Loving Lady Marcia

by Kieran Kramer

  Joe had on a green jacket. Finn wore brown and maroon. Joe looked down at himself, dropped the kite, and screamed joyously.

  Duncan jumped the rest of the way to the ground. Joe immediately hid behind Finn’s legs, but when Duncan came roaring at him, he ran away, shrieking. Finally, after pretending for a few minutes that Joe couldn’t possibly be caught at the heroic pace he was running, Duncan seized him by the arm.

  He had to. Joe was about to go to the wrong end of the park. On the other side, the social elite, the residents of Mayfair, were coming out for a bit of fickle sun. But Duncan couldn’t risk having Joe shunned by any of them, which they would surely do if he took the boy over there.

  When Duncan released him, Joe fell flat on the ground on his face, giggling so hard he started to choke. Which made him giggle all the more. He rolled over, his arms splayed out on the grass, and wore an expression of utter happiness.

  Hah. A moment of joy. That was what this was. Duncan mentally wrapped it and stuck it like a small, precious gift into the trunk of his memory.

  He looked up and there was Finn, oblivious as usual, staring across the lake at a couple of proper young ladies and their maids strolling through the park while the abandoned kite skipped across the grass, caught by a few gusts of wind.

  * * *

  “Lady Marcia’s not in, my lord,” said the butler to Duncan at the Marquess of Brady’s residence on Grosvenor Square an hour later. “She sat through several rounds of callers, but now she’s out with her sisters and mother at the dressmaker’s on Cavendish Square. And then I believe they’re off to the Pantheon bazaar.”

  “Oh.” Duncan felt at loose ends. “In that case.” He looked around at the endless number of bouquets in the entrance hall. “My goodness.”

  “Yes, my lord. Now that everyone knows Lady Marcia is back in Town, the flowers haven’t stopped. She and Lady Janice both have many admirers.”

  “I should say so.”

  “Shall I tell her you called?”

  He shook his head. “Thank you, but don’t bother. My flowers are among these somewhere, with a note suggesting I’d pay a call, but I never specified an exact time.”

  “I’m sorry, my lord. The ladies were in alt when she suggested she needed an entirely new wardrobe. The shrieks of delight could be heard down the street. Her sisters practically pulled her out of the house. You’re not the first caller to be disappointed.”

  Duncan glanced at the silver salver on a mahogany table—it was spilling over with calling cards. “I can only imagine. Please give all the members of the household my regards.”

  “Yes, my lord.” The butler politely escorted him to the door and shut it behind him.

  “Ho, there. Chadwick!” A grinning young man in a multilayered cape looked up at him from the base of the steps. It was Lady Marcia’s older brother Gregory, Lord Westdale. His black curls blew into his eyes, and he swept them back with a careless palm. “Don’t leave so quickly. Come in. The wind’s up today, and it’s a bit chilly. My father and brothers are at Tattersall’s again and then off to the haberdasher. How about some coffee with a dollop of my father’s Irish whiskey in it to warm you? It’s been ages since we’ve spoken.”

  “I’d enjoy that.” Duncan had always liked Lord Westdale, what he’d seen of him. He was Finn’s age. He felt a little wistful, wishing Finn were as upstanding as this fellow had always seemed to be.

  Westdale bounded up the steps and opened the door for him. “Burbank, some coffee in the library, please.”

  “Very good, sir. And welcome back, Lord Chadwick.”

  Duncan handed him his hat, cane, and coat. “Thank you.”

  It had been years since he’d been in this house. The last time had been when Lord Brady’s London secretary had summoned him to ask if he’d mind traveling with Marcia and her maid to Dublin from London.

  Now he felt a pang of extreme remorse that he’d ever said yes, considering what had happened to her as a result of meeting Finn.

  “I’m not in Town as often as I probably should be,” he said in the library, when he’d settled into a comfortable brown leather club chair by the fire with his whiskey-infused coffee. “And when I’m here, I don’t get out much at all.”

  “I’ve noticed,” said Westdale. “It’s rare I see you at White’s.”

