A Marquess Is Forever

by Bethany M. Sefchick

  "Stop by the club later this week," Radcliffe tossed back as he began to make his way through the crowd. "We have some catching up to do." Then he was gone, the great crowd of people swallowing him just as easily as it had parted for Hathaway moments before.

  Accepting a drink from the tray of a passing footman, Lachlan moved back into the shadows to observe the crowd for a moment and gather his thoughts. These were the social circles his mother had moved in, the people she had conversed with and considered friends. Or if not these people precisely, then they were the offspring of those she had known when she was but a young, green girl fresh out of the schoolroom.

  Even now, he was not certain how she had allowed herself to be swept off of her feet and carted off to Gretna Green by his sire. It seemed unlikely that the former Lady Felicity Sommers, the only child of the now-late Marquess of Hallstone - the very same man who had been Lachlan's cold and unfeeling grandfather - could have been taken in so completely by Laird Duncan McKenna, the then-newly named Viscount Gladston. However by some sheer stroke of luck, - for Lachlan anyway - she had been. She had also clearly anticipated her vows because Lachlan was born a scant seven months after the wedding and, despite the official statement that he had been born extremely early, from what Lachlan knew, no one who had seen him as a baby believed any such thing.

  Then his mother had simply died. No one was certain why. She simply fell over while working in her garden one day at Tinsburg Castle in Scotland, never to awaken again, leaving Lachlan alone with his father, a man who was not overly fond of his half-English son. Given that Duncan had married an English woman who made certain that her son spent a great deal of time in London and attended Harrow, Lachlan was never quite certain how his father expected him to be anything other than half-English. He certainly wasn't fully Scottish and never would be.

  Now, he had a fully English title to go along with his partially English bloodlines, which infuriated his father even more. Unfortunately, it also tempted his father's new wife, Claire, a great deal. And Lachlan detested Claire almost as much as she longed to warm his bed. It was yet another messy situation that his father created and Lachlan would be left to clean up when the old man eventually went on to his final reward.

  In January, when Lachlan's father had been denied his first choice of a new bride, he had instead picked yet another Scottish lass, this one with ambition to spare and none of the compassion that had been Annis' hallmark. At the moment, Claire was now the Viscountess Gladston, but upon her husband's death - which to Lachlan's mind would be sooner rather than later - she would be the dowager viscountess. At least she would be if Lachlan married - which he planned to do eventually. And that was something that Claire could not and would not accept. She had only just risen to the title of viscountess and was not nearly ready to give it up and accept her place as a widow. Lachlan had heard that pretty little speech more times than he cared to count.

  Claire had also made it clear to Lachlan before he left Scotland that upon his father's death, she expected Lachlan to marry her. After all, she was young yet - at least according to her even though she was nearly twenty years older than him - and she would not have some young, and most likely English, chit take her place. She hadn't had nearly enough time to enjoy her status as a viscountess. That point in particular had been repeated so much that he often heard it in his sleep, haunting his dreams.

  Then Lachlan's maternal grandfather had died. Since his mother had been an only child and any nephews who might have inherited had become "philandering, gambling and whoring nitwits" in the old marquess' eyes, the marquisate had passed to Lachlan instead. Which only made Claire chase after Lachlan all the harder. If he would have allowed it, she would have been sharing his bed well before her current husband was even dead and buried. She had also made no secret of the fact that she wanted to bear Lachlan's child and the sooner the better - all to cement her place within the McKenna family and Highland society, such as it was. Not to mention that the McKennas were a powerful clan in the Highlands and their word held much weight. It was clear, at least to Lachlan anyway, that Claire had plans to wield that power to her benefit.

  After they had wed, Claire had cheerfully informed Lachlan, they would be off to London where she could be celebrated for the Highland Jewel that she was. He didn't have the heart to inform her that women who bestowed titles such as "Highland Jewel" upon themselves were often given the cut direct. If they even made it into the lower reaches of society, that was. Somehow, he doubted that Claire would be welcomed in any London drawing room - even as his wife.

