Loving Lady Marcia

by Kieran Kramer

  It’s not all right, Duncan thought. He used to think it was a perfectly acceptable set of circumstances, but now he saw that Joe needed an anchor, a guarantee that one woman would love him forever as her own.

  Joe needed a mother.

  Chapter Seventeen

  An hour later, Duncan pulled a quill from the inkpot on his desk and began to write his regrets to the Marquess and Marchioness of Brady.

  There was another knock, this time on the front door, and he lifted his head. Please don’t let it be Finn. Not today. He was in no mood to deal with his neediness, his belligerence, or damn-fool behavior.

  His thoughts drifted to a question that had long plagued him: Was Finn’s selfishness a familial trait he’d inherited from their father, one that Duncan had been lucky enough to sidestep? Or was his tendency to think only of himself a choice—a character flaw?

  Duncan didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he ever would.

  Jenkins came to the library door. “Mr. Lattimore, my lord.”

  Blast it all.

  “Shall I say you’re home?” Jenkins waited.

  “Of course he’s home.” With a grin, Finn sidestepped the butler, entering the library with his usual swagger. Jenkins sent him a look of disapproval, which Finn never saw because he was too busy throwing himself into a chair and propping his feet on Duncan’s desk.

  Duncan put his quill back in the inkpot. “Feet off,” he said.

  Finn sighed loudly but complied.

  “I’m in no mood for conversation.” Duncan poured himself a second small brandy from a decanter he’d placed on the desk.

  Finn chuckled. “It’s not like you to start so early in the day.”

  Duncan glared at him. “This is confidential information, but Joe’s favorite maid is quitting my employ as of tomorrow morning. You can join me for a drink, or leave.”

  “A drink. Of course.” Finn waited while Duncan poured one for him, then took a healthy gulp and sighed. “That’s a shame about the maid.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Aislinn.”

  “Ah.” His brother nodded. “I remember her. Dark hair and green eyes. Nice smile. What will you do? Replace her?”

  “No,” Duncan said. “Joe will get by with the others.” He felt the need to change the subject. “I understand your companions at Astley’s included three Sherwood siblings?”

  “I told Lady Brady not to write you.” Finn sulked for half a second. “Do you really need details? A man’s entitled to some privacy.”

  “When you’ve earned it, I’ll leave you alone. You should have told me of your plans. You didn’t because you knew I wouldn’t approve.”

  “For reasons beyond me.” Finn took another sip of his brandy. “So I suppose she invited you to the opera tonight?”

  “Yes, she did, and I accepted. I’m just about to renege, however. I’m in no mood to socialize.”

  “You never are.”

  Duncan stood. “I have responsibilities, Finnian. Unlike you.” He sent his brother a hard stare. “Lady Brady told me you turned down the invitation. Why?”

  Finn stifled a yawn. “Because it will be deadly dull without Lady Marcia there. The rest of those Sherwoods are too good—I’d rather not bother with them.”

  “I agree they’re all of stellar character. But Lord Westdale is also intelligent and agreeable. Lady Janice is perfectly charming—a trifle enigmatic, I’d venture to say. The one time I met Lord Peter, he had me laughing with his jokes almost immediately. And Lord and Lady Brady are always invigorating company.”

  Finnian shrugged. “I suppose so.”

  Duncan put a hand on either side of his brother’s chair and got in his face. “I resent your implication about Lady Marcia,” he said, low.

  Finn’s eyes registered some fear. “What implication? Don’t go off on me again, Duncan. Please. You’re a madman when you’re angry.”

  He straightened but didn’t move. “You implied that she isn’t good, too. You lured her into misbehavior. She’s not to blame in the least. She’s a lady. And don’t you forget it.” He locked gazes with Finn until his brother looked away, muttering something unintelligible under his breath.

  “And for your information,” Duncan went on, “Lady Marcia will be at the opera. In her note, Lady Brady told me about her mishap, expressed her gratitude to you for following through despite the change in company”—he looked at Finn with strong approval, happy that he was able to do so for the first time since he’d returned to England—“and said that as of this morning, Lady Marcia has fully recovered.”

