Never Dance with a Marquess (The Never Series Book 2)

by Maggi Andersen

  A moment later, she lay on her back again and stared into the dark. Would she love her husband? Perhaps not at first, but she hoped she would come to love him. Papa had loved her mother so much it had devastated him when she died. This only brought back the deep pain she suffered from losing Papa. Her throat tightened, and her eyes filled with tears. She turned on her side again and quieted her mind enough to drift off.

  Late the next morning, a fashionable coach arrived, drawn by four matched chestnuts. It passed Carrie and Bella on the drive as they returned from a walk and pulled up in front of the house. A footman assisted a smartly dressed lady in a violet wool carriage gown to alight. Lady Genevieve’s dark hair was like her brother’s, but when she turned toward them, Carrie saw her eyes were bright blue.

  Carrie and Bella dropped into a curtsey.

  Lady Genevieve hurried over to them, the soft white feathers on her bonnet fluttering, and hugged them, leaving a cloud of expensive perfume.

  She held Carrie at arm’s length. “My goodness, Miss Leeming. You are a beauty! While it will be fun to present you, I declare I shall need eyes in the back of my head to keep the wolves at bay!”

  Nicholas ran down the steps. “Did you have a pleasant journey, Gwen?”

  “It was tolerable.” She kissed his cheek. “Winston wishes me to tell you he is quite put out.”

  “I expected he would be,” Nicholas said, not looking too concerned. “I shall send him a case of cognac.”

  Gwen laughed. “Do you think that will make amends for my absence?”

  Nicholas grinned. “No, but it will soften the blow. I see you have met Miss Leeming and my ward, Miss Arabella Leeming. Their brother, Lord Jeremy, arrives from school shortly.”

  He escorted them into the house. In the entrance hall, Lady Genevieve greeted Abercrombie and, while she removed her hat and pelisse, inquired after his health.

  “As well as my years allow, thank you, my lady.” The butler took her pelisse and bonnet.

  “I have an excellent tonic that works wonders. I shall have it sent to you.”

  “That is very kind. Thank you, my lady,” Abercrombie said with a bow.

  “I’ll leave you in good hands.” With a small bow, Nicholas left them.

  They followed the footman to the morning room.

  “Well, Caroline,” Gwen began once the three of them were seated. “Before you and I go to London, we must use our time wisely. I’d like to inspect your wardrobe, my dear, and discuss etiquette. A few dance lessons cannot go amiss. Although I can see by your elegant demeanor, you’ve been well taught in all aspects required of a young lady making her debut. However, you cannot replace a mother’s wisdom. I’m sure there are some important matters I can assist you with that might have been overlooked.”

  “Thank you, Lady Genevieve.” Carrie almost sagged with relief at finding her patroness so pleasant a person. She realized how worried she’d been. “I am very grateful.”

  “Call me Gwen, please. I am sure we will become great friends.”

  While Carrie hoped they would become friends, the elegant, sophisticated lady before her made her feel like a country bumpkin. Carrie feared she might cause her some displeasure, especially as she’d refuse any gentleman’s offer if he were not suitable for her family. If she rejected several offers, she imagined Gwen would justifiably grow impatient with her. And Gwen’s husband wasn’t happy about her being away from home for months. And what might Nicholas say about it?

  Carrie went upstairs to change. What had once been her dream of an exciting time in London when Papa was alive now made her stomach churn with nerves.

  Anna came in and prattled on about something she heard in the servant’s hall. Carrie barely listened, her thoughts remaining on the problems ahead, when something the maid said claimed her attention. “What did you say, Anna?”

  Anna paused with Carrie’s primrose muslin in her hands. “About what, milady?”

  “His lordship.”

  “I tried to find out why Lord Pennington dismissed the housekeeper without a character. Apparently, he had called her into the library to talk to her, a maid told me. She was crying when she left the next day.”

  The poor woman would never find work without a reference. “But what did she do that was so terribly wrong?”

  “They merely shrug when I ask them. If they know, they don’t wish to tell the likes of me. I’m not one of them.”

  “You sound sad. Don’t you like it here?”