  “I’m a busy man,” said Duncan.

  “You’ve an earldom to look after.”

  “I also have a son at home,” he added matter-of-factly.

  “So I’ve heard,” Westdale said, his manner easy.

  “I enjoy spending time with him.”

  “Of course. What’s his name?”

  “Joe.”

  Westdale nodded. “It’s an unusual situation, certainly, but I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same thing in your position. When you come from a loving family, you grow to appreciate those familial bonds. They’re your anchor, aren’t they?”

  “Yes,” said Duncan, warmed by the acceptance he heard in Lord Westdale’s words.

  But a dark corner of his heart grew darker. He’d never had a loving family. He knew his mother must have loved him in her way, but she’d been too distracted, and eventually broken, by her own sorrow to pay much attention to him or Finn. And his father—

  Well, his father had loved only himself.

  Like Finn, an unwelcome voice in his head said.

  He and Westdale spoke on various topics for the next half hour. Westdale was particularly interested in politics, but he had a passion for design, too, like his father. He pulled a set of drawings out of a cupboard, spread them out on the marquess’s desk, and explained that they represented a summer house he’d like to build on some land he had in the Cotswolds.

  “They’re impressive,” Duncan said, examining them in detail and asking a few questions. “You have a real gift.”

  Lord Westdale grinned at the compliment. “Why don’t you stay? You can borrow a mount and we’ll ride on Rotten Row. Then we’ll come back for a leisurely—though I must warn you, chatty—dinner. The whole family dines together.”

  Duncan grinned. “Thanks for the kind invitation. But I had only an hour to spare for calls today. Obligations at home.” He had new updates to the estate accounts to go over with his secretary. Afterward, there were piano lessons for all the servants, except Warren, who refused but wanted to learn how to play chess. And Duncan sat with Joe at his early dinner if he possibly could.

  “It was good of you to come by.” Westdale slapped his shoulder. “Please send my regards to your brother.”

  “I’ll pass them on.” Not really, but it was the polite thing to say.

  Westdale looked at him with some curiosity in his eyes. “He had a devil of a jaw last night. A little sibling quarrel, I heard.”

  “Yes.” At the reminder, Duncan’s mood plummeted. If this man only knew what had happened between Finn and his sister, neither Lattimore brother would be welcome at his home. “We have a few adjustments to make now that he’s back.”

  It was a vague enough excuse.

  Westdale’s eyes were sympathetic. “Peter and I have had our share of fisticuffs. It’s not easy having a younger brother fairly close in age. Men are such competitive brutes, aren’t we?” He folded his arms over his chest. “Of course, even though Peter and I have had our disagreements, we share a bond I’d defend to the death if needs be. If all goes according to the natural order of things, siblings will know us longer than our parents, longer than our spouses and friends.”

  “True,” said Duncan, that hollow place inside him echoing with the knowledge that he and his brother weren’t close.

  He loved Finn, if love were a yearning for a deep, abiding connection with someone. But the only person on earth that Duncan knew for a fact genuinely loved him back was Joe.

  Was it any wonder he’d never give him up?

  There was a clatter in the front hall, the sound of feminine voices returning from shopping.

  “I adore that ribbon and
am so glad you found it for me!” That was Lady Janice, he believed.

  “Mother, may we have a monkey?” Cynthia, no doubt.

  “Oh, dear. I forgot to buy handkerchiefs. I was so distracted.” His ears perked up particularly at that voice. It was Lady Marcia’s. Funny how she could make the most innocuous statements sound enthralling.

  Burbank, please ring for tea. We’ll take it in the pink sitting room. Lady Brady’s voice, smooth and serene.

  Duncan and Lord Westdale exchanged grins.

  “If you’re clever, you’ll get out now, while they’re dropping their things in the hall,” Westdale said. “I’ll send you out the kitchens. Otherwise, it will be another hour. Mama will insist you stay for tea, in her sitting room, no less. She doesn’t stand on ceremony with friends of the family.”

  Oh, God. He was a friend of the family.

