Loving Lady Marcia

by Kieran Kramer

“She was at Gunter’s this morning with her two sisters.”

  That was interesting. Perhaps she’d extended her visit to her family. Yesterday, she’d clearly stated she didn’t live in London and was heading back to her school. Duncan felt his heart pound, although he didn’t know why it should. “Did she have anything to say?”

  “No, not really. But this afternoon at White’s I found out she’d been employed as headmistress of a school in Surrey and was let go yesterday.”

  “Let go?”

  “Yes. Apparently the benefactress, Lady Ennis, didn’t like her. She paid her a visit at her parents’ house on Grosvenor Square and told her not to return to the school.”

  How awful. That must have happened right after Duncan had seen her. She’d seemed so busy—busy and fulfilled. He felt sorry for her now but even more, he felt angry on her behalf.

  “She’s going to Lord and Lady Davis’s card party tonight,” Finn said. “I told her I’d try to meet her there.” He grinned. “You should have seen her poised over that ice at Gunter’s. Big eyes. Gorgeous hair. Luscious lips. And those breasts—utterly delicious. They bring back fond memories.”

  “Stop talking about her as if you’ve tupped her. She’s a lady, for God’s sake. Show some respect.”

  Finn shook some lace out of his cuff, crossed his right leg over his left, then switched back … and suddenly, there was a very interesting spot to the left of Duncan’s head.

  Dammit, he looked guilty. Guilty as all hell.

  Slowly, as the silence lengthened, the hairs on the back of Duncan’s neck stood up. “You didn’t, did you?” He couldn’t help the tinge of panic in his voice.

  “What?” Finn turned to look directly at him.

  “Bed her.”

  There was a huge, heavy silence in the carriage.

  “Well?” Duncan prodded.

  “Let’s just say she’s one of those women I … have regrets about,” Finn said.

  Duncan felt a familiar hot, red heat curling in his belly, snaking outward and upward to affect his limbs, his vision, even his hearing. It was the same feeling he’d gotten when he’d heard Finn had seduced Joe’s mother. But somehow, this felt even worse. This was a girl who’d been under his care on their journey. He’d been responsible for her.

  Not only that, she was a treasure, perfect in every way.

  Perfect.

  He could see that clearly now. It was why he’d dashed between the carriages and wagons to get to her in that dressmaker’s shop. And why he’d been so morose after she’d said she didn’t care if they’d ever meet again. She’d awakened something in him—what it was he didn’t know. But it had to do with a robust life, the kind he craved.

  “You seduced her?” Duncan could barely get the words out. “She was only—” His voice actually cracked.

  “Sixteen,” Finn said flatly.

  “Fifteen,” Duncan rebuked him, and couldn’t help seeing in his mind’s eye the way she’d been on the packet, hanging on to that halyard, all fire and fury and spirit.

  “She turned sixteen the night we—” Finn had the grace to look away.

  “You cur,” said Duncan, low.

  Finn’s shoulders hunched over. “I know. But she was willing.”

  Duncan rose from his seat and slammed his right fist into his brother’s jaw.

  There was a split second of utter silence, save for the clopping of the horses’ hooves, the creak of the carriage wheels, and the sound of Duncan’s ragged breathing.

  Finn groaned and slumped forward.

  Duncan sat back down and thumped his cane hard on the carriage roof.

  “You bastard,” Finn mumbled into his cravat. “You bloody bastard.”

  The coach came to a stop, and Duncan kicked open the door. “Get out. Now.”

  Finn dragged himself across the seat and dropped to the ground. Slowly, he straightened, wearing a look of confused hurt, as if he’d been unjustly accused of a heinous crime by a completely mad person. “You didn’t have to hit me, you jackal.”

  The horses whinnied their impatience to be gone.

  “The hell I didn’t. I should ship you out to Australia right now, you dog. But for Mother’s sake, I’ll give you one more chance. Be on your best behavior from here on out, or you’re gone from England for good.”

  And that was it. The earlier, tenuous connection between them had disappeared. Again.