  It would, of course, be a cold day in hell before Lachlan married the witch, so all of that was rather a moot point. The very idea of marrying his stepmother was abhorrent. However she could make his life a living hell if she so chose, as she did have the loyalty of some of his clansmen. So instead of remaining in Scotland to deal with his family, Lachlan had instead journeyed to London in an attempt to clean up the outstanding debts and issues of the viscountcy before it passed to him.

  And those debts were legion. As were the scandals. Perhaps the biggest one, and the one that had drawn Lachlan to London involved the current Countess of Covington - the very reason that his father had married Claire in the first place.

  The previous winter when Lachlan had accepted a payoff on his father's behalf to release poor, unsuspecting Lady Jane Ashford from an unwanted marriage that her father had arranged with his, Duncan McKenna had nearly succumbed to a fit of madness brought on by unchecked rage. Duncan had wanted to wed poor Jane so that she might take care of his daughters - also Lachlan's half sisters - by his second, and also deceased but fully Scottish wife, Annis. According to Duncan, the girls were out of control and needed a firm - and preferably rich and titled - English female hand to bring them in line. Thus he had secretly arranged to purchase a bride from an aristocratic family who wanted to be rid of what Jane's father termed a "troublesome, dowdy chit."

  When Lachlan discovered the scheme by way of a letter sent by Jane's would-be lover and future husband, Lord Sebastian St. Giles, the current Earl of Covington, begging for the lady's release, Lachlan had gone straight to his father. The very idea that his father would bind an aristocratic woman into a life of servitude she clearly did not want rankled Lachlan greatly. It was too much like what he suspected his father had done to his mother. And she had died because of it. Lachlan's code of honor demanded that Lady Jane be set free from this sort of trickery. She deserved better, just as Lachlan's mother had. Unfortunately, his father did not seem to have any qualms about the plan and thought himself rather brilliant for devising the scheme in the first place.

  In fact, Duncan - who was rather proud of himself as a whole - had bragged to all who would listen about how he had snared himself yet another English heiress and hoped to get a child on her before he passed. Preferably a male who might one day supplant Lachlan as heir. Because as far as Duncan was concerned, Lachlan would make a miserable viscount. Or laird. Or leader of any sort, really. After all, in Duncan's opinion, his only son was not nearly ruthless enough. Or a murderer. Or a drunk. Or a consummate womanizer. In the laird's eyes, those were deficiencies Lachlan would never overcome, more the pity.

  That night, when his father had drunk himself into yet another stupor so deep that he passed out under the dining room table, Lachlan had replied to Covington, releasing Lady Jane from the contract. He probably had no right to do so, but then his father also had no right to buy a bride under false pretenses. Funds from Lord Covington to fulfill the cancelled contract had quickly followed Lachlan's letter of release, which Lachlan had intercepted just as quickly. Certainly well before his father could. Those ill-gotten funds, along with the news of his new title of marquess, were what had brought Lachlan to town for the season.

  In addition to learning all there was to know about the Hallstone marquisate, Lachlan wanted to return the payment to the earl. In person. Though he was certain Covington could afford it, Lachlan was also just as c
ertain that the man did not know how truly devious Duncan had been in his dealings with Lady Jane's family. Lachlan felt that it was not right to keep what was not rightfully his - or rather his father's.

  To return the funds, however, Lachlan knew he had to do so in person. That meant a trip to London. Which, at the moment was not a bad idea as it would get him away from Tinsburg Castle, out of Scotland, and, most importantly, as far away from Claire as possible without appearing as if he was running away. Which he was. Sort of.

  There was also the matter of his new title to address as well, though that could have waited for a bit as the solicitors and stewards were still sorting out the details. Given that Lachlan had met his grandfather only a handful of times, he did not feel at all qualified to take over the man's title and holdings. He would, of course. He would not shirk his duties, but he had requested that all information be laid out for him in a neat, orderly manner. After all, Hallstone was prospering and Lachlan, who had been more prepared to run a castle and deal with crofters, refused to be the one to muck things up. Though running Hallstone would most likely not be terribly different, there would be some differences. And Lachlan did not go into any situation unprepared.

