Rebel Marquess

by Amy Sandas

  “So why are we still waiting?”

  “Grandmother will be here in her own time. I once waited on her for an entire afternoon before she decided to make an appearance.”

  “What?” Eliza could not bear the thought of enduring this level of suspense for another ten minutes let alone several more hours. “Was she indisposed?”

  “Grandmother is never indisposed. I believe it is simply one of the few ways she has left to exert a level of control over the world about her. Grandmother does not take well to being ineffectual.”

  “Is that my problem? Ineffectual, am I?”

  At the sound of the dowager’s voice, Rutherford rose swiftly to his feet.

  “About as ineffectual as a bull, Grandmother.”

  Eliza stood as well and shamelessly leaned forward to get a good look around the marquess’s broad back as he approached the miniscule old lady in the doorway.

  Lady Rutherford was a small woman, probably no more than five feet tall. She was reed thin and her skin was weathered and translucent as fine parchment. Dressed in full adornment, her wide skirt and stiff bodice recalled a style worn by women in the prior century, though there was a distinctively modern element in the fabrics and detailing. Her white hair was done up in an elaborate coiffure that was infinitely elegant yet appeared too heavy for her slim neck.

  The lady harrumphed. “How lovely to have my grandson liken me to a hulking farm animal.”

  Though the dowager grasped the brass handle of a gentleman’s walking stick, Rutherford took her arm and assisted her to a firm-cushioned chair.

  “It was a comment on your stubborn nature, Grandmother, nothing more.”

  “Now that is amusing,” the dowager replied with dry sarcasm. “You calling me stubborn.”

  Rutherford did not respond as he arranged a blanket over his grandmother’s legs and propped her ebony walking stick next to her chair. Then he turned to Eliza.

  “Grandmother, may I introduce to you Miss Terribury.”

  Eliza stepped forward to perform a proper curtsy. “A pleasure to meet you, my lady.”

  The old woman eyed her for a long moment with sharp black eyes and Eliza felt not unlike a small stone Lady Rutherford had just discovered in her shoe. The woman truly was as formidable and daunting as everyone said. The intimidation present in her manner far outweighed her dainty stature. Her body may have become thin and frail with age, but there was nothing weak in the direct assessment of her gaze. Lady Rutherford was a woman who made sure no one underestimated her.

  “Indeed,” the lady finally said with slow and deliberate intonation. “I have heard a bit about the Terriburys over the years.”

  It was clear that whatever she had heard was not particularly favorable.

  Eliza was not surprised by the heavy thread of disapproval in the lady’s voice. Considering Lady Rutherford’s reputation for being well-informed, she was likely quite aware of her mother’s tireless efforts over the years to snag the marquess. Eliza saw no reason to try to hide her family’s history, and before the marquess could reply, she grinned and answered smartly, “I would not doubt it. With the exception of my father, the Terribury’s have never been a very discreet lot. I imagine you have heard more than a few colorful tales about us.”

  The dowager’s eyes flared wide for a second before narrowing again. Eliza could practically feel the suspicion emanating from the lady’s stiff attitude. “And why exactly has my grandson brought you to my home today?”

  The marquess shifted his weight as he stood next to his grandmother’s chair. It was obvious he wished to interject into the conversation but wouldn’t because the question had been directed to Eliza specifically. Not knowing what he had planned to say to the lady about their association, Eliza hesitated.

  “Magnolias,” she finally answered after a moment.

  “Pardon me,” the dowager said with a dramatic lift of her pencil-thin eyebrows.

  Feeling a small triumph in managing to chase the pinched look of displeasure from the lady’s face, Eliza continued in a breezy tone. “Lord Rutherford brought me along to aid in his report on the purple magnolias that grow in the Southwick’s gazebo.”

  After a long pause, the dowager asked slowly, “Is that so?”