  “I do, Miss Carrie. My ma always said one cannot moon over something that will never happen. Shall I tidy your hair first?”

  Carrie’s nervous fingers had destroyed the arrangement. “Yes, please, Anna.”

  Anna removed the pins, and Carrie’s long hair swung over her shoulders. She closed her eyes as her maid brushed it with calming, smooth strokes. Was Nicholas hardhearted and tyrannical? What would she do if Bella wrote to her in London to say she was miserable here at Elm Park? It didn’t matter so much about Jeremy. He would not be here very often, as he had years at Eton and then university.

  Her hair tidied, Carrie rose from the stool. She wished she could take Bella and go back to Leeming Hall, though she knew it was impossible. Another family lived there now. Her breath seemed to catch in her chest as she raised her arms for Anna to fit the dress over her head.

  Chapter Five

  In the early afternoon, Nicholas returned from attending to a matter with his gamekeeper. He walked from the stables and entered through the front door where Abercrombie waited to greet him.

  “Lady Genevieve wishes to see you in the music room, my lord.”

  Nicholas stripped off his gloves. “Send word I’ll be there after I change out of my riding clothes.”

  After he bathed and changed, Nicholas entered the music room. They had moved the furniture back against the walls and rolled up the carpet. His sister, seated at the piano, searched through music sheets, while Carrie, Bella, and the governess sat as if waiting patiently for something to happen. With an uneasy feeling, Nicholas crossed the parquet flooring to the piano.

  “Ah, there you are,” Gwen said, glancing up at him. “I wish to see if Carrie requires dance lessons.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “And you need me because?”

  “You are to partner her.”

  He frowned. “I have a busy afternoon ahead, Gwen. That is why I asked you to come. Work awaits me at my desk.”

  “Surely you can spare an hour or two, Nicholas.”

  He sighed, aware he sounded unreasonable. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Ask Carrie to dance. I shall play a Polonaise. We have four to form a set for a quadrille. We are two people short, but I’m sure we’ll manage.”

  When he approached Carrie, her dark eyes met his, reflecting glimmers of light from the long windows, her expression hard to read.

  He bowed. “Will you grant me the pleasure of this dance, Miss Leeming?”

  “I should be delighted, my lord.” She rose solemnly and took his arm.

  With a giggle, Bella curtsied to Miss Scotsdale.

  “La Pantalon.” Gwen announced the first movement and began to play.

  Carrie’s eyes widened when he took her soft, slender hand in his. Really, Gwen might have warned him. He would have worn gloves.

  They moved through a truncated version of the first eight bars, then faced each other. She looked at her feet instead of him. Nicholas noted the tension in her body beneath the white gown embroidered with green ferns, the high, green sash lifting with each anxious breath, her cheeks flushed. When she finally raised her gaze to his, she appeared as uncomfortable as he felt. And worse, faintly disapproving. While questioning what he had done to upset her, he led her through to the end of the dance.

  “Well done,” Gwen said, clapping her hands.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Nicholas began.

  “But Nicholas, you can’t leave yet. You must dance the waltz with Carrie. That is most importa
nt.”

  Oh no, he wouldn’t. Nicholas shook his head. “I’m afraid it will have to wait for another time. I’d forgotten Mr. Crumpton.”

  Gwen had the audacity to cast him a suspicious look. “Who is Mr. Crumpton?”

  Nicholas lifted his eyebrows. “A tenant who needs a new roof.” He took out his pocket watch. It was ten to three, and Crumpton was to call at four.

  “I am in danger of being late,” he said, shamelessly stretching the truth. With a bow, he headed for the door. “Ladies, please excuse me.”

  “As Nicholas has another matter to see to, which apparently can’t wait,” his sister said before he reached it, giving up less than graciously, “I shall discuss the etiquette required of a young lady at a ball.”

  Gwen’s voice followed him as he strode away down the corridor as if the hounds of hell were after him. “Ladies who dance a country dance shall not quit their places until the set is finished. Otherwise, they cannot dance again that evening.”

