How to Manage a Marquess

by Sally MacKenzie

  Apparently she was still too ill to care. And, now that she thought more about it, being horrified was pointless. The damage was already done.

  “It’s too late to worry about the servants talking. All the houseguests must have seen us leave the drawing room together.”

  He paused to look down at her. She could see his expression, but she couldn’t quite interpret it. It almost looked as if he felt sorry for her. “I suspect no one noticed, Anne.”

  Oh, that’s right. Everyone had been focused on Papa and Mrs. Eaton.

  “This way.” Lord Haywood guided her down a side path. They skirted a rosebush and stopped by another door.

  She looked around—now she knew where she was. “This is the door we used when we came back from the lake.”

  “Right. So you know your way. I’ll leave you here, then. I don’t believe you’ll encounter anyone on your way to your room, but if you do, just tell them you were out walking in the garden to clear your head—which is true.”

  Barely.

  “And if they did notice us leave the drawing room together and ask where you are?” she asked.

  Lord Haywood’s brows rose. “Surely you’ve been among the ton enough to have perfected a carefully puzzled stare?”

  That made her laugh. “Yes.”

  “Then employ it. And if anyone presses you on my whereabouts, which I’m sure won’t happen, tell him or her you don’t know where I am, which by then will also be true.”

  “All right. I suppose I can do that.” She was oddly reluctant to leave him. Their interlude in the bower now felt like a dream. Had she dreamed his kindness, too?

  No. The horrible potion had been all too real. Fortunately, as she was feeling quite a bit better. Her death was not as imminent as it had seemed just a short time ago.

  “Thank you for your help, my lord.”

  “Nate.” He grinned. “I think you’ll feel even better by morning, but you might want to limit yourself to toast and tea for breakfast.”

  “Ugh. I don’t want to eat anything ever again.”

  He smiled—and then leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead, before opening the door for her and vanishing into the shadows.

  Chapter Ten

  Nate leaned on the terrace balustrade, a glass of brandy dangling from his fingers, and looked up at the stars. It was late. He should go to bed.

  He took a contemplative sip.

  What am I going to do about Anne?

  The only honorable thing he could do was leave her alone. He certainly couldn’t court her. He’d promised Mum he’d wait to marry so he could concentrate on keeping Marcus safe. And events had proved Mum right—the effects of the curse had worsened since Marcus’s last birthday.

  Blast it all.

  So he’d go back to London to try to prevent his cousin from dashing into the bushes with marriageable maidens, and Miss Davenport would go back to Loves Bridge to live with her father and Eleanor and the boys.

  It’s for the best. I’m only thirty, far too young to be setting up my nursery.

  But that didn’t mean he couldn’t feel for Anne. He scowled into the night. That scene in the drawing room . . . it had not been well done of Davenport. Not well done at all.

  He shifted position. And it was not well done of me to take Anne into the garden.

  No, he’d had little choice about that. Miss Davenport had clearly needed to be saved from herself. Nothing good could have come from her getting further inebriated and brawling with Davenport and Eleanor. Or she might have succumbed to a violent fit of the vapors.

  So, yes, he’d had little choice about the garden. The kiss, however . . .

  She’d kissed him first, if one could call that awkward mashing of lips on his a kiss. He could easily have pulled back, made a joke of it, told her—

  He shook his head, closed his eyes, remembered. She had looked so lost, so lonely.

  He should have turned away, but at that moment, he couldn’t. Anne had needed him. He’d felt it in his gut . . . in his heart. He snorted. For once, it had not been his cock driving him, though that organ had definitely endorsed his decision.

  He drew in a deep breath of night air. It had felt good to be needed, especially now that Marcus was pushing him away.

  But Miss Davenport didn’t really need him. Once she got over the shock of the situation, she’d adjust. Anne was strong. Determined. Unlike Eleanor, she’d stand up for herself.

