Loving Lady Marcia

by Kieran Kramer

  “Didn’t you get sent down from Oxford?” she asked him.

  “Of course.” Gregory gave a short laugh. “Everyone does, at least once, if they’ve got an ounce of spirit in them.” But then his brow puckered. “I wasn’t suggesting Mr. Lattimore isn’t worth your time. Merely that you should exercise caution. I know very little about him. I do know that his brother is a good man, however.”

  She threw him an appreciative smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  It was an outright lie, but she couldn’t tell Gregory why Lord Chadwick would never suit her.

  “Good,” he said, and left her.

  Without further delay, she lifted the quill from the inkpot and wrote her note: “Dear Lord Chadwick, I’m afraid I’ll have to postpone our drive through the park until tomorrow. I have an unexpected matter to attend to. I hope you’ll understand. Regards, Lady Marcia.”

  She didn’t know what else to say. A lie about what she planned to do in place of driving with him was out of the question. But she also couldn’t tell him the truth without looking ill-mannered and possibly getting Finn into trouble.

  Complications of the social whirl, indeed, she thought with a sigh. Here she was, already caught up in it, and she’d been home only a few days.

  But it was Lord Chadwick’s fault that she’d missed out on all those possibilities with Finn, wasn’t it? So she refused to feel guilty about the fact that she, of all people, was—dare she think it?—juggling men.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Duncan eyed himself in the looking glass. “Do I look nice, Joe?”

  Joe refused to answer or look at him.

  Duncan crouched on his haunches and pulled the boy over. “Tomorrow,” he said, to his downcast face. “Tomorrow morning, by gar, we’ll see that shark’s tooth.”

  Joe whipped his head up, his eyes sparkling. “Really?”

  “Yes. But you must be a very good boy. Now go see Ruby. She made cakes today, and I think she made one with the letter J on top. I wonder who that could be for?”

  “Me!” Joe took off like a hare, but at the door, he almost ran into Jenkins.

  “Say ‘excuse me,’” Duncan called. It was second nature now, these miniature lectures of a few words.

  “’Scuse me,” said Joe, and skirted around the butler’s legs.

  Duncan heard him clatter down the stairs.

  “A note, my lord. It just came.” Jenkins brought him a folded piece of paper on a small silver tray.

  “Thank you, Jenkins.” Duncan opened it and closed it almost immediately. “I won’t be going driving, after all.” He felt a keen sense of disappointment.

  “I have an unexpected matter to attend to,” Lady Marcia had written. He wondered what it could be.

  “That’s a waste of a good cravat,” complained Warren.

  Jenkins arched a brow. “What shall I tell Rupert, my lord?”

  “Tell him I’ll be taking the curricle out the same time tomorrow. Just a delay. But I’ll need the carriage now instead.” He looked at Warren. “Your cravat won’t go to waste, after all. I’ll take Joe to Albany to see the shark’s tooth. And we’ll stop and play in Green Park.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  When Duncan and Joe showed up at Finn’s apartment door a half hour later, his brother answered with a grin, his cravat hanging loose. “Don’t tell me,” he said to Joe. “You’re here to clean up. My housekeeper didn’t show this morning.”

  “No, I’m here to see the shark’s tooth,” Joe said, his voice serious, his eyes wide.

  Finn scratched his head. “Are you sure you won’t dust the candlesticks?”

  Joe nodded. “Very sure.”

  “That’s all right, then,” Finn said to Joe. “Come in anyway. Let me finish my cravat first.”

  Duncan rather liked Finn’s banter. He was hopeful—hopeful they could be an ordinary, loving family.

  And then Finn ushered them in.

  Good God, the place was a wreck. There was a feather, an earring, and two empty glasses on a table. Joe went right for the feather and began to wave it about.

  “Finn,” Duncan said. He looked at the closed door of the bedchamber.

  “She’s gone,” Finn said low. “You just missed her. But she left some things behind, didn’t she? Next time you might want to send round a note first.”

  “Yes, I suppose I should have.” Duncan sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d get to work so fast.”

  Joe had run to the window and was mesmerized by the traffic below.