  Of course, she’d recovered by yesterday afternoon. He’d seen her. Kissed her, as a matter of fact.

  Finn raked a hand through his golden hair and cursed. “If I’d known she’d be better by this evening, I would’ve accepted the invitation. I thought she might have broken her nose. It would have ruined her looks, for certain.”

  “Please. Is that all you care about?”

  “Certainly not.” Finn sat up higher.

  “Did they call in the doctor?”

  “No. Lady Brady ordered a cold poultice, and that was it.”

  “That means it wasn’t terribly serious. Now tell me about Astley’s.”

  Finn rolled his eyes. “I got roped into taking Lady Janice and the two youngest children, Robert and Cynthia, to the show. They were polite as could be, and Lady Janice is very attractive and fine company—I might even like her as much as Lady Marcia, and was beginning to think I’d like her even more than her elder sister, that is, if Lady Marcia’s nose took on a permanent bend from that accident—but it was bloody torture sitting in the front row of the ring and looking like a proud papa. I saw some of my mates there. Gad.” He drained his glass and wiped his mouth. “Not to mention I need a bigger allowance, Duncan. I can’t go about London being the gentleman you want me to be on the pittance you give me.”

  “I’m not going to fund another of your attempts at seduction of any young lady, especially a Sherwood sister, both of whom you dishonor with your impertinent remarks. I’m to the point I’m ready to pick you up by your lapels and shake you until your teeth fall out.”

  Finn drew in his chin. “Maybe I should leave.”

  “Yes, you should.” Duncan went to the library door and held it open. “No to the bigger allowance. If you want my trust and my money, then be open about your activities. All of them.”

  Finn stood, as well, his brows low. “You’re being ridiculous. I have no intention of repeating my past behavior with Lady Marcia.”

  “Oh? What are your intentions concerning her, then? Why would you need to hide from me that you intended to see her today?”

  “Because you’d have bloody well lost your temper, that’s why.” Finn caught a glimpse of himself in the small mirror above a bookshelf and raked his hands through his wavy locks. “My intentions toward her are perfectly honorable. All I want is … friendship. And a little flirtation. What’s the harm in that?”

  “A great deal when you don’t intend to marry someone, and I know you don’t.”

  “Of course not! I’m much too young to marry.” Finn wasn’t the least bit nervous about saying so.

  Duncan crossed his arms over his chest. “You’ve already toyed with Lady Marcia enough. If you want to call yourself a gentleman, in her presence you’ll act like a gentleman. Is that clear?”

  Finn’s brows lowered. “You want her for yourself, don’t you? I read about the attention you paid her at the Livingston ball before I got there. You’re jealous. You know that I can win her over you. Easily.”

  “We’re not competing.” Duncan’s voice was cold. “Is that what this is about? Because if you intend to use Lady Marcia to best me, reconsider. You’ll regret it.”

  They stared at each other.

  Finn’s handsome jaw clenched. “I wish I had any brother but you.”

  “Feel free to detach yourself from my financial support,” Duncan said. “I
won’t stop you.”

  Finn brushed past him, then turned to glare at him one last time. “I’m going to write Lady Brady back and accept the invitation to the opera, after all. She sent it to us because of my chivalrous behavior.”

  Duncan noted, without surprise, the obvious retreat from an extreme level of venom on Finn’s part. Now they were back to slightly elevated levels, which was usual for them.

  “I’ll come, after all,” Duncan said pleasantly enough.

  “Oh, no—”

  “We’ll go together,” Duncan forged on, “and you’ll continue to be on your best behavior. I’ll entertain the question of increasing your allowance when the chivalry becomes a well-ingrained habit. And, Finn—”

  “What?” His tone was predictably surly.

  “You don’t have to be this way, you know. You could make your way through the world as a respectable soldier or landowner. You have the skills to do so, as well as the support of a brother who loves you, despite all our differences. And eventually, you could add the support of a loving wife and children. But you have to make the right choices. I have faith that you know what they are, and I’ll never stop hoping you’ll choose them.”

