Married to the Marquess

by Rebecca Connolly

  “Yes, my lord, I think I shall.”

  “Very good. I have come to see my parents, are they available?”

  “They are, sir. I believe the duke is in his study.”

  “Thank you, Wooster. I shall take myself down there. You go on and sit down somewhere,” Derek said with a smile as he left the entryway, knowing full well that the butler would do no such thing.

  The door to the duke’s study was open slightly, but Derek knocked anyway. Rule number seventeen in this house growing up was Always knock when seeking entrance.

  “Come,” the voice of his father was heard within, and he pushed the door open.

  “Whitlock!” his father cried in surprise, a smile forming on his still relatively young face as he rose from his desk.

  Derek bowed as perfectly as he had ever done. “Your Grace.”

  He turned to where his mother sat, looking as regal as she always had, and still beautiful even after three children had grown. “Your Grace,” he said, taking her hand and placing a kiss on her knuckles.

  “Oh, Derek, it is so good to see you,” she returned, rising to give him hug.

  “You as well, Mother,” he replied with a smile, giving a fond kiss to her cheek.

  “What brings you to London?” his father asked as he came over to shake his hand.

  Derek gave him an odd look as he took it. “Katherine’s mother passed away, sir. I should have thought you would have seen it in the paper.”

  “Ah, yes, poor Lady Dartwell,” the duke said with a nod as he returned to his desk. “Do give our condolences to Lady Whitlock, will you?”

  “I shall tell Katherine, thank you,” he said pointedly, which earned him a quirk of a brow from his father. “But will you not be paying your respects at the reception in two days?”

  “Oh, I do not know that we…” the duke started.

  “Ashcombe,” his wife broke in gently as she took her seat once more. “I think it would mean a good deal to Lady Whitlock if we went. And it would show respect for the family and for our son.”

  The duke frowned slightly, then sighed. “Very well, then, my dear. We shall attend the services for Lady Dartwell.”

  “If you wish, sir,” Derek said with an incline of his head.

  “Now that you have come, Whitlock, I need your assistance,” his father said, indicating that he sit.

  “Oh?” Derek asked, dreading the request that was forthcoming. “On what matter?”

  “Your brother.”

  Derek almost groaned and sat back. Of course the subject was going to be David. It was his father’s favorite topic to rant upon, as he thought David was the biggest wastrel to ever inhabit nobility.

  “What has David done now?”

  “It is what he is not doing!” his father bemoaned, looking rather troubled.

  “And that would be?” Derek tried for a patient, concerned tone, but really, nothing David did was actually shocking to anybody except his father.

  “He adamantly refuses to marry!”

  That was surprising, even to Derek. He licked his lips slowly, then said the first thing that had come to mind. “Ever?”

  His father’s eyes narrowed. “Are you amused, Whitlock? I can assure you, this is not a laughing matter.”

  Derek straightened ever so slightly at his father’s stern tone, even though he was very much a grown man now. Fathers can have that effect on their sons. “No, sir, I am not amused. I was merely seeking clarification.”

  His father still looked suspicious, so Derek forced any sign of amusement or humor out of his expression. Only then did his father continue. “He has not spoken of the future, but at present, he claims his only inclination is to enjoy himself.”

  Quite frankly, Derek thought that was a very good idea. David was still young, there was hardly any need for him to be rushed off to the altar and bound to a woman for the rest of existence when he could be enjoying freedom of thought and purpose.

  But Derek knew far better than to say any of this aloud, and arranged his features accordingly. “I see,” he said carefully, desperate to avoid saying anything he would regret with regards to either party.

  “I do not think you fully grasp the severity of the situation, Whitlock!” his father said, his voice rising. “This is the future of the family we are speaking of here.”

  “Ashcombe…” his wife warned, but he would not heed her.

  “Unless Lady Whitlock provides you with an heir, David will inherit after you! Do you really want to leave the dukedom up to chance?” the duke asked loudly, his fist banging the desk.

  “I hardly think that the timing is as important as the lady in question,” Derek tried, his mind working as fast as it could bear to. “Have you not arranged something for him?”

  “No,” his father groaned, sitting back. “You were the only one we arranged a match for. Diana did well enough with marrying Lord Beckham, though I wish he was placed a bit higher than Bow Street.”

  Derek did not comment on that, as he rather liked Edward and his choice of profession.

  “But David could have his pick of any number of ladies in Society,” his father continued, growing more earnest. “We have drawn up a list of suitable candidates for him, and he will not even look at it.”

  “A list?” Derek asked, feeling a little peeved. “You are not going to let him choose as you did Diana?”

  “Why should I? Diana was not going to come into anything. She was a catch for any man of nobility, she did not need to do the catching.”

  Derek didn’t think his sister would appreciate being likened to a fish, but then, he had no inclination to tell her.

  “I think you should trust that David will do his duty when he is ready to take it on,” Derek said calmly, hoping he could smooth things over. “He has a good deal more sense than you give him credit for.”

  “Are you saying that I do not know my own son?” the duke cried, his fist tightening.

  That was exactly what Derek was saying, but there was no polite way to phrase it.