  “Right,” he said, guilt racking him again. He forced himself to produce a pleasant half-smile, and for the umpteenth time, wished he had Finn’s light charm. “I’ll follow you out the back, then. But you mustn’t let them know. I’d hate to hurt any feminine feelings.”

  “Understood,” said Westdale.

  They said good-bye at the kitchen door, the one leading into the back garden. There was an old shed kept up well, painted quite recently, a mess of climbing roses at the other end of the garden by some large windows, and to his right, a stone path. It led to an exit, a gate flanked by two massive rhododendron bushes.

  He latched the gate behind him, turned, and found Lady Marcia leaning on a gas lamp, waiting.

  He was surprised how happy he was to see her. She looked fresh and lovely in a pale peach gown and a straw bonnet trimmed in ivory silk flowers and one peach-colored butterfly.

  She raised a brow at him. “I heard you and Gregory in the library,” she said. “I was walking down the hall looking for a footman to help Burbank with our packages. How much will you pay me not to tell my mother you escaped?”

  “Where does she think you are now?” he asked, deflecting the question.

  “In my bedchamber, putting away my new ribbons.”

  “Truth be told,” he said, “I would enjoy staying.”

  “But Lord Chadwick, I told you that your perceived obligation to me is at an end.”

  “At least tell me if you succeeded in your mission.”

  “The first hurdle has been crossed, at any rate. Lady Ennis has agreed to allow me to try to recruit a celebrated student to the school. I’m sure it will be in the papers by tomorrow that I wasn’t fired from my position. I merely left it to become the school’s roving ambassador in London.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.” But she didn’t sound as happy as he’d expected.

  “Did something go wrong?” he asked her.

  She shrugged. “There’s the stipulation that I shan’t be allowed to return to the school should Lady Ennis keep it open.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  She nodded. “I’ll have to be content with knowing I’ll have helped avert a catastrophe for many people.”

  “That would be no small thing,” he assured her.

  A coach-and-four went by at a considerable clip, and they watched it go together. He was glad for the distraction. He couldn’t help thinking of what had happened between her and Finn. Was the event long enough in the past that she’d forgiven his brother?

  Or perhaps she felt Duncan was to blame. He should have protected her better. He knew this now.

  But did she?

  There were too many unanswered questions he couldn’t ask her.

  It was a frustrating feeling, especially when at this very moment, he’d simply love to pin her against the lamppost and kiss her.

  “Is your brother well?” she asked out of the blue.

  He suppressed his wayward thoughts. “He’s fine.”

  “I saw him at the ball.” She sent him a chiding look. “You certainly punched him rather hard yesterday. Over me, he said.”

  “Suffice to say I had my reasons.” Duncan couldn’t contain the curtness of his tone.

  “He says you’re jealous.” Her cheeks turned pink.

  “It’s his usual response to any sort of attempt on my part to get him to grow up.”

  “I’ll have you know there’s nothing between us,” she said firmly. “Between you and me, or between myself and your brother.”

  “I’m glad we’ve cleared that up.”

  “But if there were something between me and Finn”—her delicate nostrils flared—“it wouldn’t be your place to intervene. Although I suppose I should be flattered at the attention if you were jealous.”

  “I assure you, I wouldn’t be envious about a romantic connection between you and Finn.” He could say that with impunity. He’d be insanely envious.

  “Well, I feel sorry for him. He said he was afraid you’d kick him out of England again.”

  “I’d love to. Going to America was his golden chance to make something of himself.”

  Her brow wrinkled. “But then you’d never see him.”

  “Many people emigrate every day.”

  “Because they have to,” she said earnestly, “or because they have a high sense of adventure. Finn doesn’t fit either category. You’re rich. And he wants to stay in England. You’re his only family.”

  Finn, he noticed she called him after all this time, after what she’d been through.

  Not Finnian or Mr. Lattimore. Not even that man or that scoundrel.

  Finn.

  Duncan felt his annoyance rise. “I’m well aware of our situation, Lady Marcia.”

  Her cheeks flamed red.