  Finn narrowed his eyes at him and stormed out of the house. He attempted to slam the front door behind him, but reliable Jenkins caught it first and closed it properly.

  Duncan returned to his desk. The flames in the grate were steady but low. Faith, hope, and love seemed such shiny ideals, the stuff of a meaningful life. So why did clinging to them bring such misery?

  With Aislinn in her room tonight, perhaps it was best that Joe have an ordinary evening with him before he left for the opera. They’d have dinner together. Duncan would read him a story. Joe would go to bed and dream about dragons and tigers and whatever else it was that happy little boys dreamed of.

  The opera, Duncan supposed, would be some distraction for him. Despite everything, his heart lifted at the thought of seeing Lady Marcia. Would she remember what had happened yesterday afternoon? That odd connection that had thrummed between them after they’d said their farewells on the street?

  The ticking of the clock on the mantel echoed in the silence. Every second brought Aislinn’s departure—and Joe’s inevitable heartbreak—closer.

  Duncan poured himself another drink and vowed to forget, at least until tomorrow morning, that he’d face the crisis alone.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Marcia didn’t know what to think. She should have been vastly happy when Finn sent a note round to Mama stating that he’d be accompanying his brother, after all, to the opera. But instead of that thrill of anticipation she was sure she’d feel at the news, she’d developed a headache instead.

  “What’s wrong?” Janice asked her as they were getting ready.

  “Nothing,” Marcia said.

  “Aren’t you excited Mr. Lattimore is coming?”

  “Yes,” Marcia said in a high voice, and nodded her head stiffly.

  Janice made a puzzled face. “Are you nervous?”

  “No,” Marcia snapped. “Well, yes. But I don’t know why.” She smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.”

  “It’s all right.” Janice studied her with interest. “You’re obviously not happy about something. What?”

  Marcia stared at her. “I don’t know.”

  But all it took was a moment’s introspection, and she did know. Why was it that just when she’d decided to tie up those loose ends with Finn, Lord Chadwick occupied her daydreams when she disliked him so? And his brother, the one she admired, didn’t do a thing to make her heart beat faster?

  She couldn’t reconcile the matter.

  She was irritated because she was confused, and she hated to be confused. No woman of action—no headmistress—liked ambiguity.

  Janice gave her an undeserved hug about her shoulders. “Tonight, you’ll forget your troubles. We’re off to the opera.”

  Marcia rallied. “And we’ll have a delightful time. You’ll shine like the brightest diamond.”

  But at the Theatre Royal, Janice was suddenly too shy to sit in the front of the box. Maneuvering must be done. So Mama and Daddy sat in front instead. Gregory and Peter occupied two seats in the second row. And Marcia and Janice sat behind them.

  Already, they’d had several visitors, mainly male admirers of the girls. Marcia remembered what Lysandra had said about her lack of style and was glad she wore a fashionable pale blue satin gown with capped sleeves. It was ready-made from the modiste but altered to fit her exactly as it should.

  Kerry had done wonders with her hair, putting it up à la Sappho and running a gold ribbon through it. Mama had lent her a single strand of pearls holding a large sapphire pendant surrounded by diamonds, quite a piece of jewelry, but Mama had said, “You never had a debut in London, so I insist you make a splash tonight when you’re out with your family.”

  Janice turned to Marcia now, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “I’m so thrilled to be at the opera. Finally.”

  “You look perfect for it.”

  Janice was exquisite in her pale ivory muslin gown with ivory sequins that twinkled in the light of the glowing gas lamps.

  Peter, his chestnut-brown hair arranged in the “frightened owl” style, tugged a bit at his cravat and grinned back at them. “I hope you girls won’t talk through the whole affair.”

  “Why?” Janice’s tone was teasing. “Are you planning on listening closely? Or shall our talking interfere with your taking a nap behind your mad curtain of hair?”

  Marcia chuckled. “Perhaps he’d like to ogle the soprano behind that hair. I hear she’s quite beautiful.”