  “It is,” Eliza confirmed with a smile. “You see, I had taken a few moments to enjoy the solitude of the gazebo and had actually been examining one of the purple blooms when Lord Rutherford arrived. It was not much later that a dreadful spider attacked and your gallant grandson assisted me in eliminating the creature from my gown.” Eliza paused to draw a deep breath. Giving a dismissive wave of her hand, she continued, “Of course, then the others arrived and there really was no further opportunity for any investigation into the merits of the magnolia since everyone was suddenly up in arms over the completely innocent scene that looked anything but, as I am sure you can imagine,” Eliza finished with a shrug and a slight eye-roll. “It is a shame what assumptions people will make with so little true information.”

  Lady Rutherford was staring at her as if she had lost her sense and managed only a stiffly muttered, “Indeed,” as Eliza paused for another breath.

  “Needless to say, in addition to a report on the Southwick’s purple magnolia I believe this visit is also to announce our rather hasty engagement.”

  Eliza did not have to look at the marquess to know he was not pleased with how she’d revealed the news of their engagement. She did not expect him to be, but she figured if he had wanted to break the news a certain way then he should not have been so tightlipped and should have informed her of it on the drive over. It was a small but satisfying bit of retaliation for being presented to Lady Rutherford without prior notice.

  If her first impression left the illustrious lady with a bad taste in her mouth…well, it was not as if Eliza were actually going to become a part of the family after all. And it was worth it if she managed to get an ounce of revenge on the marquess.

  Finally, the lady said, “Is all of this true, Michael?”

  “It is.”

  Eliza heard the marquess’s irritation in his clipped response. Though she kept her gaze locked with the dowager’s peering gaze, she couldn’t stop a smirk of satisfaction from pushing at her lips.

  “I see.” The way Lady Rutherford said the two short words had Eliza wondering if the lady did perhaps see more to the story than Eliza told. Without turning her head or shifting her gaze from Eliza, the old lady directed her next words to the marquess. “Michael, would you please fetch my shawl.”

  Eliza suspected Lady Rutherford was using his given name in a deliberate decision to eliminate the pretense of formality.

  “Your shawl? Are you cold?”

  They all knew the room was quite warm with the low fire burning in the grate.

  Lady Rutherford gave a sharp nod and repeated her request with a note of annoyance at being questioned. “The shawl is up in my room. Find Bethany and she will direct you to it.”

  Eliza glanced up at Rutherford and noted the frown that creased his brow. He was being maneuvered and he hated that. It was another testament of his affection and respect for his grandmother that he did not resist her dictate any further. He bowed his head to the old lady and gave short nod to Eliza before he strode from the room.

  Eliza made a great effort not to fidget under the lady’s intense scrutiny. It was clear that Lady Rutherford had sent the marquess off so she could speak to Eliza in private. That the older lady remained silent and hadn’t even gestured for Eliza to sit, led Eliza to two possible conclusions. Either she wished to make Eliza uncomfortable in the heavy silence, or she simply intended for Eliza to speak first.

  Never one to hold her tongue for long, Eliza decided to oblige the second possibility. “Is there anything I can get you, my lady?”

  “What do you want from my grandson, Miss Terribury?”

  There is was. Eliza smiled. Straight-forward talk was always the best approach in her opinion.

  “Not
hing,” she answered just as bluntly.

  Lady Rutherford issued a not-so-delicate snort. “My dear Miss Terribury, your family has been hounding that boy for years. Such relentless pursuit is most definitely not for nothing.”

  The lady’s lack of trust in Eliza’s motives were so similar to Rutherford’s own perspective on the matter when they had first met that Eliza felt as if she were fighting a familiar battle. Now as then, she decided the only way to move forward was to reply with complete honesty.

  “I will admit my mother has been relentless over the years when it came to her duty to me and my six sisters. I can only imagine the burden she must have felt in wanting to see all of her children well settled.” Eliza met the woman’s gaze unashamedly. “No one wants their child to struggle in life, of course. If my mother’s ambition often led her to focus rather intently upon Lord Rutherford, well, I suppose it is understandable considering all of his fine qualities.

