Loving Lady Marcia

by Kieran Kramer

  “Thank you,” she told him, feeling a bit awkward.

  “In horses, Gregory meant to say!” burst out Robert.

  Peter punched him in the arm. “Not today,” he hissed.

  “It’s all right, Peter,” Marcia said, and tried to look pleasant. “I was beginning to think I’d woken up in the wrong household.”

  “Really?” Peter grinned.

  So did Gregory and Robert.

  And they dug into their meals, Gregory telling his brothers about the rout he’d attended the night before, where his friend Nathan had nearly fallen out a second-story window.

  But Cynthia, who’d been lingering at the sideboard with her plate, was so excited when she came to the table, she could hardly sit still. “I can’t wait to see Lord Chadwick. He’ll be another brother. Perhaps one who’ll not tease any of us girls. What shall we call him?”

  “Saint?” Gregory lofted a brow.

  “You’ll call him Duncan, I suppose,” Marcia replied blandly, still doing her best to be noncommittal.

  “And does this mean Joe will be our nephew?” asked Robert.

  “Yes, it does,” said Janice stoutly. “I shall bribe him every day with sweets to elect me the best aunt.”

  Marcia smiled, glad to see her sister in much better circumstances than she’d been the evening previous.

  “You’ll be a stepmother,” said Peter with a grin to Marcia.

  For the first time, she felt a stirring of interest in the situation which had spiraled beyond her control. “No child should be without a mother,” she said matter-of-factly. “And no child should be without friends.”

  No matter what the circumstances of his birth, was the implied rest of that sentence.

  Mama got a little sheen of tears in her eyes, and Daddy squeezed her hand. She’d been a foundling, born to a young woman with no husband. Mama’s mother had died when Mama was five. She and Papa had never hidden her history from them.

  So it was no wonder that when other families would have pretended Joe didn’t exist, the House of Brady welcomed him with open arms.

  Daddy, Marcia noticed, wasn’t his usual chipper self. The twinkle he always seemed to wake up with in his eye was absent. His mood was quiet enough that Mama asked if he had a headache.

  “No,” he said. “And it’s nothing that a good night’s sleep won’t cure.”

  Marcia stole a quick glance at him. Had he had a restless night, too?

  He caught and held her gaze, his full of love—and a keen edge of worry. She couldn’t leave him thinking she hated him. “I hope you feel better, Daddy,” she said quietly.

  His eyes grew a little brighter. “Why, thank you, dear.”

  It was all they said to each other before he left them all to go to Whitehall, but it was enough. She could never not love Daddy.

  But a moment later, he returned to the breakfast room.

  “A message has come for you, Marcia,” he said. “I left it on my desk in the library.”

  Her heart sank. “Do you know who it’s from?”

  He hesitated. “The Duke of Beauchamp.”

  Marcia wouldn’t look at anyone. She knew very well that Mama and Janice would be observing her with great concern. “Thank you, Daddy.”

  “Why would a duke write you?” Peter asked. “And such an old one?”

  “Perhaps he read about Marcia’s engagement in the paper this morning and wants to make a last-minute offer himself,” Gregory said.

  “Ugh,” said Robert. “An old man and Marcia?”

  “Would you like Mama and me to read the letter with you?” Daddy asked her gently.

  She pushed back her chair and stood. “No, thank you. I’ll read it myself.” She smoothed down her skirts, and when she looked up, Daddy was still there at the breakfast room door. “Go ahead, Daddy. Really.”

  He and Mama exchanged a look.

  “What’s wrong?” Cynthia asked the general table.

  “Nothing,” said Janice. “Finish your chocolate.”

  “Or I’ll take it,” Robert threatened her.

  “You should go, dear,” Mama said to Daddy. “You’ll be late for your Tuesday meeting with the Lads.”

  The Lads were his two best friends from Ireland who also served in the English Parliament.

  “Very well,” he said reluctantly.

  Marcia paused at the breakfast room door.

  Burbank handed Daddy his things.

  “Top of the mornin’ to ye, Burbank,” Daddy said.