  So if he wasn’t going to offer her marriage—and he wasn’t—he had to keep his distance, because he felt far more than simple concern for her. Zeus, just remembering the taste of her mouth, the touch of her hand on his skin . . .

  And the door to the dressing room that couldn’t be locked.

  Oh, Lord. He took another swallow of brandy. He might need to drink himself into a stupor to keep from doing something very stupid.

  “Ah, there you are.”

  He looked over his shoulder to see Eleanor step through the terrace door. Fortunately, she was alone. He would have a hard time being civil to Davenport.

  He might have a hard time being civil to Eleanor.

  “Why are you out here in the dark? Oh!”

  A stray breeze snuffed her candle. She froze.

  “Don’t worry. Your eyes will adjust.” He resisted the urge to go to her.

  Eleanor was also to blame for the drawing room disaster. She could have stopped her brother from calling for champagne. She could have kept Davenport from telling everyone their news.

  She’d lived with cruelty in her marriage. Why hadn’t she anticipated the pain they’d inflict on Anne with their announcements?

  “You always had far better night vision than I did.”

  He heard a whisper of nervousness in her voice, saw her glance back at the drawing room. Clearly, she wanted to return to soft chairs and candlelight, and normally, he’d acquiesce without her saying another word, but not tonight. If she insisted, he’d go—he wasn’t prepared to be outright rude—but he wasn’t ready to leave the night.

  And he wasn’t at all certain he wished Eleanor to be able to see his expression clearly.

  She made her way cautiously to the balustrade. “I’ve been looking for you, Nate. We need to talk.”

  He doubted that.

  “I’d offer you some brandy,” he said, ignoring her words, “but I have only one glass.”

  “Thank you, but I’m not, er, thirsty.” She gripped her hands nervously in front of her.

  He nodded and took another sip. He suspected he was going to need some alcoholic fortitude to get through this conversation.

  “I wish to discuss Miss Davenport.”

  “Oh?” He wanted to tell her he would not talk about Anne behind Anne’s back. He wanted to tell her how badly he thought she’d behaved. He wanted to—

  The words stuck in his throat. If he said anything, Eleanor would wonder why he was taking Anne—Miss Davenport’s side.

  She looked up at him, surprised at his curtness.

  Well, he was surprised, too. If anyone had asked him yesterday, he would have sworn he’d defend Eleanor in any situation. He’d seen Anne as a threat. He’d certainly been suspicious of Davenport.

  In the drawing room after dinner—if not before—his allegiance had changed.

  Well, of course it had. Now that he knew there was a child on the way, there was no question that Davenport and Eleanor must wed. They were adults and had chosen this path. If they didn’t marry, their poor, innocent infant would be branded a bastard for the rest of his life.

  And as to Anne . . .

  No. He could not examine his feelings for her, especially now with Eleanor watching him.

  “We saw you take her outside after we announced our engagement and, ah, other news. I wanted to thank you. It was clear she’d been drinking. I’m sure you saved us an unfortunate scene.”

  He took another sip of brandy and tried to stop anger from building in him.

  “Oh, not that anyone would
have talked about her.” She didn’t sound completely certain about that. “I mean, we are all family, aren’t we?”

  That was too much. “The other houseguests are your family, Eleanor. The only family Miss Davenport has here is her father.”

  Her eyes flashed up to his. “Surely you don’t take her side in this, Nate?”

  Remain calm. “There shouldn’t be sides to be taken.”

  She bit her lip and looked away. “Well, of course there aren’t.”

  Don’t say anything more.

  He couldn’t stop himself.

  “Why didn’t Davenport tell his daughter the news before you told the house party, Eleanor? It would have been the kinder thing to have done.”

  She sighed, and then nodded. “Yes, I suppose it would have been. Richard—Lord Davenport—told me he’d mentioned our coming marriage, just not in quite so many words, on their journey here, and she hadn’t taken it well. He’d thought to give her a little time to get to know me before bringing it up again, but . . .” She studied her hands. “He didn’t know about the baby then. I wasn’t certain until a few days ago, and I wanted to tell him in person.”