  What had he done now? From the looks she gave him, he feared Carrie had again taken him in dislike. He was not used to having quite that effect on a young woman. In fact, it had never happened to him before. Reaching the sanctuary of his library, he dealt with his correspondence until Crumpton arrived. When the grateful fellow left with the promise of a re-thatching of his roof, Nicholas sat and ate a feather-light, fresh-baked scone, warm from Mrs. Crumpton’s oven. After which, he drank a glass of the newly acquired cognac from France, savoring the superior blend of spicy, sweet, and bitter flavors. To make up for the hours lost after his ride and the infernal dance his sister had thrust on him unawares, he attempted to read a new and likely interesting account of the Battle of Waterloo, but oddly unsettled, couldn’t concentrate and gave up, putting the book down.

  What had he said or done to make Carrie disapprove of him? He could think of nothing. He had been dismayed to be in charge of two young people and an advisor to Carrie but took pains not to reveal it. Hadn’t he made a point of warmly welcoming them? It shouldn’t matter what she thought of him, for she would be married before the year was out. But somehow, it mattered. He couldn’t dismiss it from his mind, and it annoyed him excessively.

  He almost welcomed an interruption to his thoughts when the door opened, and Gwen peeked in. “Ah, I see you aren’t busy,” she said, slipping in uninvited. There was a look of purpose in her eyes. He sighed. Had he forgotten how his sister could be relied upon to stir things up? It was good of her and Winston, he reminded himself, to agree to her chaperoning Carrie, for which Nicholas’s gratitude knew no bounds, but still!

  He smiled and rose from the chair. “Sherry?”

  “Thank you.”

  He went to the drinks tray and, after pouring a glass of the deep red-gold wine, returned to her. “I trust you’re not still determined to have me waltz with Carrie.”

  She took the glass and thanked him from where she curled up on a leather armchair at one side of the fireplace. The day was cool, and a small fire burned in the grate, sending darts of golden light over the rug. “You have decided to remain a confirmed bachelor then, Nick.”

  He had just sat down and raised his head to stare at her, alarmed at the childhood shortening of his name. It rang a warning bell. Another unsettling debate on the advantages of marriage would follow. He wasn’t about to make any emphatic statements about his future married state. It would put the cat among the pigeons, and he didn’t feel up to a fiery discussion right now. “I have not met a lady I wish to wed.”

  She put her glass on an occasional table at her elbow. “I can’t imagine why not when all the unmarried ladies at London balls throw themselves at you? And some married ones,” she added with a wry smile.

  He cocked an eyebrow at that. “Surely you exaggerate.”

  “Perhaps because you choose women who are unavailable or unsuitable for marriage?”

  Nicholas held up a hand. “Stop, please, Gwen, this sort of talk is beyond the pale.”

  “If I have offended your sensibilities, I apologize.” She looked entirely unrepentant. “You need a wife, Nick. A man cannot manage an estate like this without one. You don’t even have a housekeeper.”

  “An unfortunate occurrence. Abercrombie has seen to it. A new housekeeper will arrive next week.”

  “But why let matters such as this concern you? A wife would take many concerns from your shoulders.”

  “They dream in courtship, but in wedlock wake,” he said, quoting Pope.

  Gwen laughed. “I refuse to believe you are such a hopeless case. Is it because of your experiences in the war?”

  “No. The war leaves its mark on every soldier’s soul, but I’ve come to terms with that.”

  She turned the glass and studied it as it sparkled in the firelight. “You have had such a sad life, losing Father and then Emory, so early in his life. And poor Sylvia, such a tragedy. I am sure you loved her dearly, but it was a youthful passion, was it not? And so long ago.”

  He couldn’t expect her to understand his sense of failure. Gwen was so practical; she would tell him to put it behind him. But the thought of losing another he loved threatened to bring it all back. He swallowed and pushed the thought away. He glanced at her, half amused, half alarmed. “What are you up to, Gwen?”

  She widened her eyes. “Why, nothing. But I wondered why you refused to waltz with Carrie.”

  “I thought it unfitting.”

  “Was it because you find her attractive? She is lovely.”

  “No. You are reading more into it than there is.”

  “Am I? I saw how you looked at her.”

  “And how was that?” Gwen looked at life through rose-colored glasses.