  “And the rest of the day to yourself, my lord,” the very English butler concluded the traditional Irish exchange, and shut the front door behind her stepfather.

  It was a morning ritual Marcia had always cherished.

  And then she looked back at the remainder of her family, willing herself to appreciate what she had. Cynthia was hastily draining her cup, her eyes wide as saucers while Robert looked avidly on. Gregory and Peter were arguing about the latest boxing match at Gentleman Jackson’s.

  Mama and Janice fixed their gazes on her, both of them with identical furrowed brows and eyes that said what they couldn’t say out loud: We’ll be here for you.

  She swallowed hard, walked straight back to the library, and ripped open the note. It read:

  Dear Lady Marcia,

  Don’t blame yourself for the disintegration of our deal. Love always has the last say.

  Congratulations on your engagement,

  Beauchamp

  She swallowed hard. Her dream to help Oak Hall was officially over. She held the parchment over the fire and allowed it to drop to the coals.

  But before she could even think, she plucked the letter out of the fire with nimble fingers.

  “Blast,” she whispered when she dropped it to the hearth and stomped out the flame that had already burned through a corner.

  She looked over her shoulder to see if anyone could see her from the door. And then she hid the message in an Irish porcelain vase in Daddy’s curio cabinet.

  On Daddy’s desk, she left a carefully penned note of her own.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Spending time with Joe at the park in the morning was the best way for Duncan to prepare for his interview with Marcia later in the afternoon. He could think here. And relax. There was the gusty breeze. And the rustle of the leaves in the trees.

  And nothing seemed impossible when you watched a small boy playing with a puppy, even on a cloudy, gray day when it seemed hope was a distant thing.

  They were on the side of the park that Lady Jersey and all her cronies favored when Duncan saw Lord Westdale striding toward him across the grass.

  “Westdale!” Duncan threw the ball and watched the dog chase after it, and the boy chase after the dog. “How are you?”

  “Well, thanks.” Westdale’s expression was pleasant enough. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  “Have you? Why?”

  Joe and the puppy came rushing back, Joe shouting, the puppy yapping furiously, so Duncan would have to wait for Westdale’s answer.

  “Joe!” Marcia’s brother got on his haunches and grinned at the boy. “Is this your new puppy?”

  “Yes,” said Joe. “His name is Blackbeard.”

  “Blackbeard?” Westdale’s voice was friendly and enthusiastic.

  Joe beamed. “Yes, Blackie, for short.”

  And then he ran off, the dog at his heels.

  Westdale got back up, his expression amused. “Sorry, Chadwick, but what kind of name is Blackie for a tan dog?”

  “I know.” Duncan refrained from rolling his eyes. “Blackbeard was Joe’s imaginary enemy and sometimes friend, depending on what sort of pirate adventures he was having that day. I had no idea he existed until we got the puppy. Joe told me Blackbeard had threatened to make Joe walk the plank unless he named the dog after him.”

  “That’s rich.” Gregory chuckled. “Well, Joe won’t have time for any imaginary scoundrels masquerading as friends when you marry Marcia.”

&nbs
p; When, and not if.

  That was reassuring.

  And he had to wonder if Westdale had hit upon something with Joe and his imaginary friend: Had the boy sensed that Finn was a scoundrel masquerading as a friend, too?

  Duncan hadn’t told him yet that Finn was banned from the house. But Joe hadn’t asked after him, either. He obviously hadn’t missed him.

  “Dogs and boys aside, I’ve got some bad news, Chadwick,” Westdale said, his tone sober. “Marcia’s run off to Ballybrook. Her maid’s gone, as well.”

  “Good God, man, why didn’t you tell me right away?”

  “There was Joe. And Blackie.” Westdale did look a little sheepish. “Besides, there’s nothing we can do right now.”

  “What the devil is that supposed to mean?” Duncan’s heart pounded. “Has anyone set out yet to bring her back?”

  Westdale shook his head. “My parents want to leave her alone.”

  “Leave her alone? What exactly does that signify? Did she call off the engagement?”

