The Luck of the Bride--The Cavensham Heiresses

by Janna MacGregor

  She extended her hand out for her brother’s inspection.

  “May I see the stitches this evening?” Bennett asked. Before she could answer, March’s brother turned his attention to McCalpin. “Did you get the chance to examine it? How many stitches?” His gaze met McCalpin’s as if it was completely normal to ask such questions of a marquess.

  “Five.” As a boy, he’d been fascinated by cuts and wounds also. “Straight cut but will leave a scar, unfortunately.”

  “A badge of honor. I wish I could have seen it.” Bennett grimaced. As was typical of youth, his focus quickly turned to other matters. “As a thank you for rescuing my sister, I’d like to invite you to stay for dinner.”

  “Bennett—” Before March could finish her protest, McCalpin took her uninjured hand and gently squeezed.

  “Stay for dinner, McCalpin,” the boy cajoled.

  “Bennett, I’m sure Lord McCalpin—” The color was starting to deepen on March’s face, the perfect pink replaced by the most enticing scarlet.

  “How lovely. Thank you, Lawson.” He’d finally see exactly what their circumstances were and why she was forging his name to embezzle those funds.

  March discretely nodded to Mrs. Oliver. The old woman’s eyebrows shot skyward.

  Chapter Six

  The set table was reminiscent of Christmastide dinner. The delicate china that bore the viscountcy’s seal, the polished silver serving pieces, cutlery, and even the massive centerpiece of evergreens and a few apples and walnuts brought an unabashed elegance to the formal dining room. Only the buckets strategically located to capture the rain that leaked from the roof marred the scene in front of her family and Lord McCalpin.

  March pressed her eyes closed at the humiliation of their current circumstances. Yet, McCalpin needed to see how they were living and change things for the better. She just prayed that the modest feast splayed before him would be enough to keep his attention throughout dinner.

  The roasted pheasant was supposed to have lasted for two days, but with the marquess accepting Bennett’s invitation, they were lucky to have it on hand. March wouldn’t take any so there would be plenty. Besides, her hand had started to pound with throbbing pain. She’d never be able to cut the meat.

  She chanced a glance at Bennett, who sat enthralled with McCalpin’s discussion of London’s museums. Serving the fowl this evening meant Bennett would suffer through ham and beans for two days this week. Would he have invited the marquess to join them if he knew the result of such an invitation?

  How inhospitable of her to even think such thoughts. The look on her brother’s face was pure rapture. So starved for an adult male’s companionship outside of Hart, he’d probably subject himself to a week’s worth of the meager offerings.

  Bennett insisted he sit at the head of the table. The large chair seemed to swallow his small body. McCalpin sat to his right. She sat at Bennett’s left. Loyal Faith sat next to her, and Julia sat next to their guest.

  Faith leaned close. “I don’t know how you did it, but the table looks magnificent.”

  “Miss Lawson.” The sinfully dark voice commanded her attention. “I agree with Miss Faith. Everything is simply delicious.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” She tried to smile, but the pain had increased to the point that such an effort only resulted in a grimace. Her voice sounded as dull as a rusty ax. “We don’t have the opportunity to entertain much at Lawson Court. We’re delighted to have your company.”

  His eyes narrowed as if he doubted the truth of her words. The blue of his eyes pierced hers. Her David was back in his full glory. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe as she gazed upon his perfection. This close to him, she could make out a faint scar that marred his square chin. It was the only imperfection in his features. To call him handsome was like calling Michelangelo someone who played with rocks and painted as a hobby.

  “You’re not feeling well,” he whispered.

  Bennett tilted his head in her direction at the marquess’s question. “March, are you all right?”

  A sudden flush washed over her face when everyone’s gaze settled on her. “I’m fine.” She took a sip of wine. The crisp taste washed away the irksome bile that had taken refuge in her throat. She only hoped she’d make it through the evening without dying of embarrassment or falling off her chair in pain.