  “A man returns home after a long absence and you don’t expect—” Finn paused. “You need to get out more, brother.”

  Duncan would ignore that dig. “Where are you off to now?”

  Finn’s expression became shuttered. “Astley’s. With two friends.”

  “Who?” Astley’s was an innocent enough place.

  Finn shrugged. “Do you really need to know all my business, Duncan? Is that fair?”

  “I suppose not.” He stared at him. It was so obvious something was off. “All right, keep your friends secret. But apparently, they’re people I won’t approve of. Just remember, you’re only as good as the company you keep.”

  Finn went to a small looking glass and tied his own cravat. “I’m keeping very good company, I’ll have you know. So good I did some scrambling and got last-minute tickets ringside. The best in the house.” He turned to Joe. “See that box over there? On the shelf?”

  “Yes,” said Joe.

  “The tooth’s in there. You can get it out.”

  Joe raced over and got the box. And then he crouched down on the floor and opened the lid. Duncan saw him sort through various things and then hold aloft a hefty black triangle. “Look!” he cried.

  Even Duncan was impressed.

  “I won that shark’s tooth,” Finn said.

  “You did?” Joe said distractedly. He was running his finger along the edge of the tooth. “You’re lucky. How’d you win it?”

  “I fought a man for it.” Finn sounded quite proud about it, too.

  Joe finally looked up. “A bad man?”

  Finn laughed. “Very bad.”

  “Perhaps this isn’t a story Joe should hear,” Duncan interjected.

  “Aw, Papa, let me hear,” Joe begged.

  “It’s all right,” Finn said to Duncan. “It’s an exciting story.”

  Duncan was sure it was. If it hadn’t been originally, his brother would make it so.

  Finn crouched down by Joe. “This man found the shark’s tooth on my land in Virginia. He was one of my tenant farmers. When he was digging his kitchen garden, this tooth popped out of the ground. He liked to show it all around, bragging about it, so when he showed it to me, I told him it was mine. It came from my land.”

  Joe listened closely, his mouth slightly agape, a habit he had when he heard exciting stories.

  “The farmer didn’t like that,” Finn went on, “so he tried to convince me to take something else from him. His wife would bake me some bread. But I said no. What would you rather have: a pathetic loaf of bread or a shark’s tooth?”

  Joe stared at him a moment. “A shark’s tooth, of course. But did the man cry when you took it?”

  “No.” Finn gave a short laugh. “But I’ll bet he wanted to.”

  “I feel sorry for that man.” Joe put the tooth back in the box and shut the lid.

  “Why?” asked Finn. “He took my shark’s tooth.”

  Joe looked at him, puzzled. “You didn’t win it in a fight. And he wasn’t bad.” He gave the box back to Finn.

  Finn glowered and placed the box back on the shelf. “Don’t ask to see any more of my things if you’re going to be a spoilsport.”

  Joe stared at him.

  Excellent. Now Duncan had to explain to Joe that some grown-ups didn’t act like grown-ups. He held out his hand. “I think it’s time to go now.”

  Joe raced to grab his open palm.

  “You know your way out,�
�� Finn said, his annoyance registering loud and clear.

  They walked to the door. Finn didn’t bother to see them to it. He was checking his cravat again in the glass.

  “Enjoy Astley’s,” Duncan told him, then looked at Joe.

  “Thank you, Finn,” Joe said in a tiny voice, “for showing me the shark’s tooth.”

  “Yes, glad that’s over,” Finn said over his shoulder. “I’m off, now, boys, for a pleasurable afternoon with two lady friends.”

  Duncan started. “Be careful,” he warned him.

  Finn huffed. “You’ve got it wrong again. These are two proper young ladies with a maid. Did you think I’d be tying my cravat this nicely for anyone else?”

  “Well, then, why won’t you tell me who they are?”

  Finn swaggered to the door, an unfortunate smirk on his face. “Because I’m a big boy now,” he said. “So stop worrying. Go enjoy the park.” And he slammed the door in their faces.

  Duncan could feel the tension still emanating off Joe, and he was in no better condition himself. So he decided they’d walk to Green Park and let the carriage follow.