  Ah. So that had likely been what Eleanor and Davenport had been discussing before Anne had darted into his room.

  “We’d still intended to wait, but then we encountered William and Olivia on our way down to dinner and, well, I was so happy I couldn’t keep the news to myself.”

  All right, he could understand that. Of course Eleanor would want her brother and sister-in-law to know. “But that doesn’t excuse you allowing Banningly to break out the champagne.”

  That caused her to scowl at him. “I was happy, Nate. Aren’t I allowed to be happy?”

  “Of course you are, but you still need to think about how your actions affect other people.”

  She turned away from him. “Don’t lecture me.”

  He took another swallow of brandy to keep from saying anything he would regret.

  “Miss Davenport is a grown woman,” she said. “She’s a year older than I am, for God’s sake. She saw us together at the last house party. She should not have been surprised.”

  “I doubt surprise was her primary emotion, Eleanor.”

  “No? So what was?”

  An owl hooted off to the right, and another owl answered farther away, down toward the lake.

  He was heading into dangerous territory where he truly had no right to tread. Miss Davenport was an acquaintance only—

  His blasted cock took issue with that characterization of their connection.

  Well, whatever she was, she wasn’t family.

  Yet, his cock whispered.

  “I can’t presume to say, Eleanor, but Davenport is her father. Her only parent since her mother died many years ago. I’m sure she is concerned for his welfare.”

  “Then she should be happy for him.” She put her hand on his arm. “He’s been alone for a long time, Nate. He loves me. Why can’t she understand that?”

  Put that way, it did seem as if Miss Davenport was being incredibly selfish. And he’d agreed with that assessment until he’d given it more thought—and spent some time with Anne.

  “How long have you known Davenport, Eleanor?”

  “A few months.”

  He suspected it was closer to two, but he let that pass. “And you are already carrying his child. That’s fast work.”

  “Nate! I can’t believe you are saying such things to me.”

  He was more than a bit surprised himself. “Are you truly happy with Davenport, Eleanor? It has all happened very quickly.”

  She smiled. “Oh, yes, Nate. I’m very happy. Richard is nothing like Eaton, nothing at all. He’s so kind and gentle.” She looked him in the eye, her voice firm. “I’m not a child, Nate, and Richard certainly isn’t. We don’t need years to know our own minds. Why can’t his daughter see that?”

  Probably because she wasn’t caught up in the throes of new love. “Perhaps she hasn’t had time to do so. Have you spent even a few minutes with her?”

  “Well . . . no.”

  “You should. At the very least, Davenport should talk to her in private—not that it is any of my affair, of course.” What the hell has got into me? I’m not usually such a meddler.

  That’s not what Marcus would say.

  Marcus is a different matter entirely.

  “He plans to do so tomorrow.” She looked out over the garden, but gave him a sidelong glance. “And we were hoping it was a bit of your affair—Miss Davenport’s well-being, that is.”

  Zeus! What is this?

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Why would I be concerned about Miss Davenport?”

  Eleanor turned to face him. “You took her out into the garden.”

  It was his turn to look away. “I merely saw a situation that needed attention and attended to it.”

  “You were watching her—that’s how you noticed.”

  As Eleanor is watching me.

  “I was sitting next to her at dinner so her distress was hard to ignore.”

  “Everyone else ignored it.”

  He frowned at her. “Eleanor, what is your point?”

  “Richard said you spent a considerable amount of time talking to Miss Davenport at a wedding in Loves Bridge, and, more importantly, he suspects you and she had some sort of . . . discussion a week or so earlier which neither of you acknowledge but from which Miss Davenport returned in a state of disarray.”

  Good God! “If Davenport thinks I dishonored his daughter, he should discuss the matter with me directly.” He was not about to betray Anne’s confidence by admitting anything to Eleanor.

  And if Davenport knew what they’d been doing in the garden here . . .