  Duncan called out directions to the driver and pulled the door shut in his brother’s face.

  The truth stunned him, and he stared unseeing at the seat across from him. Lady Marcia Sherwood had been ruined by his brother. And now every ounce of blood in Duncan’s veins thrummed with the need to save her—

  Even though it was already far too late.

  Chapter Eight

  Marcia had so hoped. But Finn hadn’t appeared at the card party.

  It’s all right, she’d told herself when she’d arrived and time had ticked away without his showing up. She couldn’t afford to be distracted by him. And anyway, what if he’d brought his brother with him? That would have been awkward. She could never think warm thoughts of Finn without them being accompanied by hot, prickly awareness of Lord Chadwick, too.

  It was just as well that she’d have an uneventful evening, as Daddy had promised her. She’d get through the sedate little card party, go home, and keep thinking about ways she could get back to Oak Hall.

  She took a sip of warm lemonade and was only just beginning to pity herself when the elderly Jensen sisters, two of the guests sitting with her at the card table, clapped their hands gently together.

  “Lady Marcia?”

  “Y-yes?”

  “You were daydreaming,” the younger sister said. “We’ve something to discuss with you.”

  “I’m so sorry. Do go on.”

  The elder sister cleared her throat. “We’ve made a momentous decision, one that will affect your entire—”

  “Future,” piped up the younger sister. “You’ll be quite excited.”

  “Oh?” Somehow Marcia didn’t feel excited in the least.

  The elder sister put down her fan. “You’ll receive an official invitation by courier,” she said, “but we’d like to let you know, in advance, simply so you can revel in the lovely news, that—”

  “You’ve been asked to join the Town Book Club,” said the younger sister.

  “The Town Book Club?” Marcia tried her best to sound tremendously intrigued.

  Both the sisters nodded, their eyes sparkling.

  The elder sister lifted her wobbly chin. “It’s a book club geared to women of—”

  “A certain age,” said the younger.

  “And distinction,” added the elder.

  “Meaning that each member has never married,” explained the younger.

  “And probably never will,” said the elder, “as we’re all too erudite—”

  “And wealthy,” provided the younger, “to be interested in mundane matters of the heart—”

  “Or household.” The elder sat back, obviously content to get the last word, while the younger looked vaguely at loose ends.

  “Oh,” said Marcia. “I see.”

  And she certainly did.

  The knowledge that she appeared to the world to be a spinster—which was exactly the life she’d prepared herself for—didn’t make her feel triumphant at all. All she felt was a sense of impending doom. She couldn’t help remembering what Lysandra had said about her, that she’d no style, and that she’d made Oak Hall a wallflower among schools.

  Although she wouldn’t think about that right now. Or the fact that her best gown she’d pulled from her headmistress trunk to wear tonight, by Mother’s and Janice’s standards, wasn’t nearly as fashionable as it should be, so Janice had lent her another of hers.

  She thanked the ladies for their kind invitation, and for the next hour and a half, in between rounds of whist, she conversed with her other table partner, the Davises’ neighbor, a physi
cian with a pointy ginger beard by the name of Oscar Trimp.

  He was the youngest son of a baronet. His sister, he told her immediately, had married an earl. No one in his family approved of his being a doctor—he was supposed to enter the church—but he said he couldn’t help himself. He enjoyed his work so much that he threw all his family’s expectations out the window to pursue his passion.

  Which was why Marcia liked him immediately. She completely understood.

  “So you’re the former headmistress of Oak Hall,” he said during their break to partake of Lady Davis’s famous raspberry brandy-laced trifle, which was displayed in its full culinary splendor on the sideboard.

  Former?

  His words shook her to the core. How did he know?

  “I read it in this afternoon’s paper. An exclusive report. Gossip travels fast in London.”

  “Goodness.” She curled her hands in her lap. “It certainly does.”

  Dear God. That meant everyone in London knew!

  The two Jensen sisters, oblivious to their conversation, dug into the mounds of trifle piled high on their plates.

  “And my sister heard it from her best friend, Ella McCloud, headmistress at Greenwood,” Dr. Trimp said.