  “My lord, tell us of the entertainments you enjoy in London.” Julia’s simple question hinted at her desperation to escape their paltry existence.

  McCalpin grinned as he played with the stem of his wine glass. His large fingers dwarfed the fragile crystal, but there was an inherent gentleness in his hands. He’d treated her with the same care out in the field. Even though she couldn’t remember much of their interaction, she’d felt safe and protected.

  She relived the kiss he bestowed upon her in the kitchen. Her lips still burned from the touch. Another example of his kindness, but one that didn’t mean anything more than what it represented. She was a sheep farmer, and he had simply tried to relieve her pain and squelch her fear with a harmless flirtation.

  “Miss Julia, that question begs a thousand answers. During the day, I take an early morning ride in town for exercise. Then I return to work on the business of my father’s estates. It’s only in the evenings that I have cause to enjoy all the wonders of London’s offerings.…”

  His words trailed to silence as Maximus, Bennett’s monstrous black cat, stopped all conversation as he strolled into the room, making a grand entrance. Bigger than a lapdog and most felines, his size and speed served him well. He was the best mouser they had. With raised eyebrows, McCalpin regarded the cat as it promenaded through the dining room. He gently placed his napkin beside his plate and devoted his full attention to the spectacle taking place.

  With a saunter that any London dandy would envy and his tail straight in the air, the cat regally paraded through the room as he made his way to Bennett and their guest. A small animal—a very dead small animal—dangled from his jaws. With an elegant pause worthy of a king, Maximus regarded McCalpin with his startling golden eyes. The black cat must have found him worthy of his offering. With great fanfare that would rival a volley of trumpets announcing the Prince Regent, Maximus dropped the small rabbit to the ground, then blinked.

  Bennett’s eyes grew round, and a laugh escaped. “Lud! Maximus! What a catch!” Her brother’s gaze shot to the marquess. “We’ll eat well tomorrow, McCalpin. Rabbit stew for dinner. Would you care to join us?”

  “Bennett, no!” March didn’t hide the strong rebuke.

  “Why? We have food for tomorrow. Why shouldn’t we share our good fortune?” Completely oblivious of the awkwardness he and his cat had created, Bennett left his chair, then petted his charge. “Nice work, boy.”

  “We’ll discuss this later,” March bit out as she directed her gaze to Julia in a signal for her sister to remove the poor rabbit.

  The cat had the audacity to purr loud enough that his low rumblings echoed through the room. One giant paw shot out and tapped the carcass twice as if tempting it to move so he could pounce again and repeat his performance.

  Julia jumped away from the table, upsetting her chair. “Eww, that’s disgusting.”

  Without glancing at anyone, Faith got up from the table and picked up the rabbit with her napkin. With halting steps, she left the room and turned left. There was little doubt she was delivering the rabbit to Mrs. Oliver for a determination if they could dine on it tomorrow.

  Heat assaulted March once again as she couldn’t deny the truth. Indeed, if Mrs. Oliver declared it eatable, tomorrow, they would dine on rabbit stew and be thankful for Maximus’s hunting prowess.

  McCalpin’s gaze locked with hers. She tried to swallow her mortification.

  Of all the days for that feline, who believed they all served him instead of the other way around, to present his latest kill, today was not the day. Then, for Bennett practically to announce their poverty?

  This was an unmitig
ated disaster of epic proportions.

  “Miss Lawson—” The steel in McCalpin’s voice cut her to the bone.

  “Shall we continue our discussion in Bennett’s study?” If he started to lecture her in front of her family, she’d fall to pieces. Her family hadn’t a clue the true level of their destitution. After everything that had happened today, she’d not withstand a withering diatribe about her family’s circumstances. She already felt like a failure, one who couldn’t provide for her loved ones. Today made Rupert’s words all the more bitter. If she didn’t do something soon, Julia would be married to that fiend and they’d all be under his thumb. Her sweet little sister would make such a sacrifice if she believed it would help the family.