  “Oh, he doesn’t think you dishonored her,” Eleanor said quickly, “at least not in a way that would, er, require marriage. But he’s done some asking around, and he thinks you’d make a splendid hus—”

  She must finally have listened to what she was saying. “Ah, that is, he—we—thought . . . well, er . . .” She pressed her lips together and then said, in a small voice, “You’re angry, aren’t you?”

  He was. Very angry, though that wasn’t completely Eleanor’s fault. The entire situation was impossible.

  He took a calming breath. “Eleanor, you know I’m not free to marry now. I have to consider Marcus first.”

  “Oh, Nate, you can’t wait to live your life until Marcus—” She stopped herself. “That is, you need an heir, don’t you?”

  He certainly was not going to discuss that with Eleanor. “In any event, I am not going to marry to solve your problem.”

  “I didn’t mean that you should. I want you to be happy—as happy as I am—and Richard thought you were interested in his daughter.”

  Likely Eleanor did wish him to be happy, but that did not permit her to busy herself in his business.

  “My feelings for Miss Davenport—if I have any at all—are beside the point. She is Davenport’s daughter. She will be your stepdaughter and living at Davenport Hall until she marries—if she marries. I hope you don’t intend to make her feel unwelcome in her childhood home.”

  “Make her feel unwelcome? Good God, Nate, she’s the one who’s being unwelcoming. She hates me and my children!”

  This wasn’t good. “Eleanor, if you view Miss Davenport as the enemy—without knowing her, I might point out—you are dooming everyone to a very unpleasant situation. You will set father against daughter and prejudice your boys to view their stepsister poorly. Even beyond that, Loves Bridge is a small village. Miss Davenport grew up there. As far as I could see during my brief visit, she is well liked. If you make her an enemy, you risk making the entire village an enemy, whereas if you can find common ground, she might be able to ease your way.”

  Eleanor’s shoulders drooped. “You are right, of course. The truth is, I am more than a little afraid of her. She’s so strong-willed and independent, and I know she doesn’t like me.” She touched his ar
m again. “Can you talk to her? I’m certain she’ll listen to you.”

  He most emphatically did not want to drop himself into the middle of this emotional morass, but he couldn’t turn his back on Eleanor completely.

  “I think you’re wrong about that, but if I’m given the opportunity, I’ll suggest she approach your marriage with an open mind. Since there is a child involved now, I’m sure she understands there’s no chance of stopping your union.”

  “That is all I ask.” But Eleanor’s tone indicated she’d like to ask much more.

  That notion made him angry. “That is all you should ask.”

  She nodded, turning to go back inside. He offered her his arm. It was time he went inside as well.

  She sighed as she laid her hand on his sleeve. “I do love Richard, you know.”

  “Then let Miss Davenport see that. She loves him, too, and, at heart, wants him to be happy.” He held the door for her. “You’ve told the boys, I assume?”

  She nodded. “Yes. We went up to the nursery shortly after you disappeared into the garden with Miss Davenport. We caught them right before their bedtime.”

  “And how did they take the news?”

  Eleanor had relit her candle from the wall sconce, so he had no trouble seeing her frown. “Edward seemed happy, but Stephen . . .” Her lips twisted. “Stephen might be of the same opinion as Miss Davenport.”

  He nodded. Edward was just five and a sunny little fellow who barely remembered his father. Stephen, however . . . Stephen was seven and serious. He likely remembered too much.

  He walked upstairs with Eleanor and left her at a bedroom door—the same one Anne had seen her coming out of with Davenport—before continuing down the corridor to his own chamber.

  Thank God! He sighed with relief as he closed the door firmly behind him—and then he sighed again, though not with relief, as he looked over at the room’s other door, the one that connected his chamber to Anne’s.

  Is she asleep? Is her stomach still bothering her? Perhaps I should check—

  No. He should not check on her. He should go to bed and try to forget this evening ever happened.

  * * *

  Tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap.

  Had a woodpecker invaded her room?