  They glared at each other.

  “I hope you enjoy the rest of your day,” he said coolly.

  “Good day to you, Lord Chadwick,” she said, her voice equally chilly, and strode to the back garden gate.

  He watched her open the latch, her fingers fluttering in the same nervous way they’d done in the dressmaker’s shop. She was in a high emotional state about something.

  Finn. It had to be.

  “Lady Marcia,” he said.

  She looked up.

  He strode forward and caught her around the waist. One of the towering rhododendron bushes provided at least a little cover when he pulled her into the shelter of its leaves. Before she could stop him, he pulled loose the strings of her bonnet, let it slip down her back, and kissed her.

  At first, she resisted, her palms pressed hard against his chest, but he persisted, his hands firm against her lower back. He challenged her with his mouth, his lips parrying with hers, until she began to respond, her mouth soft and hot against his, their bodies melding like clay in fire.

  After a few heady moments, Duncan forced himself back and cradled her face in his hands. She looked so beautiful that way, her high cheekbones prominent, her mouth plump from kissing. “You’re very good at looking after people,” he said. “What I want to know is, who’s looking after you?”

  For a few intense moments, he refused to let her gaze stray from his. Her eyes were large and soft and stormy, all at once. Framed by the green leaves, she was as pretty and beguiling as the naked Eve must have been in that long-ago garden.

  “I look after myself,” she said after a few seconds, her eyes rebellious. “And I like it that way.”

  “Do you?”

  She bit her lower lip, and her expression clouded. She had secrets, obviously, that she didn’t want to share with him.

  It was ironic, and rather poignant, that he knew of at least one of her deepest ones, and frustrating that he couldn’t comfort her about the matter.

  But marrying her would be his way of—of helping.

  He dropped his hands. “I’d like to take you on a drive in Hyde Park at the fashionable hour tomorrow, in my new curricle. Would you go with me? No more talk about Finn. We can discuss the Duke of Beauchamp and how we can win him over.”

  “There is no we in the matter,” she said.
“I’ll figure out a way myself to win him over, my lord.”

  “But I promise I won’t do a bit of looking after you,” Duncan said, with a grin, “no matter what happens. Even if Lady Jersey gives you the cut direct for driving with me. Which she might.” He scratched the top of his head. “Not everyone approves of me, you know. I find it difficult to believe, as I’m so approvable, according to my old nurse, who’s ninety-two now, and my favorite horse, Samson, who loves me for all the apples I bring him—but that’s how it is.”

  She put her hands on her hips and made an exasperated face. “You really are stubborn, aren’t you? And nosy about my affairs.”

  “I don’t deny it. I told you I like you. I make it my business to keep track of the affairs of people I like.”

  She tilted her head. “Very well,” she said. “I’ll join you in Hyde Park tomorrow. But only if I may be nosy, too.”

  “Go right ahead.”

  “Tell me exactly why not everyone approves of you.”

  He felt a jolt of shock in his chest. “No,” he said, feeling his face heat. “It’s a private matter.”

  “Yes,” she demanded. “Tell me, Lord Chadwick.”

  He gave himself the luxury of admiring her snapping blue eyes. “I have a son,” he admitted. “Have you not heard?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have. But tell me something about him.”

  “He’s very bright. And he loves tigers. He’s also fond of riddles.” It felt good to talk about Joe. Very good, indeed. And he especially loved that Lady Marcia’s eyes softened when he spoke of him.

  “He sounds wonderful.” She bit her lip. “It must be difficult not to be able to speak of him in polite company.”

  “Extraordinarily so. Which might be one reason I avoid polite company.” His tone was exceedingly dry.

  “I’m sorry you were forced to endure it today at the House of Brady.” She spoke warily, a tilt to her chin.

  He could see she was doing her best not to enjoy an easy conversation with him.

  “I wasn’t forced to endure anything this afternoon,” he said. “I like your brother very much. And I’m honored to know your family. Sorry, too, that I’ve spent so little time with any of you over the past four years. Which makes my welcome in your home all the more appreciated.”