  An involuntary shudder passed through March. Under no circumstances would she allow Julia to marry Rupert. It was a vow she intended to keep.

  “I’ll join you,” Bennett said.

  “No, Lawson. Allow me a private conference with your sister,” the marquess announced in a voice that would brook no argument.

  “But it’s my study,” Bennett grumbled still petting the cat.

  * * *

  March held her hand above her heart to lessen the throbbing pain stealing her breath. The strong scent of spirits wafted toward her. McCalpin held a flask to her.

  “Take a sip, Miss Lawson.” The sharp edge in McCalpin’s voice warned he’d not abide any argument from her. “You’re as pale as a ghost in November.”

  March blew out a breath and took the silver flask. The fumes burned her nose, but she took a drink and immediately started to cough. The heat of the liquid burned her throat as she swallowed. McCalpin nodded his head, encouraging her to take another swallow. Without arguing, she complied.

  McCalpin took the Louis XV chair across from her. His mammoth size dwarfed the frame, and the chair creaked in protest at his invasion. He regarded her with a calm expression as if it was completely natural to share a flask of brandy with her after dinner.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. The searing pain in her hand started to ease. “I must apologize—”

  “Will you eat the hare tomorrow as your brother indicated?” The sound of his voice echoed like the retort of a pistol.

  “If Mrs. Oliver believes it’s not spoiled.” She forced herself to hold his gaze. It was mortifying to acknowledge the extent of their destitution. Her father, the previous viscount, had been a well-respected member of the government’s foreign office and had served England unselfishly in his tenuous work with the United States. More importantly, he’d been a loving, doting father. He’d have been horrified if he knew his children’s fate. Reason rallied as it always did when the circumstances of their poverty confronted her. As trustee, the marquess only had to sign a piece of paper resulting in their situation immediately rectified on the morrow. There was no use hiding the truth from him.

  She dismissed the shame that had strolled into her conscience and was currently holding court with her thoughts. “What we ate tonight … should have lasted all week.” She brought her injured hand down to rest in her lap. “If we don’t eat the rabbit, I’ll have to…”

  “Christ,” he muttered under his breath. “How long have you been living like this?”

  “When my parents died, I took over the estate and the bookkeeping. I was sixteen, almost seventeen. So, to answer your question, eight years.” She stole a glance at McCalpin’s face and immediately thought of an etching of Mount Etna her father had once shown her as a little girl. Immobile, the marquess possessed a look of impassiveness tinted with an unpredictability that could erupt at any moment.

  “We had a reserve of funds available but not enough to last through the year. I’ve managed to keep everyone fed and clothed, but this year”—she took a deep breath and held it for a second—“the roof was damaged during a winter storm. I had no recourse but to have it repaired, but it still needs additional work. If it wasn’t for your sister’s bank, I’m not certain what we would have done.”

  His gaze bore into hers with a dispassionate expression she couldn’t decipher. If it was disgust, she couldn’t—no—wouldn’t allow herself to care. She’d done everything she could think of to protect Lawson Court and her family. Only when circumstances turned so dire had she started “borrowing” her own dowry funds using his signature. She tipped her chin up an inch.

  He lifted one perfect eyebrow. The gesture made him look more handsome than any man had a right to be. “You bank with my sister, Lady Somerton.” The words more of a statement than a question.

  She nodded. “The countess has been my salvation over the last four months. She offered me employment at her bank, but I had to decline as our circumstances turned quite drastic.”

  His eyes narrowed as he considered her. “Did you write Lord Burns? Tell him of your circumstance?”

  She nodded slightly. “Over the years, he ignored my requests for help. He never once visited after my parents died.” She straightened in her chair. There was no use hiding the insidious predicament her family faced. “My cousin, Rupert Lawson, has taken an interest in Julia. I’m not in favor of his attentions toward my sister. He wants to become the family’s guardian. It’ll allow him unlimited access to our funds. I’m not certain there would be any left when they come of age.”