  “Are you all right?” Duncan asked him.

  Joe shrugged. “I didn’t like Finn today. And I don’t like his house. It’s not tidy. And it smells funny.”

  No doubt the boy had smelled the same Scotch whisky fumes he had. And there was the cheap scent of a woman’s perfume, too.

  “Well, you don’t have to go back if you don’t want to,” said Duncan.

  “All right. I did like the shark’s tooth. But I was sad looking at it, thinking about that man.”

  “Yes, well, remember that man next time you don’t want to share your toys.”

  Not that Joe had friends in London, other than a nephew of Rupert’s who came to the stables sometimes. In the country, Joe played with the servants’ children.

  They crossed Piccadilly, which was a small adventure in itself. On the other side, Joe seemed to have recovered his spirits. “I always like this place,” he said, when he saw Green Park.

  He went running inside.

  They usually didn’t come this late in the afternoon. Duncan strolled behind him, enjoying watching the boy scamper between the trunks of trees, looking up their trunks at the squirrels.

  “Chadwick!” He heard a voice behind him and turned.

  It was an acquaintance from White’s. They spent a few minutes in desultory conversation, and the man went on his way. When Duncan turned back around, Joe was much farther away. He’d found another boy with whom to play.

  Duncan quickened his pace, but before he got there, he saw the boy smack Joe on the head.

  Joe flailed back.

  “Hey!” Duncan said.

  And then he saw another man racing toward the boys, too, a woman behind him, walking fast.

  Duncan took off at a run and got there at the same time the other man had separated the fighters. Joe was trembling. The other boy was crying.

  “What happened?” Duncan asked Joe.

  “He was playing wrong. I was trying to tell him the right way,” Joe said.

  “I can play any way I want!” the other boy yelled at him.

  The woman arrived on the scene. “What’s happened?” she asked the other boy.

  “He”—he pointed to Joe—“told me I couldn’t be the Black Knight. I had to be the Red Knight, he said, because I’m too short to be the Black Knight. Am I too short, Mummy?”

  “No, darling,” she said, looking rather annoyed at Joe.

  “You shouldn’t have said that,” said Duncan to Joe. “That wasn’t nice.”

  “But the Black Knight is the biggest.” Joe stomped his foot.

  “No, he’s not,” said the other little boy.

  “I’m taller than you,” Joe said, “so I should be the Black Knight.”

  Duncan was embarrassed. “Joe, this boy can pretend to be any knight he wants,” he said firmly, “and you were wrong to tell him he couldn’t.”

  “But you always tell me how to play,” said Joe, his eyes filling with tears.

  Duncan was shocked. “What?”

  Joe kicked at the grass. “Sometimes I want to sail my boat in the lake in Hyde Park, and you tell me I can’t. And then I always have to play on the wrong side, away from the other children. You’re always telling me how to play, Papa.”

  The other two adults looked at him with suspicion.

  Duncan stood up straight and put his hand on Joe’s shoulder. “Tell this boy you’re sorry.”

  “Sorry,” Joe eked out.

  Duncan looked at his parents. “I’m sorry Joe was rude.”

  “Right,” said the father.

  The woman looked closely at him. “Are you Lord Chadwick?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  Her eyes widened and she looked at Joe, then back at Duncan. “Come, Quincy,” she said in huffy tones. The boy, Quincy, ran to her. She then looked at her husband. “This is Lord Chadwick.”

  The husband looked mystified, until she inclined her head toward Joe, and light apparently dawned. “Ohh.” He lowered his brows and took Quincy’s other hand.

  “Are you all right, dear?” the mother asked her son as together they dragged him away. “I hope so, my love.”

  It was as if Duncan and Joe had the plague.

  Joe stared after them, openmouthed. “I want a friend to play with every day, Papa. And a mother. Not that boy. And not that woman. But a friend and a mother just the same.”

  It was like a knife in Duncan’s heart. “Aunt Helen and Uncle Richard are to have a baby soon,” he reminded Joe.

  The boy sniffed. “A baby’s amusing in its own way. But it’s not the same as having a friend my age. And what if it’s a girl?”