  “She knows?” Marcia’s voice wobbled. She might want a scoop of trifle herself now.

  “Ella has her ear to the ground always. Not to mention that your benefactress isn’t particularly discreet.”

  Of course. Lysandra had probably spread the news herself. Marcia did her best to appear unfazed, but inside she was trembling.

  “My understanding is that she dismissed you out of hand.” The doctor’s voice was soft with understanding.

  “I’m not sure I want to talk about this, Doctor. Forgive me, I like you, but you’re practically a stranger.”

  “You’re perfectly right,” he said.

  But there was something so compelling about the way he sat looking at her, his head cocked to the side, his expression concerned. He was such a friendly, genuine sort of person.

  And they’d that link: both of them pursuing a passion of which their families didn’t necessarily approve.

  “Apart from one disputed incident,” she found herself blurting out, “which I believe was concocted to serve as an excuse for my dismissal, everything was going well. The parents were happy, as were the teachers and the girls. I felt I was doing an outstanding job. All signs seemed to point in that direction.”

  “You were,” the doctor said.

  A rush of heat went to her face. “What do you mean?”

  He arched a brow. “Shall I really tell you?”

  “Yes. Please.”

  He flashed her a wry grin. “Ella McCloud’s quite jealous of you. She fears that Oak Hall, under your leadership, will become a rival to Greenwood and perhaps even surpass it as a model educational establishment.”

  “You’re jesting.”

  “No. She thinks it might take some years, but she’s worried with you at the helm. And I don’t mind revealing that information to you. A little bit of competition makes everyone better, don’t you agree? Even though now it appears to be a moot point, with your being … sent away.”

  But at the moment, that didn’t matter. What mattered to Marcia was that Greenwood’s headmistress thought she’d excelled at her job. The knowledge boosted her confidence like nothing else. She hadn’t realized that she’d actually taken Lysandra’s critical remarks to heart.

  “Thank you for sharing that with me.” She put a hand over Dr. Trimp’s. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  He chuckled. “Oh, but it’s true. All I can think is that Lady Ennis must not want Oak Hall to improve, if she got rid of you.”

  And it was as if he’d poured a bucket of cold water over her head, waking her up. She’d been so confused. She’d broken one rule. One. And Lysandra’s reaction to her breaking it had come a good six weeks after she had.

  Lysandra’s other excuses seemed not to add up, either. Marcia’s choice of clothes wasn’t so bad. Nor did she believe for a minute that she’d made Oak Hall a wallflower among schools. Their school was different, yes, but in a refreshing way.

  Perhaps there was another reason for her dismissal. Could it be that Lysandra really didn’t want Oak Hall to thrive?

  “I can’t imagine why any benefactor wouldn’t want his or her own educational establishment to do well,” Marcia said. “It would mean an eventual shutdown of the school once word got out.”

  Dr. Trimp had a face made for drama. Now his knowing expression said—

  Oh, no. Marcia inhaled a breath. “You don’t think—”

  Dr. Trimp gave a short laugh. “That she wants to close the school?”

  “But Lady Ennis wouldn’t—”

  “Perhaps she would,” the physician said, his eyes locked on hers.

  They both sat without speaking a moment, digesting that wretched possibility, until Dr. Trimp sidled even closer. “She’s off to Cornwall soon, I understand.”

  “Yes.” Marcia wouldn’t—couldn’t—cry. Not while Oak Hall was in jeopardy. “She leaves tomorrow, in fact. I think she’s already scouted out a potential new wealthy husband, Kitto Tremellyn, the Earl of Shaftsbury. He’s not quite as old as Lord Ennis was.”

  Dr. Trimp made a moue of distaste. “I’ve heard of people letting others do their dirty work for them, but to be hiding in a brooding castle on a Cornish cliff while someone else arranges the closing of your school? That seems a bit witchy.”

  “She wouldn’t do such a thing, surely.” But it did sound so like Lysandra.

  The good doctor leaned close again. “Mayhap she’ll have a better chance at catching a Cornish lord with no encumbrances. Not many men want their wives’ attention drawn away from them, however noble the reason.”