  “What’s all the commotion in here?” came the drawling, unaffected tones of David, who entered the room without knocking.

  The glare that their father offered David was one that would have made stone gargoyles cower and flee. “You must marry, David. Now.”

  David’s brows rose in surprise. “Right this minute? But I’m not suitably dressed for a wedding.”

  Derek had the bizarre urge to laugh, which would have gotten him shot, or worse.

  The duke looked ready to explode, but somehow maintained his furious demeanor without variation. He looked to Derek, who couldn’t help but to swallow a little hastily. “Take care of this, Whitlock.”

  He indicated with his eyes and his head that the two should leave, and Derek got to his feet immediately. David did not move. Derek looked to his mother, who said nothing, but her eyes had widened significantly. He turned back to his brother and took his arm. Thankfully, David responded to him, and in short order, they were out of the study and back to the relative safety of the rest of the house.

  “Hello, Derek,” David said finally, with a wry grin, his green eyes that matched Derek’s in an almost eerie fashion twinkling. “Feels a bit like our childhood, doesn’t it?”

  Derek couldn’t resist smiling just a touch. “A lot, actually, except for the topic.”

  David nudged his head onward and they moved into one of the front drawing rooms, where each flopped into chairs. “I don’t know why he thinks I need to marry now.”

  “Nor do I,” Derek admitted with a sigh. He hesitated, then asked, “You do want to marry eventually, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” David said with a snort. “But I want to fall in love with the girl. Before I marry her. No offense.”

  Derek waved it off. “None taken. I would have liked to do that myself.”

  “And I don’t think I’ll care very much at all for what her bloodlines are, thank you very much,” David said in a grumbling tone. “In
fact, I think I’ll fall in love with a merchant’s daughter.”

  Derek laughed out loud. “That will really impress him. He might kill you.”

  “He would never kill me, he thinks too much of the family.” David paused a moment, then said, “He might hire someone to kill me, but he would never do it himself.”

  “Why do you intentionally provoke him?” Derek asked, truly curious. The duke was a powerful man, and a rather intimidating one. It hardly seemed a prudent thing to do, even for a rebellious son.

  David shrugged. “Because I can. Because I am tired of him running my life. Because, despite what he thinks, he is not God.”

  “He could disinherit you, you know.”

  Again came the shrug. “Huzzah. Then I really would be free. I don’t mean to be his wastrel son that is always disappointing, but you must admit, you are the preferred son.”

  Derek was shaking his head before David had finished. “I am the heir, nothing more.”

  “And I the spare.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “What? It’s the truth. Do you really think that if Diana had been a boy I would even be here?”

  As much as he hated to admit it, Derek knew it was more than likely true. Their parents were companionable with each other, but never affectionate. And each had always been so focused on duty, honor, and family and blood that they wanted to force their children into similar tendencies.

  Unfortunately, none of them were quite as determined.

  “You are not a spare,” Derek said firmly. “You are my brother, and I will support you in whatever you do.”

  David smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Derek. Now what about getting some decent food from that delightful chef our parents have employed, eh? I’m famished!”

  Chapter Four

  Two days later, Derek found himself beside his wife and her father in the parlor of their family home, and he was bored out of his mind. Katherine, ever controlling and interfering, had demanded that, as she and the other ladies had not been present for the service, they would hear exactly what the minister said during such before they received their callers.

  He wasn’t sure he could bear hearing it again. He hadn’t expected the service to be amusing or light-hearted, given the circumstances, but he had never in his life been to a funeral or reception that had been so monotonous. Or that had been so devoid of emotion. Not a single person present was crying.

  Well, except for Katherine’s sister, Lady Aurelia, who was in the adjacent anteroom sobbing rather unconvincingly into her rotund and ridiculous husband’s now drenched waistcoat. But he was holding her and patting her shoulder, and looking rather subdued, which seemed a decent fit for the act.

  The minister, a rather small, balding man, was now reading some psalms or some such from his Bible, and, though Derek appreciated religion as much as any good Christian, he really would rather have skipped the whole thing. What was the sense in trying to be uplifting here? If Lady Penelope were going to Heaven, he would gladly go to Hell when his time came.

  Derek nearly groaned when he saw the minister turn the page and continue reading on the next. Would this day never end?

  At long last, the minister bowed his head and waited for judgment to be passed upon him.

  Katherine, looking pale and drawn, pressed her lips together firmly. “And that is exactly as the service proceeded?”

  “It is, madam,” the minister said with a nod. “After which the grave site service commenced.”

  Katherine nodded and looked at her father, whose expression was too vacant for any sort of reaction. She turned to Derek. “Was that what he said?”

  Derek snorted. “More or less.”

  She glared fiercely. “Was it more or was it less, Whitlock?”

  He shrugged and scratched at the back of his neck. “I slept through it, I have no idea.” He sheepishly smiled at the minister. “Sorry, it was a rather long procession from the house to the church, and I am not used to walking such distances.”

  The minister bit the inside of his cheek, but waved his hand a little dismissively. Katherine’s frown grew, but she turned back to the other man. “Thank you, Mr. Clarke,” she said softly, for once not sounding as though she disapproved. “It was exactly the way Mother had wanted it.”