  In preparing for his journey south, however, Lachlan had uncovered numerous other debts and wrongdoings wrought at the hands of his father. More than just the one incident with Lady Jane. It had sickened him to the point that he began to despise his father - this time for more than just his mother's early and unnecessary death. And Lachlan had vowed to make each of those incidents right. In fact, he had no choice but to do so, really.

  Duncan McKenna was dying. When he passed, he would leave his son with a title-grasping widow, a crumbling castle in the Scottish Highlands, four young ladies who would eventually require London seasons to snare a husband, and numerous debts and legal entanglements. Not to mention a clan to oversee. Lachlan could do nothing about most of that. But he could clear the debts and attempt to make right what his father had done wrong.

  Now he was here, among the social set that had created and nurtured his mother. In truth he felt closer to these people than he did to his Scottish roots at times, not that he would ever inform his father of such a thing. He had hoped to conclude his business rather quickly and return home to the Highlands, even though the season had only just begun. Then he had run into his old friend, the Duke of Radcliffe, and had somehow been convinced to move into the Hallstone town home for the duration of the season. And attend balls. And possibly find a wife if he was so inclined - which he had to admit would solve the problem of Claire rather neatly.

  That was how he now found himself at Radcliffe's season opening Crystal Ball, one of the most exclusive events of the season. It was also how he now found himself thinking about Lady Diana - a woman he would probably do well to steer clear of, no matter how pretty and beguiling she was with her golden hair that was tinged with red as if kissed by the dawn and light blue eyes that danced with mischief.

  Except that she wasn't merely pretty. He could not fool himself, nor could he ignore his very physical reaction to her. In short, she was perfection - all lush curves in all of the places that a woman should be curved, with sensual, full lips that he longed to tug between his teeth so that she might open for him, and delectable breasts that he longed to suckle so that he might hear her moan.

  Which was precisely the reason he should not be thinking of Diana. She was not for a man like him, one who could never love her as she deserved. In fact, she deserved much better than a man like him. Still, he had never had this sort of reaction to a woman before, not even his mistress Fiona before she, too, showed herself to be after nothing but a title. He'd bedded the occasional woman since then, but none for more than a single night. None of them, though, had been Diana, and Lachlan was intelligent enough to know that she was a temptation he would do well to avoid. He simply could not afford the complications she would bring to his life.

  However when she was approaching with a gaggle of friends around her - very well then, two friends, which was slightly less than a gaggle - it was rather difficult to avoid her. Or remember all the reasons why he should.

  "Lady Diana," he sketched a bow as she approached, not wanting her friends to suspect that they had not been properly introduced before this meeting. "How lovely to see you again. I must remember to thank Lord Radcliffe for the introduction." He raised an eyebrow, praying that she was indeed as intelligent as he suspected she was.

  In turn, she curtsied, as did her companions. "Indeed. As I always say, one can never have too many friends." He suspected she might be overdoing it, at least given the odd looks her friends were casting in her direction, but if she noticed, she paid them no mind. Instead she went ahead with introductions. "My lord, may I present my good friend Lady Sophia Reynolds. I believe you know her brother, the Duke of Hathaway." That, Lachlan thought to himself, was something of an understatement. "And this is my other dear friend, Lady Eliza Deaver, the daughter of the Marquess of Framingham." She took a small step back. "Ladies, I would like you to meet Lord Lachlan McKenna, the current Marquess of Hallstone and the son of Laird Duncan McKenna, the Viscount Gladston of Scotland."

  "Ladies, it is a true pleasure to make your acquaintance." And it was. They all seemed nice enough and he knew very few English ladies of good breeding. Or intelligence. As of yet, they had not giggled or whispered or did any of those infernal things that most simpering misses did. Both of them seemed the sort of woman Lady Diana would befriend. However, lovely as they were, the other two young ladies still did not capture his attention in quite the same way that Diana did. Damn it all, anyway. His first night in society and already he was smitten by a pretty face. Would he never learn?