  “For my own part, I did not have any designs upon the marquess. In all truth, this engagement is the result of an unfortunate misunderstanding. I tried to convince him it was unnecessary; however, due to the incorrect conclusions drawn by the extensive witnesses, Lord Rutherford felt compelled to do the honorable thing.”

  “Of course he did the honorable thing,” the dowager replied with haughty certainty. “The boy was caught with his hands down your dress.”

  Eliza did not recall including that detail in her previous explanation and realized the lady must have heard of the debacle prior to their arrival.

  “Releasing a spider,” Eliza clarified. “Nothing more.”

  “Yes, as you say.” The skepticism in the lady’s voice was unmistakable. After another long moment, Lady Rutherford gave a decisive wave of her hand. “Sit down, Miss Terribury. It hurts my neck to gaze up at you so.”

  “Of course, my lady.”

  Eliza returned to her seat on the sofa. She made sure not to slouch against the back cushion and kept her hands folded demurely in her lap.

  The two women stared at each other for an awkward few minutes. This time, Eliza refused to be the one to break the silence and she returned the formidable lady’s assessing gaze with an open and friendly smile. After a short while, Lady Rutherford narrowed her gaze and gave a heavy sigh of annoyance as she apparently lost her patience.

  “Miss Terribury, you say you want nothing from my grandson.” Her voice was thick with skepticism. “What then do you want?”

  Since they had begun this conversation in all honesty, Eliza saw no reason to stray from that purpose. Besides, she rather enjoyed taking advantage of the few opportunities she had available to shock the older lady free of her rigid composure. “I intend to be a published novelist.”

  Lady Rutherford had been adjusting the folds of the blanket across her lap, but at Eliza’s confession, her hands stilled.

  “Pardon me?”

  Eliza leaned forward and raised her voice a bit, though she did not suspect the lady was the least bit hard of hearing. “A novelist. I write novel-length stories of a gothic and romantic nature. I hope to have my work published.”

  After an annoyed scowl at Eliza’s raised voice, the elderly lady arched her fine eyebrows in imperious disbelief. “You admit it so readily?”

  Eliza had years of preparation for the attitudes of contempt most of society held for her chosen genre. Her own family had given her enough grief on the subject to last a lifetime, but she was steadfast in her goals and she met Lady Rutherford’s gaze directly and without apology. “I see no shame in it.”

  The older lady harrumphed, but said nothing further. Several minutes passed as Eliza forced herself to sit still and refrain from gazing curiously about the room.

  Finally, Lady Rutherford gave a small cough to clear her throat and spoke again. “Have you read A Lady’s Confession?”

  “Of course,” Eliza replied, a little surprised at the question. “It was published in 1783 and was an instant success as I understand. It tells the scandalous tale of a young woman of high society who entered an arranged marriage to a gentleman who ended up being a right scoundrel. When her husband ran off with his mistress, the lady was left to fend for herself amidst a London society that was selfish, hedonistic and reckless.”

  Lady Rutherford stared intently at Eliza as she spoke and then gave a dismissive wave of her blue-veined hand. “A dramatic, self-indulgent tale, wouldn’t you say, Miss Terribury?”

  Warming to the subject, Eliza broke her stiff posture and leaned forward conspiratorially. There was nothing she adored more than discussing novels and writing.

  “On the contrary, it is ingenious. Though presented as a work of fiction, many have suspected, and I am inclined to agree, that the author, Mrs. Hunter, was actually a noblewoman and that the novel holds some hidden truths borrowed from the lives of her contemporaries, hence the title A Lady’s Confession. I would even go so far as to say I believe it is really a cleverly disguised commentary on the scandalous lack of moral inhibitions present in society at the time.”

  Lady Rutherford’s thin lips quivered for a moment and then pursed a bit unnaturally into a faint tenuous smile. “Interesting.”

  She seemed inordinately pleased by Eliza’s review of A Lady’s Confession. Eliza tilted her head as a sudden suspicion entered her head. Surely, Lady Rutherford…

  Eliza considered what she knew of the mysterious Mrs. Hunter, who had only ever written that one title, and added in all the speculative rumors that swirled about the novel’s true origins and intentions. It was certainly possible.