  Now that did not surprise Derek at all. He did rather expect that the old bird would have been affronted by the lack of attendance, but as she had not been anybody’s favorite person in the whole course of her life, he wondered just who she would have expected to come. He further suspected that she wrote the entire boring service out herself and gave specific instructions on what was to transpire and how it was to do so.

  Such was the behavior of Lady Penelope.

  May she rest in peace.

  He nearly snorted at that. Peace? Ha!

  Mr. Clarke shook hands with them all, and then waited for them to leave the parlor. It was time to receive the guests who had come to pay respects.

  Derek expected that, given the number of friends Lady Penelope had, this would take all of ten minutes, perhaps fifteen, and then he would be free of this madness.

  If it was a good day, even less.

  Ever a puppet to duty, he stood obediently beside his wife as a surprising number of people proceeded past them to murmur insincere condolences and far too many handkerchiefs dabbed at completely dry eyes.

  To his surprise, his parents came up and dutifully expressed condolences, but said nothing much further. Katherine thanked them for their attendance, which was more than Derek did. They took his hand as well, but moved quickly on. They had never been very emotional people, and mourning for someone they would not miss was not in their repertoire of feelings.

  More and more people came by them, murmuring their faux sympathies, and just as Derek was wondering how long he was going to have to stand here and be somber-faced, Nathan and Moira appeared.

  He almost grinned in relief, which would not have been appropriate at all.

  He sensed Katherine stiffening ever so slightly, but she was far too principled to object to an earl and countess, no matter how she disliked Derek’s friends.

  “Lady Whitlock,” Nathan murmured with an incline of his head.

  “Lord Beverton,” she said tightly, her mouth stretched in only what the most optimistic of people would have considered a smile.

  “My condolences on your loss.”

  “Thank you for coming.”

  Nathan nodded and moved on to Derek, who allowed himself to smile.

  But before he could say anything, Moira had taken hold of Katherine’s arm. “I know we don’t know each other, Katherine,” she said earnestly.

  Derek coughed to cover his sudden laughter at Moira’s use of Katherine’s given name, knowing how his wife would be shocked and appalled by it.

  “…but if you need anything, I hope you will let me know,” Moira continued, as if she had not just severely breached Katherine’s beloved sense of decorum.

  “Thank you, Lady Beverton,” Katherine said stiffly.

  Moira gave a comforting smile and patted her arm again, starting to move away. But then she hesitated, and before anybody could even blink, she had thrown her arms around Katherine in a rather awkward looking hug.

  Oh, that was not going to go over well. “Nate,” Derek hissed, seizing his friend’s sleeve, “what is she doing?”

  Nathan shrugged. “You know Moira. She does whatever she wants.”

  “Well, it’s going to drive Katherine absolutely batty and I’m going to have to deal with it.” And it was going to be terrible. Awful. Horrifying. The stuff of nightmares. He was apprehensive already.

  Nathan gave him a rather sardonic look and pushed his hand away. “Why don’t you try to stop my wife, Derek? I’m certainly not going to. I know better.”

  “I know it feels dark right now,” Moira whispered to Katherine as she held her close, “but it gets better. I promise.” Then she let go, smiling gently, and took Nathan’s arm.
She glared at Derek, and he returned it with a completely lost look of his own. What, did she really think that he had killed Katherine’s mother? Other than that, which was actually a rather intriguing idea, he had no idea what he could possibly have been in trouble for.

  “Be nice,” she mouthed, looking rather severe.

  Nathan snickered quietly, and escorted her away.

  Derek glowered after them, wishing they would have stayed. Pleasant conversation would be difficult to come by for a while. But thankfully, he and Nathan and Colin had arranged to meet tomorrow morning at his home for a quick breakfast before meeting the other two of their friends at Dennison’s Stables, Moira’s family business.

  Kate would not appreciate the company in the morning, which was, of course, all the more reason to do it.

  He turned slightly to look at her, dreading what he would see, and sure enough, she looked as if she had suddenly smelled something rather pungent, but her eyes were also shimmering with unshed tears. Surely she was not so offended that she was brought to tears?

  No, that was ridiculous. Not even Moira could offend someone to that degree.

  Well, perhaps Colin, but he was sensitive.

  “Kate?” he asked quietly.

  “Katherine,” she snapped, blinking rapidly.

  He rolled his eyes. She was just fine, tears or no tears. “Whatever. Would you like to retire now?”

  “I would like you to retire now,” she muttered under her breath. Then, louder, she continued, “But I will leave it up to my father to decide when we are finished. After all, it is his wife that was buried today.”

  Unable to help himself, Derek responded, “Technically, it’s only her body. She’s not down there at all. Just bones and muscles and flesh.”

  She looked up at him with a half-disbelieving, half-aghast expression. “Are you completely without mental capacity or do you just manner yourself after a pig?”

  “Katherine,” her father said softly, as if just now realizing there was a conversation occurring around him.

  She looked over at him, and it pleased Derek to no end to see the slight fear of reprimand in her eyes. But her father did not even look at her, so she turned back to Derek again.