  “Good question,” asked Duncan. “Until we find out, we can ask Rupert to bring his nephew over more often, all right?”

  “All right.”

  They walked back to their carriage. As they were getting in, Duncan saw a plain but well-made coach go by with a crest—it was the Duke of Beauchamp’s.

  He watched it go down Piccadilly.

  He couldn’t just follow a duke’s carriage, could he? It wouldn’t be right. He’d need to write a proper letter asking for an audience with him. Besides, he had Joe with him—Joe, who was now sucking his thumb, something he hadn’t done in a year.

  Which helped Duncan make up his mind.

  “You don’t need your thumb,” he told him. “We’re going to have an adventure.”

  Immediately, Joe pulled the offending thumb out of his mouth. “I love adventures!” he cried.

  And so Rupert followed the duke’s carriage. The journey took them out to Kensington, to the gorgeous property Duncan had visited as a boy. They stopped well outside the gates and watched the duke’s carriage roll in.

  “I see a turret,” Joe said. “Above the bushes. There must be a king in there.”

  “Almost,” said Duncan. “It’s a duke’s house.”

  “A duke? May we go inside and meet him?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Duncan said. “Let me think for a moment.”

  Lady Marcia should be here with him.

  But perhaps he should renew his very remote acquaintance with the duke first. And then ask to bring her along. That seemed a logical plan.

  “We’re going to try to get inside,” he told Joe.

  “Using swords?”

  “No, our good manners.”

  At the gatehouse, he told the gatekeeper his late father was an old acquaintance of the duke’s and that he’d visited the duke with his father and brother as a little boy. “I have a small boy, too,” he said, “and I would enjoy introducing him to His Grace.”

  If the duke threw him out for introducing an illegitimate child to him, then so be it. But Duncan would go on a hunch—a hunch that the duke wouldn’t do such a thing. He could only hope.

  Ten minutes later, the gatekeeper told Rupert to go through, up to the gravel driveway outside the house. Th
e butler was expecting Lord Chadwick and his son at the front door.

  “The duke’s unavailable, but his secretary has consented to see you,” the gatekeeper said. “He said His Grace doesn’t like unexpected surprises.”

  Unexpected surprises.

  In that moment at the gatehouse, it dawned on Duncan with sickening clarity—what Finn had been hiding. There was his brother’s extreme reticence to tell him the names of the two proper young ladies accompanying him. The last-minute ringside seats he’d scrambled for. His obvious excitement at the outing.

  Something unexpected had developed for Lady Marcia that very afternoon.

  And probably for her sister, Lady Janice, as well.

  Could that something have been Finn?

  He didn’t have time to wonder. A few minutes later, he and Joe were with the secretary. “You have no business being here,” the man said, his mouth thin, his tone curt.

  Joe sat on a sofa, staring around him at the new space.

  “In fact,” the secretary went on, “His Grace is perturbed that you dare disturb his peace and wonders at your audacity in asking for an audience. He said the connection is sketchy at best and was tempted to suggest you be thrown out on your ear. But before we consider doing so, His Grace’s natural curiosity compels him to inquire what you can possibly want with him.”

  “Tell His Grace I’ve not the least interest in seeing him. But I have a friend, Lady Marcia Sherwood, the daughter of the Marquess and Marchioness of Brady, who does want an audience. If he can spare a few moments of his time, he’d enjoy meeting her. She has a proposition to make him concerning his granddaughter that will interest him greatly.”

  The secretary narrowed his eyes. “What could she want with his granddaughter?”

  “The same that he wants. That she be safe, well educated, confident, poised, compassionate, and happy. She wants to tell him of the school at which all these things can come true.”

  The secretary threw down his quill, pushed up his spectacles, and stood from his desk. “His Grace isn’t interested. We know of all the schools in England. And none of them are what he’s seeking for her. You may go now.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. His Grace doesn’t need a stranger’s assistance handling his own affairs. And I suggest that if there ever is a next time, your friend should seek her own introductions through her father, the marquess.” He glared over his spectacles. “In other words, none of this is your business, Lord Chadwick.”