  “She is,” said Gregory. “I tried to send her flowers the other day, but Daddy wouldn’t let me.”

  Daddy turned around. “Peter, what’s the rule? Gregory needs a reminder.”

  “Don’t get entangled with opera singers or actresses,” Peter said in respectful tones, but he wasn’t really listening. He was already eyeing a lovely young lady in the box across from them, the daughter of Viscount Pinkerton.

  “I thought the rule was ‘Avoid empty flattery,’” Gregory said in droll tones.

  Mama beamed at him. “That’s a rule, too.”

  “As is ‘Take care of your horse before yourself,’” added Peter.

  “Always a favorite.” Gregory grinned. “Along with ‘Pay your vowels long before anyone must ask you for them.’”

  Daddy was full of rules, wasn’t he?

  Marcia and Janice exchanged amused glances.

  “What about ‘Never take advantage of a young lady’s tender feelings’?” said Peter. “But Daddy, I’ve spent the last eleven years being bossed about by three sisters. Are you sure young ladies have tender feelings?”

  Both brothers laughed, and Janice swatted them with her fan.

  “Oh, don’t make fun of that rule,” said Mama earnestly. “That’s my favorite. Your father knew I was desperately in love with him, but he never used that knowledge to his advantage, although he could have easily.” She threw her husband a sweet smile.

  Daddy smiled back and kissed her hand. “Aye, that’s the most important rule of all. You boys must always hold your ladies in the highest regard. Protect them and cherish them. Sacrifice your own needs to look after theirs. I promise the reward will be well worth it—the steadfast love of a good woman.”

  “Oh, Michael,” Mama said, her eyes misty.

  It was all very romantic, and when Marcia was a young girl blossoming into womanhood, she used to enjoy seeing the obvious attachment between her parents.

  But these days she felt more melancholy when she observed them.

  Of course, she knew the reason why. No one else in her family ever would, however. It was her secret to carry to the grave, that she’d given her entire heart and body to Finn, only to have the offering become meaningless, a casualty of circumstances beyond her control and his.

  Janice pressed her hand. “You look rather sad,” she whispered to her.r />
  Marcia blinked and smiled. “Oh, no. I’m fine. Really.”

  “I wonder if we’ll ever find that kind of love?” Janice asked wistfully.

  Marcia wrapped her sister’s hand in her own. “I’m sure you will, darling. Just be patient.”

  Janice snuggled a little closer to her, and Marcia felt a cozy contentment. She had love, didn’t she? Just not the romantic kind that lasted, the kind Mama and Daddy had. Not all lives were destined to contain it, she supposed.

  And she wouldn’t waste time pitying herself or resenting Finn for not defying his brother and marrying her all those years ago. He’d been young, too young to know what to do with the love she’d freely given him, much less fight for it against the strong will of the earl.

  A few minutes later, Janice sat up tall, her eyes sparkling. “They’re out in the corridor.”

  “Who?” Marcia turned her head and saw a wall of people.

  “The Lattimore brothers, of course. An elderly widow has detained them. Sit up straight and act like you don’t care that Mr. Lattimore’s here to see you. Lucky girl. He’s so incredibly handsome. I must admit I enjoyed going to Astley’s with him.”

  Poor Janice. She already had a tendre for Finn. Any sane girl would. He had an earnest charm and was devastatingly attractive.

  “But aren’t they both here to see Marcia?” Peter whispered back to them. “Lord Chadwick split Mr. Lattimore’s lip over her.”

  “You weren’t supposed to be listening to us, or to foolish gossip,” Janice chided him.

  Peter grinned and turned to face the front of the box again.

  Marcia adjusted her skirt, her heart pounding. What would Finn think of her gown? And would Lord Chadwick say anything about it? If he did, she would thank him but be careful not to be too warm. She was already mortified that she’d kissed him three times—the man she wanted least to do with out of all the men on earth!

  When the men came into the box, the earl was resplendent in his black evening clothes, swarthy and dark, much more intimidating than Finn, who was all golden sunshine and good looks.