not see Louise among the faces.

  “She’s not here yet. Mary is bringing her tonight, but they had a small dinner party to attend to first at Lady Scott’s. A woman both the duchess and marchioness have known for some time.”

  Luke ignored the fact that Carlton assumed he’d been searching for Louise, he didn’t want anyone to see that he was curious to see her again. Instead, he mulled over Lady Scott and tried to put a face to the familiar name. “Was she not married to a Scottish viscount? He passed away, did he not?”

  Carlton smirked. “Died under his mistress for all accounts, although the family will never state such a thing publicly. You may wish to watch what Lady Scott says to the marchioness. She’s not a supporter of infidelity.”

  People would assume, based on Luke’s past behavior, that he was a supporter of infidelity. They couldn’t be more wrong. When one was married, one ought to take their vows seriously. It was a conversation that he needed to have with his wife. He didn’t want children, and she certainly did not wish for him to be her husband, so some sort of agreement would need to take place between them. He could not go the rest of his life without sleeping with a woman, so his wife would ultimately have to be his bedpartner, slake his needs, but they would have to be careful. Louise had said for him not to expect anything from her, and such a proposition suited him to a point.

  Luke finished his champagne, placing the glass on the window ledge behind him.

  “Have you seen the marchioness since her return to town?” Carlton asked, his attention fixed on something near the ballroom doors.

  “I have not,” he answered, unable to remove the indifferent tone from his voice. “I do know she’s been spending a small fortune at the dressmaker’s, but otherwise, no, I have not called on her.”

  Carlton’s smirk deepened and Luke frowned. “What is it? Is there something I should know?”

  The duke nodded toward the door and Luke glanced through the crowd and the breath in his lungs seized. He felt his mouth pop open and he closed it just as quickly, not willing to let anyone know that the sight of his wife left him…stunned.

  The duke cleared his throat. “Who knew Miss Grant was so very beautiful.”

  Luke frowned, the compliment on his wife not as welcome as he thought it might be. To hear another man say such a complimentary thing didn’t sit well and he adjusted his stance, schooling his features.

  How was it that the young woman he’d interrupted from sleep was this dark-haired beauty, with striking blue eyes and tempting mouth. Companion or not, how had he not seen her before…

  Because you were not looking close enough.

  Luke pushed the thought aside, smiling a little in welcome as the duke of Carlton and his wife came to stand before them. The duchess went straight to the duke, wrapping her arm in his. Louise came and stood at Luke’s side. Even from here he could feel her pulsating with anger, with annoyance at his presence. He took her hand and placed it on his arm, turning toward her.

  “You look beautiful, my lady.” Legally that was exactly what she was. His lady, and yet, from the hard set of her lips, her stance against him, her not being a willing participant to this farce of a marriage was obvious.

  Out of his peripheral vision he took in her sapphire gown with the billowing silk skirt that did little to hide her bountiful figure or slim waist. She was nothing like he remembered, not that it changed their circumstances or his thoughts on their marriage, but at least she now looked the part of marchioness. That was something, he supposed.

  A footman bowed before her, and she took a glass of wine. “How very fortunate to run into you here, my lord. How have you been, husband?”

  Her use of the term husband startled him and he tore his gaze back to her, not missing the amused grin on her lips. “I think I’m as well as you are, wife.” His reply merely garnered him a chuckle that ran over his skin and felt like feathers, enticing and soft.

  Lord Stopford bowed before the marchioness, barely giving Luke a second look. “Would you care to dance, Lady Graham? I see that your husband has not done the right thing by you and asked, and so I thought to remedy the dissatisfaction.”

  She let go of his arm and stepped out with his lordship. “I would love to, thank you.”

  Luke smiled at their parting, and yet anger thrummed along his spine. Their marriage was not wanted by either of them, and yet the idea that she may take a lover, cuckhold him, made his stomach roil.

  It should not. Only a moment ago he himself recognized the need for them to speak about what would occur in their marriage. But the marchioness could not have a child that was not his, should the worst happen and she fell pregnant. He would never allow another man’s son to inherit his title, so where did that leave them?

  He watched as Louise laughed and danced with the exceedingly handsome earl. Grudgingly he had to admit that she looked beautiful in the man’s arms, more so than he’d ever known. As a lady’s companion he’d always known her to be about the duchess, a friend in need if required, but he’d never glanced beyond Mary’s shoulder to look at who stood in the shadows.

  A failing on his behalf, but he was a marquess. A man of his stature and rank within the ton was expected to make a marriage worthy of the title. In his case Society at large did not know he intended never to tick that box.

  But now that he had, and seeing his wife dancing in the arms of another man, well, now he didn’t know what the hell he was feeling at all.

  “Troubled?” the duke asked, leaning close to ensure privacy. “He is but one of many who’ve noted your absence from the marchioness’s life and seem set on remedying the situation.”

  He clenched his jaw, his teeth aching. “The marchioness has been making a spectacle of herself?” Not a fair question, even he would admit, but it would force Carlton to tell him the truth of the situation without looking as desperate for information as he was.

  “The marchioness has been beyond reproach, and we have escorted her everywhere, and returned her home at the end of the night,” the duchess inserted, her cool gaze dismissing him before she looked back toward the dance floor.

  “Louise
is not whom you should be worrying about. There is a rumor about London, as you’re probably already aware, that you do not intend to have a true marriage. That you were overheard at Whites as stating the union was in name only.” Carlton narrowed his eyes on him and Luke felt as small as a bee. “The gentlemen who have no interest in a bride have taken that, along with your continual attachment to your bachelor residence in Mayfair, as confirmation that you do not care one whit what the marchioness does or with whom.”

  The duke’s words rang with dread and Luke stared about the room, noticing for the first time this night that the guests glanced his way, small, secretive smiles on their lips and laughter in their eyes. Was this what people were thinking?

  He sighed, adjusting his cravat. He ought not kid himself. It was his fault they were gossiping about him, his marriage and what kind of life he was willing to have with his wife.

  No life at all.

  Luke mulled over the complexity of the situation. The thought of having a child with Louise, while not wholly awful, left dread to churn in his stomach.

  Damn the ton and its stipulations, its rules and censure.

  “I suppose that means that I’ll have to change that opinion and soon.”

  The duchess raised her brow, giving her husband a secretive smile that Luke did not appreciate.

  “I suppose it does, and if I were you, I would do it sooner rather than later. Tomorrow would suffice.”

  Luke followed the marchioness’s progress as she stepped off the dance floor, walking with Lord Stopford until they came to another group of gentlemen and some ladies. They welcomed her into their circle and spoke amicably.