  “When you took Carrie’s hand and led her through the dance. A woman knows these things.”

  He wondered uncomfortably if Carrie did. “I am not a green youth to fall under a pretty woman’s spell at the drop of a hat,” he snapped and then eased back in his chair with a deep sigh. “Sorry for being a bear, Gwen. Saddled with the care of these young people is unnerving, but I don’t begrudge it. I would do anything for Max, and I was grateful to have eased his mind a little in those last weeks and months of his illness. There’s nothing between Carrie and me, however. In fact, I have the sense she disapproves of me.”

  “I can’t imagine why,” his loyal sister said with an impish smile. “You are extremely impressive.”

  Nicholas chuckled.

  “Perhaps it was wise not to waltz with her.” Her eyes became dreamy. “I fell in love with Winston the first time I waltzed with him.”

  He smiled. “You always were a hopeless romantic. With the fear of repeating myself, nothing of that nature has occurred between us.”

  She looked thoughtful. “Perhaps not yet?”

  He rubbed his neck. “Shall we find another topic of conversation? Or are you needed elsewhere?”

  “How charmingly put.” She put her glass down and rose. “Very well. You seem set on your course. I can only feel sad about it. You would make someone an agreeable husband, Nick, and a wonderful father. How patient you are with Bartholomew, and he adores you. There’s also the matter of an heir. Surely you don’t want Eustace to inherit?”

  “What’s wrong with Eustace?”

  She firmed her lips. “I never cared for him. And he isn’t a Pennington. Not really.”

  He smiled. “You’ve grown rather toplofty of late.”

  “Oh, pooh,” she muttered rudely, not quite under her breath, as she stalked to the door.

  Nicholas eyed the closed door for a moment and then leaned forward with the poker to nudge a burning log that collapsed in a shower of sparks. Gwen was annoying, but he understood it was concern for him that drove her.

  He might waltz with Carrie in London after she married, and it was safe to do so. Safe? Now, why did he think that? Because having her living here would invite speculation, he supposed. And under the eagle eyes of the ton, he had to be careful to give them nothing to gossip a
bout which might affect her future.

  With an annoyed groan over how his life had turned topsy-turvy, he stood and left the library, planning to ride out and discuss the condition of his birds with the gamekeeper. As he headed for the stables, his thoughts returned to Max, who had placed such trust in him. Nicholas had faithfully promised his friend to see his first-born daughter safely married to an excellent fellow. And so he would.

  ***

  After Bella returned to the schoolroom with Scotty, Carrie had an hour to herself before dressing for dinner. She left the house to wander along the paths and admire the gardens’ vivid displays of spring color, the beds planted with lupins, delphiniums, and cornflowers. It was good to be outdoors, the fresh breeze stirring the boughs overhead.

  She allowed her bonnet, held by cherry ribbons, to slip back onto her shoulders, enjoying the sun on her face. Her concerns lessened as she watched a pair of wrens fluttering about a nest high in an oak tree. But despite her best intentions, her mind returned to the episode in the music room when Nicholas declined to waltz with her. While dancing the quadrille when their hands touched, her heart pounded strangely, and she’d felt quite unlike herself. Except for her father, no man had ever held her hand in his without gloves. At dances, men always wore them, and so did she. His long fingers had curled around hers, his skin warm. His bergamot soap teased at her, making it difficult to meet his eyes. While relieved that most of the steps of the quadrille kept them apart, it disappointed her they didn’t waltz. But that was because she’d never danced it. At least, that was what she told herself.

  She strolled on. It was difficult to form an opinion about Nicholas. Learning from Anna about the way he treated a member of his staff worried her, but he could be irresistibly charming. His smile drew one to him. Was there a reason he didn’t wish to waltz with her? Was it really because he was busy? She imagined it was a lot of work to manage this big estate. Her fear of becoming a nuisance tightened her ribcage. It would not be surprising if he loathed the responsibility of her family placed on his shoulders. But if that were the case, why did he agree to it in the first place? Did he believe as she did, her father would live for many more years? With a heavy sigh, she walked on toward a gate in the garden wall, which gave access to the drive.