  “Yes, she has.” Gregory’s expression was sympathetic. “I’m sorry. We’re not saying a word to the papers or anyone else. We had callers today asking where she was, and my mother said she’d gone to Ballybrook to prepare herself and the grounds for the wedding. They fell for the notion, my mother was relieved to see.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Duncan said, pacing. “I can’t just stay in London—”

  “My parents think she needs time to get used to the idea and that she’ll come around. At least, that’s what they hope.”

  “What do you think?” Duncan stopped pacing to ask.

  Westdale shrugged. “She’s stubborn.”

  “I’m going to her,” Duncan said. “There’s plenty I didn’t get the chance to say—”

  Westdale grabbed his arm. “No. My parents are afraid if you chase her, she’ll become even more entrenched. I agree. We know her, Chadwick.”

  “Yes, but I love her. I want her to become my wife. And she doesn’t know that. She thinks”—he raked a hand through his hair in frustration—“she thinks I simply want to—” He stopped talking. He’d no idea how much Westdale knew of the situation.

  “To save her?”

  “Yes. Exactly. How did you know?”

  “I read the note she left on my father’s desk. Until an hour ago, I had no idea that yours and Marcia’s was anything other than an ordinary engagement. My parents took me into their confidence. I’m glad they did because I want to assure you that if you go after my sister now, she’ll run even farther than Ballybrook, perhaps not leaving behind an address next time. You must wait, Chadwick. At least several weeks. Let’s see if she sends a letter. I’m begging you—give her the time and space she needs. No visits. No messages. Not until we hear from her first.”

  Duncan picked up a stick and hurled it as far as he could.

  “Here.” Gregory bent down and handed him another.

  Duncan broke it over his knee and tossed the two pieces aside.

  “Oh, bloody hell.” He bent over at the waist and put his hands on his knees. “I’m not going to be able to wait.” He stood straight again. He was filled with worry about Marcia. Fury at himself. And sorrow that he’d driven the woman he loved so far away. “I’ve got to do something.”

  “You can’t. You know it, and I know it. Infuriating, isn’t it? Isn’t she?”

  “Yes, actually,” Duncan said. “She bloody well is.”

  “Sisters.” Westdale blew out a breath. “They cause so much trouble.”

  Duncan let out a long, weary sigh.

  Westdale slapped his back. Hard. “You’ll get drunk tonight and figure out a way to endure the next several weeks. I don’t envy you. Not that I’ve ever been in love. I’ve no idea why anyone would fall into such a state.”

  “You’re not helping,” Duncan bit out.

  “I suppose not. Here.” Westdale took a flask out of his pocket, opened it, and handed it to him.

  Duncan took a long draw on it and wound up gasping. But the fiery warmth did assuage some of his frustration.

  “Daddy’s secret blend,” Westdale said with a grin. “Only comes out in emergencies. Keep it.”

  “Thanks.” Duncan corked the flask and stuffed it into his coat pocket. It would share space with a tin soldier and a piece of toffee partially sucked on by Joe and returned to its wrapper when he arrived at the park and started running about like a madman with Blackie.

  Westdale kept his eye on the frolicking pair. “If this makes you feel any better, my father already regrets not agreeing to your suggestion of yesterday, waiting until the end of the Season. He blames himself. Not you.”

  “He did what any concerned father would have. It’s my fault. If I had told her I loved her when I should have, she and I together could have solved this problem of the school and met Lord Brady’s requirements in the bargain.”

  “It’s too late for regrets,” Westdale said firmly, “so quit them or I might have to take you into the boxing ring and beat them out of you.”

  “Hah. You’d last less than a minute. And then you’d have your own regrets.”

  The heir to the Marquess of Brady laughed.

  Something eased a fraction in Duncan then. Together, he and Westdale continued to watch Joe and the puppy.

  But after a few minutes, Westdale adjusted the rim of his hat. “I’m off now. But I’m to let you know my mother’s invited you to dinner. You and Joe both. She—and Daddy, too, I’m sure—has faith that someday you’ll be their son-in-law and Joe, their grandson. She told me to tell you so and not to despair.”