  “But one can’t believe the gossips.” Marcia was firm on this point.

  “One can’t afford to ignore them, either, when one’s future—and that of an entire school—is at stake.” Dr. Trimp’s eyes gleamed with righteousness.

  Marcia could hardly swallow. Her heart thumped so hard, she was afraid everyone could see it. “I’ve got to go see Lady Ennis before she leaves. I’ve got to find out if—”

  She couldn’t finish the statement. It was too painful a hypothesis.

  Dr. Trimp shrugged. “You won’t have to look far. Tonight she’s to be at the Livingstons’ ball.”

  “My goodness,” said Marcia. “You’re well informed.”

  “I told you.” Dr. Trimp looked quite proud of himself. “Miss McCloud keeps an eye on her competitors. But she gets no credit for this on dit. I heard it from one of my patients this morning, and she read it in the paper. You haven’t been in London much the past few years, have you?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Lady Ennis makes sure everyone knows what she’s doing. Speaking of which”—he leaned close again—“the newspapers are a vital source of information for Miss McCloud for other reasons, too. She scouts out potential new students there.”

  “Really?” Marcia felt guilt gnaw at her. She’d never done such a thing.

  “Yes. She also keeps abreast of the political scene so that her board of trustees is always composed of powerful elder statesmen.”

  “She’s very clever, isn’t she?” Oak Hall didn’t have any duke’s daughters, nor did it have a board of trustees. So perhaps Lysandra had had a point about Marcia’s deficiencies. “I—I wonder what Miss McCloud knows about me?”

  Dr. Trimp chuckled. “Is there anything particularly interesting to know, other than the fact that your parents are an intriguing match? Influential Irish peers don’t often marry impoverished English widows.”

  “True.” Marcia smiled. “As for me, I’m distinctly boring.” She felt a frisson of worry. Of course, she had her secret. But no one knew but her and Finn, and he’d gone straight to America the day after they’d—

  He wasn’t in America anymore, was he? He was here in London. But it had been year
s since that eventful night. Finn would have no reason to bring the subject up to anyone.

  Dr. Trimp chuckled. “No doubt Ella McCloud knows something about you beyond what I’ve relayed to you tonight.”

  Marcia felt indignant at the idea of being spied upon. But she felt most indignant recalling how Lysandra had been lounging at Gunter’s with her friends as if she hadn’t a care in the world. It was quite possible that her firing of Marcia the day before had been only the beginning of a grand plan to disband the school.

  If it hadn’t been for Dr. Trimp, Marcia might be sitting in ignorant bliss while Oak Hall was closed without her knowledge.

  How did she ever think card parties were boring?

  There was only one thing to do.

  “I must go.” She stood and looked at her parents in deep conversation on the other side of the room with an elderly baron and his wife. Their engaged expressions and occasional smiles made it clear that they were enjoying themselves.

  “Where will you go?” asked Dr. Trimp.

  “To the … ladies’ retiring room.” She stared at the Jensen sisters, who were over at the sideboard getting second helpings of trifle and chatting with the very deaf Lord Davis. She looked back at the doctor. “To fix my hem.”

  “All right.” Dr. Trimp looked down at her perfectly intact hem.

  He’d obviously guessed she was lying. She was about to do much worse than that, actually. She was going to sneak away from the party without telling anyone and go to the Livingstons’ ball alone. She reassured herself that Gregory would be there, so he could serve as a chaperone.

  But first she had to find a way to get to the ball unnoticed and then slip into the festivities without attracting attention. After that, she’d have to find Lysandra, get her alone, and confront her on all counts.

  None of those were easy tasks, but what choice did she have?

  Dr. Trimp rubbed his beard. “You’re pale of a sudden. And trembling. Do you need a glass of water?”

  “No,” she said in a thin voice. “No, not at all.” She felt she was about to be sick.

  “Lady Marcia.” The doctor’s voice was firm. “Are you planning to do something you shouldn’t? Such as seek out Lady Ennis—right now?”