  She settled her gaze firmly on the older lady’s face. “Did you write it?”

  Lady Rutherford gazed down her nose at Eliza in a way that was frightfully similar to a look Eliza had received from the marquess far too many times already.

  “Of course not, Miss Terribury. The Marchioness of Rutherford would never write such useless drivel.” Lady Rutherford’s tone was commanding and disdainful, but Eliza saw the undeniable twinkle in the lady’s dark eyes and there was no hiding the satisfied grin that deepened the creases of her weathered features.

  Eliza opened her mouth to challenge the denial, but at just that moment, the marquess reappeared in the doorway. Both ladies turned to him, but not before Eliza caught a flash of warning in Lady Rutherford’s gaze. Their discussion was to remain private.

  The marquess paused at the threshold and assessed each woman in turn as if checking for battle wounds. When he saw they were both fine, he released his breath and came forward into the room.

  “Is this the shawl you wanted? I did not realize you possess so many.”

  “That is what happens when you get old,” Lady Rutherford replied smartly. “Everyone fears you will freeze to death in your own home and they ply you with shawls and rugs and warmers.”

  “I will be sure to avoid the temptation at your next birthday,” the marquess answered in a dry monotone Eliza was coming to recognize as evidence of his distinct humor.

  He carried the woolen shawl to his grandmother, who swiftly waved him off. “I do not need that now. I am warm enough.”

  With a subtle display of infinite patience, the marquess draped the shawl over the back of the lady’s chair. “I will leave it here in case you should catch another chill.”

  Turning back to the sofa at an angle where his grandmother could not see his face, the marquess eyed Eliza with a narrow gaze.

  Eliza grinned widely in response.

  Let him wonder what she and his grandmother had discussed in his absence.

  He returned her grin with a look of blatant suspicion, causing her grin to widen even more.

  Once the marquess settled back into his corner of the sofa, Lady Rutherford reached out to grasp the handle of the walking stick beside her chair and curled her arthritic fingers over smooth brass handle. She brought the stick forward and tapped it once on the floor as if she were calling a meeting to order.

  “Now, I haven’t got all day. Tell me about the magno
lias.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Eliza sat with her mother in the front parlor. They said nothing as they both watched the ticking of the clock. It was a rarity for neither of them to have anything to say, but anxiety ruled the moment and kept their mouths closed, though for very different reasons.

  Eliza, because she had been making excellent progress on the highwayman’s story when her mother had fetched her down from the attic. She had stuffed her notebook and pencil into the deep pocket of her skirt and the weight of the materials lying against the side of her leg were a constant reminder of what she would rather be doing that morning.

  Eliza glanced suspiciously at her mother, wondering at her abnormal silence.

  Lady Terribury had been in a twitter of excitement since the Southwick party, yet now, as they sat in the parlor awaiting the marquess’s arrival, Lady Terribury seemed to have completely run out of steam. She sat stiff and contemplative as the minutes ticked closer to the appointed hour. Every now and then, Eliza thought she heard a faint mutter and saw her mother’s lips move with her thoughts, but nothing was said outright.

  It made Eliza nervous. She hoped it was simply an adverse reaction to having nothing more to scheme and plot, but she worried her mother might still be trying to set a more secure hook. Lady Terribury likely wouldn’t be fully satisfied until Eliza was firmly ensconced in Rutherford’s household as the marchioness.

  The idea sent a chill over Eliza’s skin. She shifted on the sofa and wished Rutherford had not insisted upon calling on her today.

  After they had left Lady Rutherford’s the other day, he’d suggested they should behave as though they were resigned to their fate while he looked into a possible remedy to their situation. She agreed with the plan but didn’t think that meant he needed to be a particularly attentive betrothed. His stiff reply had been that he would do what was proper and expected in their circumstances and he would call on her in a couple of days.

  The clock on the mantel struck the hour at the exact same time a knock sounded at the front door, jolting Lady Terribury from her internal musings.