  Duncan’s heart warmed. He saw a lot of Lady Brady’s generous spirit in Marcia. “I’ll write her a note to thank her, but I’ll have to say no. Thanks for relaying the invitation. Next time I come for dinner, it will be with Marcia as my bride, or not at all.”

  “Are you sure? We’re all cheering for you, Chadwick.”

  “Quite sure.” Duncan lifted his mouth in the semblance of a polite smile. “But the gesture is much appreciated.”

  Westdale nodded. “I understand, and good luck. The next few weeks won’t be easy for any of us but you most of all. If you need an ear—or someone to share a drink with—please call on me.”

  “Will do.”

  Westdale cupped his hands around his mouth. “See you soon, Joe!”

  Joe stopped playing and waved.

  Several well-heeled Corinthians heard Westdale from afar and started hooting at him.

  Duncan watched his new friend head their way, and he felt a flash of wistfulness. He had to admit, it would be nice to be taken in by the Sherwoods, embraced as one of their own.

  He and Joe would acquire a family, a damned extensive one. And neither of them would have to worry about this new family going away. Or being … bad, like the rotten apples his father and brother had been.

  Best of all, he and Joe would be surrounded by people who loved Marcia as much as they did.

  He watched uncertainly as two clusters of ladies strolled by, going in opposite directions, very near Joe and Blackie. It was evident they were whispering about him, Joe, or his engagement to Marcia.

  Once again, Duncan ignored the urge to hide or make excuses.

  This time, not one of the ladies had the temerity to say a scurrilous word aloud, which was a refreshing change of pace.

  The gray landscape looked a little less dreary then, and he resolved not to rein in that proverbial horse anymore, at least not about Joe. Although, dammit all, it apparently looked as if he’d have to do so when it came to Lady Marcia and her escape to Ireland from him, her parents, and London—

  Or did he?

  The race is on for you, Chadwick, the Duke of Beauchamp had told him.

  While Joe and Blackie played, Duncan mulled over his predicament, fueled by an intense longing in his heart to see Marcia there at the park with them, encouraging Joe to throw the ball for Blackie, her laughing presence making their little family complete.
/>   Chapter Thirty-five

  Four weeks had passed since Marcia had left London, and already it felt as if all she’d undergone there since leaving Oak Hall had been a dream.

  Everything but Duncan, that is.

  Even in the comforting abode that was Ballybrook, tucked as it was against a magnificent lake, the emerald-green grass and rainbow-tinted clouds of Ireland its backdrop, her nights still were tormented with dreams of the earl.

  “You’ve got circles under your eyes.” Alice, the housekeeper at Ballybrook since Daddy had been a baby, peered closer at her. She wore her usual cobalt-blue gown with white apron, the keys of the house at her waist. “Are you not sleeping like a baby?”

  Marcia shook her head. “Not really.”

  “I don’t know why you shouldn’t be.” Alice fussed about her pillows and propped them up behind her. “You made it home safe and sound. Spring is here. The air is sweet and soft. Life’s good.”

  Kerry, who was in awe of the steel-haired housekeeper with the spritely step, came over with Marcia’s morning tea and two slices of buttered soda bread and set the tray on her lap.

  Marcia thanked her then looked back at Alice. “You’re right. I think I need to walk more.” She’d been taking long rambling hikes with Kerry, but obviously not enough to rid her of restless nights.

  “And you need to remember that at Ballybrook, nothing sad lasts forever.” Alice winked at her.

  At the fire, old Tiger’s tail began to thump. He loved hearing the word Ballybrook.

  “Look at him,” said Alice with a grin. “He knows of what I speak.”

  “Well, you’re both right,” Marcia said with her own smile. “Any letters from Dublin yet?” she asked Kerry.

  “No, my lady.” Kerry’s tone was apologetic.

  The maid had insisted on coming with Marcia to Ireland, telling her not to worry, that she’d found out her beau William had been taking walks with another maid next door.

  They’d be a comfort to each other, Kerry had said, and she’d been just that to Marcia. They’d decided on the packet across the Irish Sea that they’d give up reading Shakespeare together until their hearts were a little less sore, but just this week, Marcia had determined they should read one of his comedies.