  “The next in line to inherit your brother’s title wants to be his guardian and manage the estate? No court would ever agree to such an appointment.” The incredulous look on his face would have been comical, but the truth was far from funny.

  “Be that as it may, my siblings don’t have a guardian and no one has responsibility for Lawson Court, so he could easily petition the court.” By now, small tinges of pain had taken up residence in her fingers. It wouldn’t be long before her hand started to throb once again. “The solicitors that my father employed for his legal work were incompetent, to say the least. The inferior work is rife throughout all his directives for our care. You only have to review my trust document for proof.”

  He pursed his lips at that innuendo.

  “Rupert views Faith and me as tainted goods. Faith because of her injury, and me because I work the fields and care for the estate. Rupert’s interested in Julia is the best means to acquire our monies. There’s nothing to keep him from kidnapping her and taking her to Scotland. She’s a loyal girl, and if Rupert could make her believe it would be the best scenario for the family, she’d sacrifice herself for us.”

  She swallowed but refused to turn away from his direct gaze. By the time he left, he’d know every one of her secrets. “The money I’ve tried to take from my trust will be used to launch Faith and Julia in society. They deserve the opportunity to make a match that will provide them with security and an escape from the hellish existence that we’ve lived under for the last eight years.”

  He nodded and rewarded her with a gentle smile that transformed him from handsome to heart stopping. She rose gently and attended the fire with her right hand. The simple task would distract her from his overwhelming presence.

  Never before had such masculine perfection graced their home. With broad shoulders and a chest that narrowed to slim hips, he reclined in a manner that reminded her of a deadly panther relaxed but with a hidden strength that could strike in an instant. She’d seen that look countless times when Maximus would relax in the sun, soaking up its warmth. However, the slight twitch of his tail warned that he was always hunting as he had lazed about—just like the slow tapping of the marquess’s finger against the arm of the chair.

  She licked her lips at that thought. The marquess was the most virile creature she’d ever seen in her life—and he’d kissed her this morning. It’d been nothing more than a deterrent to her pain. Nevertheless, it was still the most delightful kiss she’d ever received in her life. She touched her fingers to her lips recalling the stroke of his tongue there. A glance in his direction caused her breath to catch. His gaze, hot and fiery, had settled on her mouth. His lips tilted upward in a slight grin that made her believ
e he could read her thoughts.

  “And what about your hopes for a match, March?” The low gruffness in his voice soothed, but his words startled her like a lick of Maximus’s rough tongue.

  “I have none.” She’d always dreamed of a match, but she’d quickly dashed such hopes when the weight of the estate fell upon her shoulders. She tilted her chin and regarded the marquess. “My only concern is for my family’s welfare. I’ll see my sisters married, and Bennett raised before I think of myself.”

  He stood and sauntered over to her. With an easy insouciance, he towered over her. Normally, she was the one who peered down into the faces of other men, but McCalpin stood a good six inches taller. Somehow he made her feel petite, a rare feat since she was tall—only four inches short of six feet.

  “No thoughts of a husband or children in your near future? That’s hard to fathom.” He slowly reached out with his hand. The instant his finger touched her skin she gasped. He ignored her outcry and caressed her cheek with the back of his forefinger. “Such softness,” he whispered.

  “What are you doing?” Her voice trembled. She wanted to blame it on the throbbing pain, but she knew better. His touch could sooth a cobra. The heat of his hand coaxed her closer. Instead, she forced herself to step back.

  “I’m trying to decide what to do with you, March.” The sound of her name on his lips sounded like music, a soft serenade to lower her defenses. “And decide what type of woman stands before me.”

  He closed the distance between them and lowered his mouth to her ear. Without touching, the warmth of his breath caused her to shiver in a way completely different from this morning. Indeed, he could easily be her downfall.

  “La mia truffatrice,” he whispered. “Mon beau voleur.”

  She didn’t understand the Italian, but there was no mistaking his French. Beautiful thief. “I didn’t steal,” she protested.