  "As it is to make yours, my lord. Delighted, really." While the words were polite enough, Lachlan could tell that Lady Sophia's mind was clearly elsewhere. She was also busy attempting to look over his left shoulder, though given how short she was in comparison to his own rather towering height, that was somewhat difficult.

  He grinned then, the woman in front of him reminding him very much of his eldest sister Sorcha. Her mind was always elsewhere, too, even when she was standing directly in front of him. "However I do not believe that I am the man you most wish to see at the moment, am I?" Lachlan wasn't offended in the least. In fact, given the irritation that was very evident in the way she held herself, Sophia was most likely seeking out her brother to give him a tongue lashing of the highest order. That was something he would like to see, if for no other reason than that Hathaway had trifled with Lady Diana's affections for too long without doing right by her and offering for her hand.

  Which made no logical sense. At least not to Lachlan. He had known the woman but a mere hour or so. Still, that did not do anything to reduce his simmering anger at the duke. The thought disquieted him, but he pushed it aside, thinking it was something best left ignored.

  Ever the lady, Sophia offered up a charming smile though it did not quite reach her eyes. "I beg your pardon, my lord. I have been unspeakably rude." She paused for a moment as she bit her lip. "But I am searching for my brother. Have you seen him?"

  "I believe he went through those doors over there. I am not certain where they lead other than to the refreshment room." Lachlan pointed to the set of pocket doors where he had last seen the duke. "However I cannot say for certain that he is still behind them, either."

  Lady Sophia's gaze strayed in the direction that Lachlan had indicated. "Radcliffe's third study, most likely, for you can reach it from there. It would keep him away from me, or at least I'm certain he believes that anyway."

  At that, Lady Eliza spoke up, much to Lachlan's surprise. Thus far, she hadn't uttered a single word. He wasn't even certain she could speak. "He might very well still be there, as that is where the best liquor is kept." How she knew such a thing Lachlan could not guess, nor did he want to ask. These were unusual ladies, indeed. Instead he simply nodded in agreement. It was not his place to second-guess
a lady.

  Quickly, Lady Sophia dropped into another curtsey. "I thank you, my lord, and I do hope that we meet again when I am not so distracted." Then, in a swirl of pale pink silk and creamy lace she was gone, tugging the strangely reticent Lady Eliza behind her. If she expected Diana to follow, she said nothing. Odd that.

  For a moment, Lachlan watched the two ladies make their way through the crowd. When he turned back to Lady Diana, he found her watching him with an amused expression on her face. "Do you find humor in something, my lady?" he asked, unable to stop himself. He should simply wish her a good evening and walk away. Instead he remained where he was, wanting to hear more of her husky alto, bloody fool that he was.

  "Merely my friends," she said with a sigh followed by a gentle laugh. "Sophia is desperate to wed Lord Alex Selby and he just as desperate to wed her. They have held great affection for each other for a very long time. Unfortunately her brother has a head as thick as a wall of brick."

  "So I had heard," Lachlan replied before he could think, forgetting this lady's connection to the petulant, boorish duke. When Diana merely gazed up at him in confusion, he shrugged. "I was speaking with Lord Radcliffe when Lord Hathaway came storming up. It was not as if I could avoid hearing what was said." Lachlan did not lie. It was not his way. Lady Diana did not know that about him yet, but she would. In time. If he allowed it.

  She winced a little at his words. "My apologies. You must think the lot of us fit only for the stage or Bedlam. I can assure you that we are not always this temperamental." Except that really, they were. Except for Diana herself, of course. She liked to have fun. She did not enjoy drama.

  If only she knew. Lachlan shook his head. "In Scotland, we are far worse, I fear. My family, in particular, has never encountered a small situation they did not wish to turn into a major catastrophe." He snagged two glasses of lemonade from the tray of a passing footman and offered one to Diana, which she gratefully accepted. Leave it to Radcliffe to supplement the refreshment room in such a way, not that Lachlan was complaining. It gave him a few more moments to speak with the enchanting creature in front of him. "In comparison, your friends are mere amateurs."